Mention the name Max Vengerov and the majority of us don’t care, our fingers tap on the desk and our butts readjust in horribly designed office chairs while our toes curl because there’s got to be a better web page to entertain the senses than stupid cupid motivational junk for our business hearts.
Who’s got the time to dig deeper into Max Vengerov’s presentation—if its not Mel Gibson, Tiger Woods, Oprah, Ellen or Simon Cowell…nothing else matters until your eyes drop like snow flakes from the sky and land on a once living tree and its there that we read: We’ve lost our sense of improvisation and spontaneity—we don’t take the time to compose original works.
Ta dahhhhhhh!
How are you feeling now? Pinch yourself… Still nothing. I’m not shocked. I mean, look at the way we drive at 6:15 in the morning—a few hundred cars on the road and we think shattering the sound barrier will keep us from reaching bottleneck traffic. We race from the car into our jobs, plop down in that oh so comfy thing on wheels and think, “What did I get myself into?”
I’m guilty of never reading an entire email. If you can’t say it in two sentences catch me on the cell phone or in person. Don’t even think about rolling your eyes…we all do it! We leap out of our cubicles to attend important last minute meetings, burn rubber to the nearest fast food hut, cram twelve pounds of fries into our gut then walk back into work asking, “What did I get myself into?”
We are so busy doing nothing that we don’t have the time to figure out what we should be doing. Business meetings are quickies. Taking the kids to anywhere USA is no different then a trash truck dumping its load while a tractor waits to bury it. I went home last night to pay the bills and ended up spending nearly four hours listening to my recently recorded music over and over and over searching for everything wrong.
I was shaming the artist...what? Radio doesn't offer enough of that?
Its Max Vengerov who thinks we’re side stepping innovation and it begins with how we are communicating.
Don’t even think about pointing our aging fingers at technology! Author Lou Solomon is quick to point out our decisions not to have face to face time is nothing more than sophisticated blah, blah, blah. We’re smarter than this…which means we’ve got the ability to break free from this addiction to faceless Facebooks.
I love what Lou writes, “Being dazed by technology feeds our busy-ness.”
The last vacation I had was spent trying to break free of the computer age…yeah right! My wife and I ended up in the hotel office for hours connected to movie companies requiring our services at different premieres. My very good friend Steve has become a hermit, claiming it’s the only way he can deal with this nation’s passion to constantly run. The only way for him to regain control of his life is to disassociate himself 100% from anyone and everyone. I’ve known the man for 20 years and suddenly it’s become cool for him to pull off a Harry Houdini. Being the jerk I am…I called his answering machine and said, “Our friendship is like a marriage…we’re divorced.”
Lou writes, “We are fading away from the present moment into the wallpaper of preoccupation with ourselves.”
How often do you take your hands and cover your face because the only time the phone rings is when somebody wants something from you? I call this the boa constrictor syndrome. My pet snake was 9 ½ feet long and man did he love to eat. The only time I held Tanino is when I gave him a delicious piece of mouse meat. Then one day in front of several guests I decided to show off the boa constrictor, “Look at my pet!” He attacked me. Guess whose fault it was? Mine…and that’s exactly how we’re treating each other.
Our appetite for success and acceptance is on a rampage. We’re nothing more than boa constrictors locked in a terrarium waiting for a big man to stop by with something to eat. The very second his hand appears, slam! Dunk! Boom! Pow! Yummy in my tummy!
Authenticity can’t and won’t occur until there is awareness. If you want your kids to learn how to spell stop doing this: LOL LMAO BRB…until that moment award them with cake and candy for spelling wrong. They’re only doing what you are setting them up for. Kids are mirrored images of society.
I totally blame my nonstop lifestyle on my mom. Deep into her 70’s, hip replacement, surgery for this, that and whatever else the medical industry invents and that girl just doesn’t stop. Look what she taught me…there’s nothing more important in life than work. I honestly have no clue how to be interesting.
Sometimes I think the only reason why I catch a cold is because its God’s way of saying, “I’m in much better control than you are and if you keep doing what you do…my plans are going to get messed up.”
Countless times I’ve joked to many people, “I earned my heart attack.” Basically meaning it came 100% from my endless array of got to get somewhere because I’m late, I’m late, I’m late for very important date. Did it teach me to slow down? I honestly don’t know how and flat out won't listen to you if an attempt to explain is made.
I need to spend more time at the cemetary...holy cow the entire nation can't wait to get there!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Your boss isn't in control of your winning attitude...
Spend five minutes with actor Robin Williams and instantly you’ll take note of the antics inspired by his desire to be the class clown. He didn’t just fall into a role; he required it or faced a mind, body and soul set to explode. Most comedians admit that being open with “it” that once tightly gripped itty bitty childhood secret… is what saved them from them. Because so many can relate…it’s turned pain into profit.
You don’t have to be on stage to be the rage.
Singing, dancing, drawing and playing musical instruments at work develops an environment of gain inside a society still untouched by a 12% unemployment rate. Incorporating hobbies into your unfinished business on the job gives permission to creative flow.
According to G Wayne Clough the President of the Georgia Institute of Technology—people who have other interests tend to communicate, they’re more social, ask for help while lending a more friendly hand and are readily available if extra time is required.
How often are you locked into your everyday playing by rules set by a tyrant? Friday rolls around the corner and they’re out playing golf while the essence of SYA keeps you planted in a chair until 5pm or later. Going to work can feel like reporting to jail time—we’ve become a people of lost hopes, dreams and more importantly no time for something once called family.
A year ago this week I set out to study the path of the thinker by introducing 12 artist canvases in my recording studio—the only goal was to see how many passerby’s I could convince to doodle for me. Each piece carries a theme based solely on nothing more than trying to introduce fun. 52 weeks later clients who advertise will spend several minutes staring into the art they helped develop. Returning clients grab the brilliant array of writing instruments and race to become part of the next. The vibration of my studio is constantly positive without having to rely on motivational speaking.
By loving art and sharing what I hold dear to my heart…a cloudy day is almost never visible within the limits that make up the circle.
When I walk into a business and the faces are captivating with smiles and warmth I quickly become involved with their energy wanting to store for myself the secrets they hold by being open with such clowning around. You don’t have to be a fool or paint sad smiles to make people laugh or feel welcome, office entertainment is infectious and since the great recession of 09 plays a key role in my decision to return.
A Chinese restaurant was open on Christmas day…I being addicted to fried rice house special walked into the heavily scented arena of multiple flavors and instantly bowed to the chef. It was my way of showing him respect for being there while the rest of the world felt a need to take time off. Having confidence in the hidden within class clown gave me the courage to step outside the realms of being a typical American and show a separate nationality that I valued their service…in doing so, he and his wife showed their interest in me being a client by offering free soup. Lord have mercy that is the secret key to my soul. Hot soup and a nice corner to open up some pretty cool conversation.
The moment you turn your working conditions into a place of positions is the day your job becomes nothing more than a mob of people out to convince anyone willing to listen to buy into your idea…from the outside the image sent out is a well dressed gang.
It’s ok to have an interest in art, music and people singing horribly out of tune on American Idol. Convince your boss to host the first annual worst in the office singing competition. Ellen says it best…even if you’re brilliant at singing…doing it bad on purpose makes you a better performer.
Gaston Eye Clinic is known for tossing down some incredibly fun after and during work celebrations all in the name of setting the standard of hard work, dedication, loyalty and a major payoff in the end. Anytime I see one of their employees on the street away from the job…they’re still smiling and happy about being alive. Can’t say that about too many bankers, mall store managers and the late night crew at the burger joints—the thought of working is nothing compared to doing nothing.
I recently spent some time with a former coworker whose singing vocals are astronomical and yet that side of her smile seems trapped in a world that will instantly go away if a bigger name on the line suddenly reaches up to the microphone and says, “Today is the day you’re coming home.” I’ve extended my studio to her for no reason other than to torch up the origin of rediscovered singing passions.
It took a heart attack for me to come to terms with my musical writing blocks—what is produced isn’t perfect but I don’t care…doing it again is like climbing on a bicycle and hitting the streets with a Batman costume on. Re-releasing that desire to perform has led to a music recording studio to contact me to sit in on some pretty serious sessions involving a major up and comer… My high school friend Tony from Wyoming wrote to me, “Dude get the book Singing for Dummies.” No way…look at who my inspirations are Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and Neil Young.
The fear of losing the job has destroyed our nation’s reasons to dream. No President can write the perfect speech to inspire until the depths of everything we are and have become is given reason to feel safe inside the separate worlds of art we all carry with us daily.
Today…not for me but for your child’s, child…rediscover you. Sing…even if it’s out of tune. Don’t send a joke via email…you tell the joke. Doodle a picture then hang it up. If its against company policy then put it inside your desk…there are no rules that state employees can't open and close that metal monster.
Being creative at work with something you love to do invites change with absolutely no government taxes.
Steal my art…
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
You don’t have to be on stage to be the rage.
Singing, dancing, drawing and playing musical instruments at work develops an environment of gain inside a society still untouched by a 12% unemployment rate. Incorporating hobbies into your unfinished business on the job gives permission to creative flow.
According to G Wayne Clough the President of the Georgia Institute of Technology—people who have other interests tend to communicate, they’re more social, ask for help while lending a more friendly hand and are readily available if extra time is required.
How often are you locked into your everyday playing by rules set by a tyrant? Friday rolls around the corner and they’re out playing golf while the essence of SYA keeps you planted in a chair until 5pm or later. Going to work can feel like reporting to jail time—we’ve become a people of lost hopes, dreams and more importantly no time for something once called family.
A year ago this week I set out to study the path of the thinker by introducing 12 artist canvases in my recording studio—the only goal was to see how many passerby’s I could convince to doodle for me. Each piece carries a theme based solely on nothing more than trying to introduce fun. 52 weeks later clients who advertise will spend several minutes staring into the art they helped develop. Returning clients grab the brilliant array of writing instruments and race to become part of the next. The vibration of my studio is constantly positive without having to rely on motivational speaking.
By loving art and sharing what I hold dear to my heart…a cloudy day is almost never visible within the limits that make up the circle.
When I walk into a business and the faces are captivating with smiles and warmth I quickly become involved with their energy wanting to store for myself the secrets they hold by being open with such clowning around. You don’t have to be a fool or paint sad smiles to make people laugh or feel welcome, office entertainment is infectious and since the great recession of 09 plays a key role in my decision to return.
A Chinese restaurant was open on Christmas day…I being addicted to fried rice house special walked into the heavily scented arena of multiple flavors and instantly bowed to the chef. It was my way of showing him respect for being there while the rest of the world felt a need to take time off. Having confidence in the hidden within class clown gave me the courage to step outside the realms of being a typical American and show a separate nationality that I valued their service…in doing so, he and his wife showed their interest in me being a client by offering free soup. Lord have mercy that is the secret key to my soul. Hot soup and a nice corner to open up some pretty cool conversation.
The moment you turn your working conditions into a place of positions is the day your job becomes nothing more than a mob of people out to convince anyone willing to listen to buy into your idea…from the outside the image sent out is a well dressed gang.
It’s ok to have an interest in art, music and people singing horribly out of tune on American Idol. Convince your boss to host the first annual worst in the office singing competition. Ellen says it best…even if you’re brilliant at singing…doing it bad on purpose makes you a better performer.
Gaston Eye Clinic is known for tossing down some incredibly fun after and during work celebrations all in the name of setting the standard of hard work, dedication, loyalty and a major payoff in the end. Anytime I see one of their employees on the street away from the job…they’re still smiling and happy about being alive. Can’t say that about too many bankers, mall store managers and the late night crew at the burger joints—the thought of working is nothing compared to doing nothing.
I recently spent some time with a former coworker whose singing vocals are astronomical and yet that side of her smile seems trapped in a world that will instantly go away if a bigger name on the line suddenly reaches up to the microphone and says, “Today is the day you’re coming home.” I’ve extended my studio to her for no reason other than to torch up the origin of rediscovered singing passions.
It took a heart attack for me to come to terms with my musical writing blocks—what is produced isn’t perfect but I don’t care…doing it again is like climbing on a bicycle and hitting the streets with a Batman costume on. Re-releasing that desire to perform has led to a music recording studio to contact me to sit in on some pretty serious sessions involving a major up and comer… My high school friend Tony from Wyoming wrote to me, “Dude get the book Singing for Dummies.” No way…look at who my inspirations are Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and Neil Young.
The fear of losing the job has destroyed our nation’s reasons to dream. No President can write the perfect speech to inspire until the depths of everything we are and have become is given reason to feel safe inside the separate worlds of art we all carry with us daily.
Today…not for me but for your child’s, child…rediscover you. Sing…even if it’s out of tune. Don’t send a joke via email…you tell the joke. Doodle a picture then hang it up. If its against company policy then put it inside your desk…there are no rules that state employees can't open and close that metal monster.
Being creative at work with something you love to do invites change with absolutely no government taxes.
Steal my art…
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Put down the texting and lets share some dialog...
You just arrived at work, your shield of honor, a warm winter coat kissed by an approaching snow storm is hung while the barely awake body whose only job is to keep the jacket in place shoots hints of needs and wants to the imagination and its working parts to walk near places that carry the scent of morning coffee.
The desktop computer accepts your password, one fear gone, you move forward three quarters of an inch only to stop…something is different, a cooler breeze is felt—an all too familiar angle is exposed inside the assumed circle. Sometime overnight master controller, Micromanager Willie took the time to completely erase everything you’ve been working on and given it a new face and goal to be accomplished.
Do not react! Breathe... Your mission today: Find a plastic face.
No matter how much you want to kick, scratch and rip a part…the end result is simple…you’re going to do it. So why waste incredible amounts of precious energy fighting the effort? It’s 100% human to complete the project not only on time but before the required limit, as a way of grinding the knife into the soul of the noncaring.
Paul Damon, the robust radio station program director in Lewistown, Montana once said, “There are two rules I expect to be followed:
1. I’m always right
2. No matter what happens during the average 24 hour period if you’re ever confronted with doubt…always revert back to rule number one.
But is this sort of daily living healthy? Who truly wins in a world dominated by the chosen keeper of the key to that particular door? Mr. Damon’s job was terminated six weeks after I accepted the early evening on-air position and in the days that followed I constantly received phone calls asking to stop by for a beer, BBQ and whatever else friends do.
Author Lou Solomon writes: Dialog is a way of understanding that two realities can exist side by side. This takes brains not dominance.
You don’t need a cute fuzzy tail to notice every place of business is governed by an Alpha Dog. Politics aren’t just a Washington DC performance. Feeding the frenzy are bookstore novels based on getting people to do as you please, motivational speakers pen out plans that showcase which suit is best to wear that’ll gain more attention, how to get everyone to wear a game face attitude to every full staff meeting and blah, blah, blah.
The end result is physically visible in the eyes, actions and reactions of nearly every American—the cowering dog syndrome.
If having dialog displays an understanding of two realities existing…is John Lennon required to write music about giving peace a chance? We live in an age where singer/songwriter John Mayer is blasted for his addiction to Social Networking—Rollingstone Magazine calls him music’s nasty boy. One look at his tattoos on the front cover and instantly you think Motley Crue…but reality shows, Mayer is no Nikki Sixx or Tommy Lee. Mayer is constantly ridiculed for his private chapters made public but rarely do you ever catch the average radio listener complementing his efforts as a musician and thanking him for releasing a tune that sounds so much better when they’re singing at the top of their lungs on the way home from a horribly designed day at work?
Dialog is conversation—an act of communicating and all too often it appears the only voice being heard is the Alpha party telling the other what to do or how they can’t seem to get it right.
In a recent email to Ken Fuquay who heads the Carolina School of Broadcasting I wrote, “Harmony is like dialog…two separate realities that if not properly guided become unwanted noises.”
I can’t imagine how Corporate America sounds to a passerby. This might explain why Simon Cowell is leaving American Idol…after watching the downsizing of the NBC late night lineup, one can only wonder what’s taking place behind Fox doors. You know how company memos work: Funky Pete with feet that don’t stink has decided to further his love for dancing in other discos. Funky Pete has a different story which he’ll one day share on Facebook.
The American business world competition bar has been set so high the idea of the Colts slamming the Saints in the Super Bowl is a total no show in the majority of our lives—who cares? There’s a reason why ¾’s of the audience tunes out at halftime. We’ve been reprogrammed to think about one thing: Make the boss happy or face nearly two years of unemployment.
Dialog takes brains not dominance.
Twenty five years ago I stood on the corner of a downtown street watching radio disc jockey Bill Dollar slowly walk through a crowd of listeners then over to a competing radio stations presentation. Holding his hand out, he shook a genuine smile into each of our hearts. His decision to drop dominance from our assumed game of competition has led my career into more areas of radio the rules completely disagree with and I’m not alone…Ryan Seacrest is the master at making sure all parties involved walk into every situation without faces of war and in doing so, Seacrest has become the next Dick Clark.
Create some dialog today without someone you constantly fight with. Make it a point to learn something new so that the next time you see them you can ask, “How’s your dog Sally the wiggle butt?”
America is at war in Iraq, Afghanistan and with itself. There’s no budget to fix your attitude. Winning is a choice. Treating coworkers and employees with respect is a choice. So is beating them up mentally with words and demands that hurt worse than a good old fashioned Daddy made me get a stick from the woods tail slapping.
What did Billy Joel truly mean when he wrote, “Only the Good Die Young?” We're dropping like flies and nobody wants to fix it.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
The desktop computer accepts your password, one fear gone, you move forward three quarters of an inch only to stop…something is different, a cooler breeze is felt—an all too familiar angle is exposed inside the assumed circle. Sometime overnight master controller, Micromanager Willie took the time to completely erase everything you’ve been working on and given it a new face and goal to be accomplished.
Do not react! Breathe... Your mission today: Find a plastic face.
No matter how much you want to kick, scratch and rip a part…the end result is simple…you’re going to do it. So why waste incredible amounts of precious energy fighting the effort? It’s 100% human to complete the project not only on time but before the required limit, as a way of grinding the knife into the soul of the noncaring.
Paul Damon, the robust radio station program director in Lewistown, Montana once said, “There are two rules I expect to be followed:
1. I’m always right
2. No matter what happens during the average 24 hour period if you’re ever confronted with doubt…always revert back to rule number one.
But is this sort of daily living healthy? Who truly wins in a world dominated by the chosen keeper of the key to that particular door? Mr. Damon’s job was terminated six weeks after I accepted the early evening on-air position and in the days that followed I constantly received phone calls asking to stop by for a beer, BBQ and whatever else friends do.
Author Lou Solomon writes: Dialog is a way of understanding that two realities can exist side by side. This takes brains not dominance.
You don’t need a cute fuzzy tail to notice every place of business is governed by an Alpha Dog. Politics aren’t just a Washington DC performance. Feeding the frenzy are bookstore novels based on getting people to do as you please, motivational speakers pen out plans that showcase which suit is best to wear that’ll gain more attention, how to get everyone to wear a game face attitude to every full staff meeting and blah, blah, blah.
The end result is physically visible in the eyes, actions and reactions of nearly every American—the cowering dog syndrome.
If having dialog displays an understanding of two realities existing…is John Lennon required to write music about giving peace a chance? We live in an age where singer/songwriter John Mayer is blasted for his addiction to Social Networking—Rollingstone Magazine calls him music’s nasty boy. One look at his tattoos on the front cover and instantly you think Motley Crue…but reality shows, Mayer is no Nikki Sixx or Tommy Lee. Mayer is constantly ridiculed for his private chapters made public but rarely do you ever catch the average radio listener complementing his efforts as a musician and thanking him for releasing a tune that sounds so much better when they’re singing at the top of their lungs on the way home from a horribly designed day at work?
Dialog is conversation—an act of communicating and all too often it appears the only voice being heard is the Alpha party telling the other what to do or how they can’t seem to get it right.
In a recent email to Ken Fuquay who heads the Carolina School of Broadcasting I wrote, “Harmony is like dialog…two separate realities that if not properly guided become unwanted noises.”
I can’t imagine how Corporate America sounds to a passerby. This might explain why Simon Cowell is leaving American Idol…after watching the downsizing of the NBC late night lineup, one can only wonder what’s taking place behind Fox doors. You know how company memos work: Funky Pete with feet that don’t stink has decided to further his love for dancing in other discos. Funky Pete has a different story which he’ll one day share on Facebook.
The American business world competition bar has been set so high the idea of the Colts slamming the Saints in the Super Bowl is a total no show in the majority of our lives—who cares? There’s a reason why ¾’s of the audience tunes out at halftime. We’ve been reprogrammed to think about one thing: Make the boss happy or face nearly two years of unemployment.
Dialog takes brains not dominance.
Twenty five years ago I stood on the corner of a downtown street watching radio disc jockey Bill Dollar slowly walk through a crowd of listeners then over to a competing radio stations presentation. Holding his hand out, he shook a genuine smile into each of our hearts. His decision to drop dominance from our assumed game of competition has led my career into more areas of radio the rules completely disagree with and I’m not alone…Ryan Seacrest is the master at making sure all parties involved walk into every situation without faces of war and in doing so, Seacrest has become the next Dick Clark.
Create some dialog today without someone you constantly fight with. Make it a point to learn something new so that the next time you see them you can ask, “How’s your dog Sally the wiggle butt?”
America is at war in Iraq, Afghanistan and with itself. There’s no budget to fix your attitude. Winning is a choice. Treating coworkers and employees with respect is a choice. So is beating them up mentally with words and demands that hurt worse than a good old fashioned Daddy made me get a stick from the woods tail slapping.
What did Billy Joel truly mean when he wrote, “Only the Good Die Young?” We're dropping like flies and nobody wants to fix it.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Why don't people listen to you while you speak?
Some say I’m too serious about nothing while others still look at my wandering artistic visions as being a well kept childhood secret. Which is what makes being a writer fun because any day, everyday, you can be everything to all or nothing to everyone—I do what’s required…I write because we have the right.
Messages and their makers come in packs of 360,000 for a single cent making what’s being shared nothing more than a four pack of Red Bull filled with motivation to move but the opposite end is like bronzed cups of coffee salted by buzzes that lift but are instantly killed by endless winter days when the sun wastes no time to call it quits.
There are two different types of messengers: Just the facts and conversational.
I was supposed to learn something when Dr. Ronald Mack thrust the book Writing Well into my arms but I chose instead to take the Poets Prayer serious by being the one who doesn’t just show up with facts and no feelings.
In his book Say Something Real, author Lou Solomon takes a stab at Sgt Joe Friday from the 60’s television show Dragnet. He calls the line, “Just the facts,” the greatest sentence written in the 20th Century. By wanting just the facts, that inspired marketing leaders, CEO’s, general managers, department heads as well as husbands and wives to seek out nothing more than…the facts.
We live in an age when information is the Bible. Businesses build their success on delivering just the facts. Jobs are lost hourly because the facts state changes need to be made or stockholders can’t enjoy a six day boating excursion off the shores of Hawaii. Doing great business is based on sticking to the facts—having no emotion for your product follows in a close second.
Lost is relationship.
I tend to use the word passion in nearly every sentence I create. I have a passion to be on the air sharing short 7 second breaks that could make your day better. I have the passion to create radio commercials that invite new clients to your business that in return will make their life better. I have the passion to help brides and grooms write their vows. I have the passion to perform music at their weddings to guarantee an incredible celebration that future generations will still be bragging about. Passion! Passion! Passion!
In today’s business world I’m so far off the map the United States Coast Guard has listed my dedication to society as MIA. If I had just stuck to the facts I’d be sitting in a radio station studio doing what I love most…having a deep interest in bringing success to clients requiring people to walk through their doors.
The facts are…having a deep interest in a project carries more value than having passion for it.
But...Lou Solomon says, “It takes more than facts for people to connect.”
How then do you introduce a disconnected branch of the human race to an old idea of communicating rather than wasting billions annually on research taken six months ago? In television they know by morning if wearing a blue sweater swayed viewers from their screens. Within six months radio will play the same game—a single thought, musical note or lack thereof in the interest in the public could send the masses into an area the facts never spoke of until a new journey was born.
We spend too much time worried about the government watching us…when the facts clearly state its large and small companies blessed with questions that are typed into computers and suddenly your email address and phone number are sold to higher ups more interested in your progress than they should be. They demand the facts knowing when they get them…there’ll never be true emotion but they know a 25 to 30 year old shops at their store between 5 and 7pm and all things connected to your email address point to a deep interest in fashion but you’re still driven by Hollywood updates.
When was the last time you signed up for discount card at a grocery or clothing store chain—that 10% you get off for every purchase won’t break the companies bank because the information you just gave them has introduced the decision makers to some pretty incredible facts about you and the lifestyle you keep.
They only want the facts…they couldn’t care less if you have the flu, gained weight or the kids won’t stop screaming in the back of the car. Buy our shoes! We'll spray perfume into the mall air that will lure you in. Mmmm don't our employees look cool wearing what you need to sport around the office?
"Dude...can I use the restroom?" I ask quietly
"No...its for employees only."
What message do you project: The facts or communicator? The answer will explain why people treat you the way they do at work, home, church and other places of play.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Messages and their makers come in packs of 360,000 for a single cent making what’s being shared nothing more than a four pack of Red Bull filled with motivation to move but the opposite end is like bronzed cups of coffee salted by buzzes that lift but are instantly killed by endless winter days when the sun wastes no time to call it quits.
There are two different types of messengers: Just the facts and conversational.
I was supposed to learn something when Dr. Ronald Mack thrust the book Writing Well into my arms but I chose instead to take the Poets Prayer serious by being the one who doesn’t just show up with facts and no feelings.
In his book Say Something Real, author Lou Solomon takes a stab at Sgt Joe Friday from the 60’s television show Dragnet. He calls the line, “Just the facts,” the greatest sentence written in the 20th Century. By wanting just the facts, that inspired marketing leaders, CEO’s, general managers, department heads as well as husbands and wives to seek out nothing more than…the facts.
We live in an age when information is the Bible. Businesses build their success on delivering just the facts. Jobs are lost hourly because the facts state changes need to be made or stockholders can’t enjoy a six day boating excursion off the shores of Hawaii. Doing great business is based on sticking to the facts—having no emotion for your product follows in a close second.
Lost is relationship.
I tend to use the word passion in nearly every sentence I create. I have a passion to be on the air sharing short 7 second breaks that could make your day better. I have the passion to create radio commercials that invite new clients to your business that in return will make their life better. I have the passion to help brides and grooms write their vows. I have the passion to perform music at their weddings to guarantee an incredible celebration that future generations will still be bragging about. Passion! Passion! Passion!
In today’s business world I’m so far off the map the United States Coast Guard has listed my dedication to society as MIA. If I had just stuck to the facts I’d be sitting in a radio station studio doing what I love most…having a deep interest in bringing success to clients requiring people to walk through their doors.
The facts are…having a deep interest in a project carries more value than having passion for it.
But...Lou Solomon says, “It takes more than facts for people to connect.”
How then do you introduce a disconnected branch of the human race to an old idea of communicating rather than wasting billions annually on research taken six months ago? In television they know by morning if wearing a blue sweater swayed viewers from their screens. Within six months radio will play the same game—a single thought, musical note or lack thereof in the interest in the public could send the masses into an area the facts never spoke of until a new journey was born.
We spend too much time worried about the government watching us…when the facts clearly state its large and small companies blessed with questions that are typed into computers and suddenly your email address and phone number are sold to higher ups more interested in your progress than they should be. They demand the facts knowing when they get them…there’ll never be true emotion but they know a 25 to 30 year old shops at their store between 5 and 7pm and all things connected to your email address point to a deep interest in fashion but you’re still driven by Hollywood updates.
When was the last time you signed up for discount card at a grocery or clothing store chain—that 10% you get off for every purchase won’t break the companies bank because the information you just gave them has introduced the decision makers to some pretty incredible facts about you and the lifestyle you keep.
They only want the facts…they couldn’t care less if you have the flu, gained weight or the kids won’t stop screaming in the back of the car. Buy our shoes! We'll spray perfume into the mall air that will lure you in. Mmmm don't our employees look cool wearing what you need to sport around the office?
"Dude...can I use the restroom?" I ask quietly
"No...its for employees only."
What message do you project: The facts or communicator? The answer will explain why people treat you the way they do at work, home, church and other places of play.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Monday, January 25, 2010
Stop searching for a new job until you understand the word creativity...
So shocked I dropped the book.
Has that ever happened? The boldly printed words pasted to a page only your fingertips know and the single thought presented reveals not only the characters much deeper identity but without doubt the author’s presentation mimics the secret tales you’ve kept hidden for many chapters of your own.
Everybody from Julia Cameron to Pierre Matisse, Peter Max and even Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane and Starship have gently explained the continuation of art to me—not one of them truly knowing its origin, just that they could no longer keep it inside.
When you think art…its only natural to assume its what’s left on a canvas, paper or wood then proudly displayed in galleries and or carry price tags so high the truest fans of the expression can never support those who’ve reached into their channeled emotions and afforded them the opportunity to hang the art openly and freely on their walls.
My mentor in life Dr. Ronald Mack spent his final year’s nose deep in a personal drive to locate the purest form of arts history—a man in his late seventies then quickly into the eight oh’s of everyday living…we spent hours verbally discussing the brush strokes of Georgia O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Picasso and others who finely tuned their beings into a well crafted bewilderment—basically meaning, like you...art just happens and they knew it. Some people become more famous for being connected to it.
I love talking about art in the way that it’s everywhere. The Ford Mustang is art. So was the Volkswagen Thing with its cousin the VW Bus. I’ve never believed we don't see the best part of a tree—what we’re given are the arms that connect the wood creatures to valuable sunlight and water…therefore each branch makes up the rooting system of a world humans never touch located below the surface where other animals keep free from the murky mess we’re creating to benefit mammal selfishness.
I hear it all the time, “I love to create! Creating is my life!”
The average person doesn’t call what they make art because if it’s not linked to something famous it’s nothing more than a doodle or hobby. Shocking to me was when I learned that 99.9999 percent of us also have no clue what creativity is. It’s far from being the envisioned destination of an expressed relationship between self and paper.
When I walk into Wentworth Gallery to do nothing more than study the pieces so readily available…it never dawned on me how out of focus today’s most brilliant names truly are. A stroll through Charleston's art district unveils a sense of passion versus search while trying to capsize the performance of a heart being held by an invisible fragrance of love that’s vowed to be accepted. Study the framed piece a little longer while keeping the other eye in glance state at the other paintings being offered by the same artist.
I love Peter Max because he peaks his acrylics…its thick, rich, unforgettable and filled with an artists flavor to be spotted in places where the rest of the world seems flat. Peter does flowers, the Statue of Liberty, Mick Jagger, a flash of Oriental inspiration while constantly taking pot shots at Andy Warhol all because a cab driver had no clue as to whom he was hauling around the large city. Peter masterminded late 60’s early 70’s American art culture…Peter Max’s style hasn’t changed in decades. Peter is not creative.
What?
You can be the most brilliant salesperson on your team but unless you are reinventing your performance on a daily or weekly basis you’re allowing the rest of the world to not only catch up to you but to use your methods of performance against you. People see your work and scream talent. Unless you continuously create newer ways to manifest the next level of expressing then what you have is every reason to feel stale and completely burned out.
As an artist my best work are eyes. I paint angels without faces because it allows your imagination to mysteriously disappear into whatever visions you see creating music your heart will soon sing. I have hundreds of eyes, birds and angels. They are stacked up, put in boxes and hang on peoples walls all over this country and each time I see them I don’t feel what was delivered the moment they suddenly appeared out of my fingers. Not one single piece of my art is seen in the four walls I call home.
My art went silent three years ago…not a single drop shared since. Although my ego calls each effort an attempt by an artist…the answer as to why I had gone silent wasn’t available to study until the book read, “Creativity only exists when you are creating new ways and means not doing the same thing over and over again. Creativity is creating not doing the same thing over and over.”
Maybe I should be drawing giant noses with oversized hairs battling diseases. Then next week I’ll leap into well rounded shoulders followed by a billion plus one different hair styles then toes that aren’t perfect and looking at them creates a scent so strong you’re forced to cover your nose with long hairs as you walk by.
We demand technology to change everyday. We never tell the image in the mirror to get back to work. The thought of us doing it on a more personal level is liking waiting in line to die. We spend our childhood reaching into cabinets that don’t belong to us then one day we turn our backs on every reason to want to keep reaching.
Darius Rucker’s attempt at Country Music was a bold step in the right direction. Fans of Hootie and Blowfish don’t see it that way…the new stuff is Hootie. Sorry it took those who support Country so long to catch up with the rest of the Alternative music world. The group KISS will never make it into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame…the only thing they mastered was marketing—every song sounds the same making no impact on the industry that supported it.
I will never make it to the higher ranks of radio—I smile too much and demand the inner creative flow to keep everything I talk about positive. I’ve never wanted to be the bearer of bad news…the decision to be Mr. Happy cost me a career.
What are you keeping yourself from? Take one good look at the word creativity and honestly answer the question…do you truly exercise your right to be creative by constantly creating new ways and means?
Maybe that’s why you’re stuck doing a job you can’t stand.
It’s time to invite change…everyday, every second and every life connected to yours in the many years that take place after you.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Has that ever happened? The boldly printed words pasted to a page only your fingertips know and the single thought presented reveals not only the characters much deeper identity but without doubt the author’s presentation mimics the secret tales you’ve kept hidden for many chapters of your own.
Everybody from Julia Cameron to Pierre Matisse, Peter Max and even Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane and Starship have gently explained the continuation of art to me—not one of them truly knowing its origin, just that they could no longer keep it inside.
When you think art…its only natural to assume its what’s left on a canvas, paper or wood then proudly displayed in galleries and or carry price tags so high the truest fans of the expression can never support those who’ve reached into their channeled emotions and afforded them the opportunity to hang the art openly and freely on their walls.
My mentor in life Dr. Ronald Mack spent his final year’s nose deep in a personal drive to locate the purest form of arts history—a man in his late seventies then quickly into the eight oh’s of everyday living…we spent hours verbally discussing the brush strokes of Georgia O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Picasso and others who finely tuned their beings into a well crafted bewilderment—basically meaning, like you...art just happens and they knew it. Some people become more famous for being connected to it.
I love talking about art in the way that it’s everywhere. The Ford Mustang is art. So was the Volkswagen Thing with its cousin the VW Bus. I’ve never believed we don't see the best part of a tree—what we’re given are the arms that connect the wood creatures to valuable sunlight and water…therefore each branch makes up the rooting system of a world humans never touch located below the surface where other animals keep free from the murky mess we’re creating to benefit mammal selfishness.
I hear it all the time, “I love to create! Creating is my life!”
The average person doesn’t call what they make art because if it’s not linked to something famous it’s nothing more than a doodle or hobby. Shocking to me was when I learned that 99.9999 percent of us also have no clue what creativity is. It’s far from being the envisioned destination of an expressed relationship between self and paper.
When I walk into Wentworth Gallery to do nothing more than study the pieces so readily available…it never dawned on me how out of focus today’s most brilliant names truly are. A stroll through Charleston's art district unveils a sense of passion versus search while trying to capsize the performance of a heart being held by an invisible fragrance of love that’s vowed to be accepted. Study the framed piece a little longer while keeping the other eye in glance state at the other paintings being offered by the same artist.
I love Peter Max because he peaks his acrylics…its thick, rich, unforgettable and filled with an artists flavor to be spotted in places where the rest of the world seems flat. Peter does flowers, the Statue of Liberty, Mick Jagger, a flash of Oriental inspiration while constantly taking pot shots at Andy Warhol all because a cab driver had no clue as to whom he was hauling around the large city. Peter masterminded late 60’s early 70’s American art culture…Peter Max’s style hasn’t changed in decades. Peter is not creative.
What?
You can be the most brilliant salesperson on your team but unless you are reinventing your performance on a daily or weekly basis you’re allowing the rest of the world to not only catch up to you but to use your methods of performance against you. People see your work and scream talent. Unless you continuously create newer ways to manifest the next level of expressing then what you have is every reason to feel stale and completely burned out.
As an artist my best work are eyes. I paint angels without faces because it allows your imagination to mysteriously disappear into whatever visions you see creating music your heart will soon sing. I have hundreds of eyes, birds and angels. They are stacked up, put in boxes and hang on peoples walls all over this country and each time I see them I don’t feel what was delivered the moment they suddenly appeared out of my fingers. Not one single piece of my art is seen in the four walls I call home.
My art went silent three years ago…not a single drop shared since. Although my ego calls each effort an attempt by an artist…the answer as to why I had gone silent wasn’t available to study until the book read, “Creativity only exists when you are creating new ways and means not doing the same thing over and over again. Creativity is creating not doing the same thing over and over.”
Maybe I should be drawing giant noses with oversized hairs battling diseases. Then next week I’ll leap into well rounded shoulders followed by a billion plus one different hair styles then toes that aren’t perfect and looking at them creates a scent so strong you’re forced to cover your nose with long hairs as you walk by.
We demand technology to change everyday. We never tell the image in the mirror to get back to work. The thought of us doing it on a more personal level is liking waiting in line to die. We spend our childhood reaching into cabinets that don’t belong to us then one day we turn our backs on every reason to want to keep reaching.
Darius Rucker’s attempt at Country Music was a bold step in the right direction. Fans of Hootie and Blowfish don’t see it that way…the new stuff is Hootie. Sorry it took those who support Country so long to catch up with the rest of the Alternative music world. The group KISS will never make it into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame…the only thing they mastered was marketing—every song sounds the same making no impact on the industry that supported it.
I will never make it to the higher ranks of radio—I smile too much and demand the inner creative flow to keep everything I talk about positive. I’ve never wanted to be the bearer of bad news…the decision to be Mr. Happy cost me a career.
What are you keeping yourself from? Take one good look at the word creativity and honestly answer the question…do you truly exercise your right to be creative by constantly creating new ways and means?
Maybe that’s why you’re stuck doing a job you can’t stand.
It’s time to invite change…everyday, every second and every life connected to yours in the many years that take place after you.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Stop searching for a new job until you understand the word creativity...
So shocked I dropped the book.
Has that ever happened? The boldly printed words pasted to a page only your fingertips know and the single thought presented reveals not only the characters much deeper identity but without doubt the author’s presentation mimics the secret tales you’ve kept hidden for many chapters of your own.
Everybody from Julia Cameron to Pierre Matisse, Peter Max and even Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane and Starship have gently explained the continuation of art to me—not one of them truly knowing its origin, just that they could no longer keep it inside.
When you think art…its only natural to assume its what’s left on a canvas, paper or wood then proudly displayed in galleries and or carry price tags so high the truest fans of the expression can never support those who’ve reached into their channeled emotions and afforded them the opportunity to hang the art openly and freely on their walls.
My mentor in life Dr. Ronald Mack spent his final year’s nose deep in a personal drive to locate the purest form of arts history—a man in his late seventies then quickly into the eight oh’s of everyday living…we spent hours verbally discussing the brush strokes of Georgia O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Picasso and others who finely tuned their beings into a well crafted bewilderment—basically meaning, like you...art just happens and they knew it. Some people become more famous for being connected to it.
I love talking about art in the way that it’s everywhere. The Ford Mustang is art. So was the Volkswagen Thing with its cousin the VW Bus. I’ve never believed we don't see the best part of a tree—what we’re given are the arms that connect the wood creatures to valuable sunlight and water…therefore each branch makes up the rooting system of a world humans never touch located below the surface where other animals keep free from the murky mess we’re creating to benefit mammal selfishness.
I hear it all the time, “I love to create! Creating is my life!”
The average person doesn’t call what they make art because if it’s not linked to something famous it’s nothing more than a doodle or hobby. Shocking to me was when I learned that 99.9999 percent of us also have no clue what creativity is. It’s far from being the envisioned destination of an expressed relationship between self and paper.
When I walk into Wentworth Gallery to do nothing more than study the pieces so readily available…it never dawned on me how out of focus today’s most brilliant names truly are. A stroll through Charleston's art district unveils a sense of passion versus search while trying to capsize the performance of a heart being held by an invisible fragrance of love that’s vowed to be accepted. Study the framed piece a little longer while keeping the other eye in glance state at the other paintings being offered by the same artist.
I love Peter Max because he peaks his acrylics…its thick, rich, unforgettable and filled with an artists flavor to be spotted in places where the rest of the world seems flat. Peter does flowers, the Statue of Liberty, Mick Jagger, a flash of Oriental inspiration while constantly taking pot shots at Andy Warhol all because a cab driver had no clue as to whom he was hauling around the large city. Peter masterminded late 60’s early 70’s American art culture…Peter Max’s style hasn’t changed in decades. Peter is not creative.
What?
You can be the most brilliant salesperson on your team but unless you are reinventing your performance on a daily or weekly basis you’re allowing the rest of the world to not only catch up to you but to use your methods of performance against you. People see your work and scream talent. Unless you continuously create newer ways to manifest the next level of expressing then what you have is every reason to feel stale and completely burned out.
As an artist my best work are eyes. I paint angels without faces because it allows your imagination to mysteriously disappear into whatever visions you see creating music your heart will soon sing. I have hundreds of eyes, birds and angels. They are stacked up, put in boxes and hang on peoples walls all over this country and each time I see them I don’t feel what was delivered the moment they suddenly appeared out of my fingers. Not one single piece of my art is seen in the four walls I call home.
My art went silent three years ago…not a single drop shared since. Although my ego calls each effort an attempt by an artist…the answer as to why I had gone silent wasn’t available to study until the book read, “Creativity only exists when you are creating new ways and means not doing the same thing over and over again. Creativity is creating not doing the same thing over and over.”
Maybe I should be drawing giant noses with oversized hairs battling diseases. Then next week I’ll leap into well rounded shoulders followed by a billion plus one different hair styles then toes that aren’t perfect and looking at them creates a scent so strong you’re forced to cover your nose with long hairs as you walk by.
We demand technology to change everyday. We never tell the image in the mirror to get back to work. The thought of us doing it on a more personal level is liking waiting in line to die. We spend our childhood reaching into cabinets that don’t belong to us then one day we turn our backs on every reason to want to keep reaching.
Darius Rucker’s attempt at Country Music was a bold step in the right direction. Fans of Hootie and Blowfish don’t see it that way…the new stuff is Hootie. Sorry it took those who support Country so long to catch up with the rest of the Alternative music world. The group KISS will never make it into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame…the only thing they mastered was marketing—every song sounds the same making no impact on the industry that supported it.
I will never make it to the higher ranks of radio—I smile too much and demand the inner creative flow to keep everything I talk about positive. I’ve never wanted to be the bearer of bad news…the decision to be Mr. Happy cost me a career.
What are you keeping yourself from? Take one good look at the word creativity and honestly answer the question…do you truly exercise your right to be creative by constantly creating new ways and means?
Maybe that’s why you’re stuck doing a job you can’t stand.
It’s time to invite change…everyday, every second and every life connected to yours in the many years that take place after you.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Has that ever happened? The boldly printed words pasted to a page only your fingertips know and the single thought presented reveals not only the characters much deeper identity but without doubt the author’s presentation mimics the secret tales you’ve kept hidden for many chapters of your own.
Everybody from Julia Cameron to Pierre Matisse, Peter Max and even Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane and Starship have gently explained the continuation of art to me—not one of them truly knowing its origin, just that they could no longer keep it inside.
When you think art…its only natural to assume its what’s left on a canvas, paper or wood then proudly displayed in galleries and or carry price tags so high the truest fans of the expression can never support those who’ve reached into their channeled emotions and afforded them the opportunity to hang the art openly and freely on their walls.
My mentor in life Dr. Ronald Mack spent his final year’s nose deep in a personal drive to locate the purest form of arts history—a man in his late seventies then quickly into the eight oh’s of everyday living…we spent hours verbally discussing the brush strokes of Georgia O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Picasso and others who finely tuned their beings into a well crafted bewilderment—basically meaning, like you...art just happens and they knew it. Some people become more famous for being connected to it.
I love talking about art in the way that it’s everywhere. The Ford Mustang is art. So was the Volkswagen Thing with its cousin the VW Bus. I’ve never believed we don't see the best part of a tree—what we’re given are the arms that connect the wood creatures to valuable sunlight and water…therefore each branch makes up the rooting system of a world humans never touch located below the surface where other animals keep free from the murky mess we’re creating to benefit mammal selfishness.
I hear it all the time, “I love to create! Creating is my life!”
The average person doesn’t call what they make art because if it’s not linked to something famous it’s nothing more than a doodle or hobby. Shocking to me was when I learned that 99.9999 percent of us also have no clue what creativity is. It’s far from being the envisioned destination of an expressed relationship between self and paper.
When I walk into Wentworth Gallery to do nothing more than study the pieces so readily available…it never dawned on me how out of focus today’s most brilliant names truly are. A stroll through Charleston's art district unveils a sense of passion versus search while trying to capsize the performance of a heart being held by an invisible fragrance of love that’s vowed to be accepted. Study the framed piece a little longer while keeping the other eye in glance state at the other paintings being offered by the same artist.
I love Peter Max because he peaks his acrylics…its thick, rich, unforgettable and filled with an artists flavor to be spotted in places where the rest of the world seems flat. Peter does flowers, the Statue of Liberty, Mick Jagger, a flash of Oriental inspiration while constantly taking pot shots at Andy Warhol all because a cab driver had no clue as to whom he was hauling around the large city. Peter masterminded late 60’s early 70’s American art culture…Peter Max’s style hasn’t changed in decades. Peter is not creative.
What?
You can be the most brilliant salesperson on your team but unless you are reinventing your performance on a daily or weekly basis you’re allowing the rest of the world to not only catch up to you but to use your methods of performance against you. People see your work and scream talent. Unless you continuously create newer ways to manifest the next level of expressing then what you have is every reason to feel stale and completely burned out.
As an artist my best work are eyes. I paint angels without faces because it allows your imagination to mysteriously disappear into whatever visions you see creating music your heart will soon sing. I have hundreds of eyes, birds and angels. They are stacked up, put in boxes and hang on peoples walls all over this country and each time I see them I don’t feel what was delivered the moment they suddenly appeared out of my fingers. Not one single piece of my art is seen in the four walls I call home.
My art went silent three years ago…not a single drop shared since. Although my ego calls each effort an attempt by an artist…the answer as to why I had gone silent wasn’t available to study until the book read, “Creativity only exists when you are creating new ways and means not doing the same thing over and over again. Creativity is creating not doing the same thing over and over.”
Maybe I should be drawing giant noses with oversized hairs battling diseases. Then next week I’ll leap into well rounded shoulders followed by a billion plus one different hair styles then toes that aren’t perfect and looking at them creates a scent so strong you’re forced to cover your nose with long hairs as you walk by.
We demand technology to change everyday. We never tell the image in the mirror to get back to work. The thought of us doing it on a more personal level is liking waiting in line to die. We spend our childhood reaching into cabinets that don’t belong to us then one day we turn our backs on every reason to want to keep reaching.
Darius Rucker’s attempt at Country Music was a bold step in the right direction. Fans of Hootie and Blowfish don’t see it that way…the new stuff is Hootie. Sorry it took those who support Country so long to catch up with the rest of the Alternative music world. The group KISS will never make it into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame…the only thing they mastered was marketing—every song sounds the same making no impact on the industry that supported it.
I will never make it to the higher ranks of radio—I smile too much and demand the inner creative flow to keep everything I talk about positive. I’ve never wanted to be the bearer of bad news…the decision to be Mr. Happy cost me a career.
What are you keeping yourself from? Take one good look at the word creativity and honestly answer the question…do you truly exercise your right to be creative by constantly creating new ways and means?
Maybe that’s why you’re stuck doing a job you can’t stand.
It’s time to invite change…everyday, every second and every life connected to yours in the many years that take place after you.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Friday, January 22, 2010
Yes you can...if you have training wheels.
Where did you stuff your training wheels?
Between the ages of three to five tiny tikes free themselves from trikes and brave the odds of balance on two rather than three wheels. One crash and mom and dad are quick to bolt a set of extra balance to your backside which turns bike riding into a seriously cool excursion fed by the need to find speed in exploration.
Once you capture six and no later than seven…the fix is over. If you ain’t peddling on the power of two wheels you become a runner. And just like that…human nature has its first date with the I quit syndrome.
Having those extra wheels behind you didn’t guarantee a solid climb up a sturdy mountain but it convinced your fears that no matter what happened the bicycle wasn’t going to be a problem, unless you were headed south on a northbound hill and the brakes ended up being the page in the owners manual you elected not to study. Even then, you would fly and the bike would still be standing there like Dwayne The Rock Johnson calmly saying, “Get back on…lets take a flight to the moon.”
As a teen, young adult and middle aged to senior, the thought of taking chances has become a passing breeze that nibbles on your nose and quickly says, “Not for me.”
Keeping up with American culture comes with no training wheels.
Setting sail on an open sea of creativity is for failed artists and straight A students who can’t live without a challenge—but in time, like leaves on the tree in the front yard…everything you love hits turn number four inside your squared circle. What you once loved, cherished, found faith in no longer delivers that buzz.
I see the image in the mirror everyday and go totally New Jersey on his attitude, “What’s your problem?”
I have no clue how I reached 2nd degree status in martial arts and even worse…30 years of radio. I can’t finish reading or writing a book. I fell into a bucket of paint and landscaped nearly a thousand canvases only to find myself stuck smelling the fumes from something I used to be. I can start a project in the forest with incredible intensions but end up setting it aside when kicked in the tail by the presence of a tree root that immediately turned my path into a quick turn at the railroad tracks.
Training wheels…
Can’t wait to get them on…can’t stand the idea my friends have turned the enjoyment of bike riding into an Optimist Park comedy act. I love skateboarding! Was doing it before it was cool…kind of—I never mastered the fine art of standing up. Too afraid to fall. The mid 70's didnt come with really cool pads and helmets. I turned out to be the kid who sat on his knees and used his hands to push his dreams to separate parts of the newly discovered world.
Why 30 years of radio? Training wheels…
As much as I wanted to be Cajun Ken Cooper in Los Angeles or Larry Lujack in Chicago, a tiny voice kept whispering, “Loser…” But I couldn’t stop the extremely loud drive to keep pushing my way into an industry that eats up innocent dreamers by the second—I feared this business so bad that a moment of accidentally using foul language on the air finally pointed the way…during the process of being suspended without pay, I calmly asked Terry the GM, “While out…who do you suggest produce the commercials?”
Looking at me with fire in his heart Terry took my visions of one day living in a purple house in the city of angels while cranking Aerosmith and Kiss through guitar amps the size of Mount Mitchell to a level I didn’t know existed until he plopped down in that rich person leadership chair and through those long well tailored fingers said, “If I ever hear you cuss on the air again…you’ll be right back in this office.”
Once inside a radio station production room I realized…this is where the magic of theater of the mind truly lives. Jocks are jocks and they get one chance to make a difference. A great commercial can play over and over again like The Beatles, Chris Daughtry and REM.
Training wheels…
These aren’t bad times in America and around the world—this is the voice you’ve been waiting for, “Build it and they will come.”
Why do we stop? Fear of failure is created by bosses who fear themselves and pass it along to you. Constructive criticism is dynamite. Leadership is the new terrorism and Homeland Security hasn’t devised a plan to save this unforgettable nation. You can’t have an evil takeover if those playing the part of worker bee no longer believe in the selves they haul home everyday hoping to cry but the only thing that comes out is dust.
Training wheels…
We all have drawers in the kitchen stuffed with bolts and nuts we thought we’d never use until today. Grab a wrench and let’s get you saddled up for what’s going to become the ride of your life. Winning is a choice and today…you’ve decided to finally accomplish what you’ve always dreamed.
The day will arrive before you know it, where the only choice you're given is heaven or hell...that’s it man, Wal-Mart won’t give you a refund or exchange...not even with a rain check.
Steal my art...
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Between the ages of three to five tiny tikes free themselves from trikes and brave the odds of balance on two rather than three wheels. One crash and mom and dad are quick to bolt a set of extra balance to your backside which turns bike riding into a seriously cool excursion fed by the need to find speed in exploration.
Once you capture six and no later than seven…the fix is over. If you ain’t peddling on the power of two wheels you become a runner. And just like that…human nature has its first date with the I quit syndrome.
Having those extra wheels behind you didn’t guarantee a solid climb up a sturdy mountain but it convinced your fears that no matter what happened the bicycle wasn’t going to be a problem, unless you were headed south on a northbound hill and the brakes ended up being the page in the owners manual you elected not to study. Even then, you would fly and the bike would still be standing there like Dwayne The Rock Johnson calmly saying, “Get back on…lets take a flight to the moon.”
As a teen, young adult and middle aged to senior, the thought of taking chances has become a passing breeze that nibbles on your nose and quickly says, “Not for me.”
Keeping up with American culture comes with no training wheels.
Setting sail on an open sea of creativity is for failed artists and straight A students who can’t live without a challenge—but in time, like leaves on the tree in the front yard…everything you love hits turn number four inside your squared circle. What you once loved, cherished, found faith in no longer delivers that buzz.
I see the image in the mirror everyday and go totally New Jersey on his attitude, “What’s your problem?”
I have no clue how I reached 2nd degree status in martial arts and even worse…30 years of radio. I can’t finish reading or writing a book. I fell into a bucket of paint and landscaped nearly a thousand canvases only to find myself stuck smelling the fumes from something I used to be. I can start a project in the forest with incredible intensions but end up setting it aside when kicked in the tail by the presence of a tree root that immediately turned my path into a quick turn at the railroad tracks.
Training wheels…
Can’t wait to get them on…can’t stand the idea my friends have turned the enjoyment of bike riding into an Optimist Park comedy act. I love skateboarding! Was doing it before it was cool…kind of—I never mastered the fine art of standing up. Too afraid to fall. The mid 70's didnt come with really cool pads and helmets. I turned out to be the kid who sat on his knees and used his hands to push his dreams to separate parts of the newly discovered world.
Why 30 years of radio? Training wheels…
As much as I wanted to be Cajun Ken Cooper in Los Angeles or Larry Lujack in Chicago, a tiny voice kept whispering, “Loser…” But I couldn’t stop the extremely loud drive to keep pushing my way into an industry that eats up innocent dreamers by the second—I feared this business so bad that a moment of accidentally using foul language on the air finally pointed the way…during the process of being suspended without pay, I calmly asked Terry the GM, “While out…who do you suggest produce the commercials?”
Looking at me with fire in his heart Terry took my visions of one day living in a purple house in the city of angels while cranking Aerosmith and Kiss through guitar amps the size of Mount Mitchell to a level I didn’t know existed until he plopped down in that rich person leadership chair and through those long well tailored fingers said, “If I ever hear you cuss on the air again…you’ll be right back in this office.”
Once inside a radio station production room I realized…this is where the magic of theater of the mind truly lives. Jocks are jocks and they get one chance to make a difference. A great commercial can play over and over again like The Beatles, Chris Daughtry and REM.
Training wheels…
These aren’t bad times in America and around the world—this is the voice you’ve been waiting for, “Build it and they will come.”
Why do we stop? Fear of failure is created by bosses who fear themselves and pass it along to you. Constructive criticism is dynamite. Leadership is the new terrorism and Homeland Security hasn’t devised a plan to save this unforgettable nation. You can’t have an evil takeover if those playing the part of worker bee no longer believe in the selves they haul home everyday hoping to cry but the only thing that comes out is dust.
Training wheels…
We all have drawers in the kitchen stuffed with bolts and nuts we thought we’d never use until today. Grab a wrench and let’s get you saddled up for what’s going to become the ride of your life. Winning is a choice and today…you’ve decided to finally accomplish what you’ve always dreamed.
The day will arrive before you know it, where the only choice you're given is heaven or hell...that’s it man, Wal-Mart won’t give you a refund or exchange...not even with a rain check.
Steal my art...
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Caught between walk and don't walk...
In Lou Solomon’s new book Say Something Real: Humanizing Communication is Today’s Best Business Strategy…the author wastes no time when it comes to picking a fight. Lou is out front, blunt, pure in his vision and would probably get canned ten minutes after walking through the front door of any radio station.
One side of me loves his view; if it’s not a good morning don’t fake it to gain brownie points in a popularity contest. Be open, honest and to the point, in time coworkers and family members will adjust.
The politically correct side of my personality put on the boxing gloves on page one. It’s never a cloudy day in the Carolina’s—it’s partly sunny or two days from the now that big bright beautiful ball of heat will quickly return to make your day brilliant.
I can’t handle the weight of being someone’s buzz kill.
My biggest weakness as a radio on-air talent is taking the glass is half full and not half empty approach to everything I touch, only to hear, “Is that a real laugh or are you faking it like a radio disc jockey?”
That attitude lasts about as long as a typical radio show…
In a commercial production room I take on a different face—I’m overboard serious, almost too much to the point, a fan of the client and always willing to throw my career on the line in the name of getting them business or someone to tune in rather than out of their commercials. If you walk into my studio, you’re guaranteed to get a producer whose only mission in life is to make sure success is connected to their name.
Ego? Yes!
Which is Lou’s purpose of writing his new chapters—the world of business has been overtaken by untalented top dogs who rely on ego driven statements to seize control of having a job tomorrow: Make it or break it. We shall conquer! We’re here until the end! Quality over quantity. The best never rest. Lead or be led.
You get the idea…
In most cases Bookstore hero bosses who’ve become addicted to reading and following John C Maxwell, Anthony Robbins and others would never go down with the ship—they haul tail and bail at the first sight of rough waters. Nice! Whatever happened to trust? I want to make sure that book or motivational speaker never collects dust on the shelves that which make up my personal library. It's too easy to learn how to quit. Once there, its too difficult to learn how to be great again.
An interesting conversation broke out in Tae Kwon Do the other night—Master Harris openly admitted to his senior Black Belts that he failed me by not suggesting in the months before my heart attack that I get a professional opinion. He noticed things were changing quickly and didn’t say anything. I in return failed my broadcasting friend and co-host of a Kentucky radio show Francine who unexpectedly passed last week at the age of 43. She wasn’t the normal explosion of energy she’s known to be…coming fresh out of a bout with the body, I could’ve easily said, “When was the last time you had your heart checked?”
How we act is how we lead. In your heart you may be convinced that your soul purpose is to be nothing more than a co-worker…in reality…how you act is how you lead. If you give up at 3pm, so does the person in the cubical next to you. Suddenly the innocent yawn has made it full circle and the boss is stuck spouting quotes from the latest book he picked up at Barnes and Noble.
If for one second I lay low on creating a piece of commercial copy—the multitude of students who pass through these halls to view the world of radio will assume the art of communications is nothing more than banging it out. Many can’t handle my dedication to the presentation of fine detail—they’d rather see highway billboard signs hanging inside radio speakers. Those interns elect to leave then spend the rest of their broadcasting lives wondering why the career never took off.
From the pages of Lou Solomon I’ve elected to speak real and that has upset many broadcasting schools.
It’s too easy to flower up a rain filled weather forecast. I can’t stand it when radio disc jockeys call every flick in the theater the greatest thing out there. I read the reviews in Rollingstone Magazine and want to vomit because the buddy buddy game of nudge nudge wink wink steals from your pocket.
On the air I’ll talk about how incredible American Idol is…I have too! It’s the number one show in America; to knock it means I’ve now invaded something you totally can’t get enough of.
Behind the scenes, in the world of me being real…the conversation has me wondering if this year’s worst performers are fake. What about the dude who was arrested on national TV for not wanting to leave or the tall guy with giant black glasses that failed to understand he had a bad attitude and wouldn’t stop repeating Kara’s words as if to be locating places to plan out his unrehearsed attempt at doing improv? Season nine is nothing more than a stunt show. Why? To get people to talk, write on Twitter or waste computer page space on blogging sites to say, “Did you see?”
What if Lou Solomon’s approach to recreating great business catches on…can the average worker handle abrupt in your face criticism?
A Program Director once said to me, “I’m not the king of a place of entertainment. I am your boss and your job is to make people move now. Not tomorrow, not in a week, not as a memory of the DJ they listened to as a kid. Become part of their life by 7pm tonight or don’t bother coming back in here tomorrow. It starts with faking a smile.”
This is where visions of my mother start to invade my walking space, “Don’t give me that DJ radio talk…what you see and have seen happens everyday in the real world.”
So you’ve got some homework—locate the America that best suits your job potential—fake it to win a popularity contest or a lean mean fighting machine that no other nation will topple because American made is undeniably the greatest product on earth. Pick a side and let’s win!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
One side of me loves his view; if it’s not a good morning don’t fake it to gain brownie points in a popularity contest. Be open, honest and to the point, in time coworkers and family members will adjust.
The politically correct side of my personality put on the boxing gloves on page one. It’s never a cloudy day in the Carolina’s—it’s partly sunny or two days from the now that big bright beautiful ball of heat will quickly return to make your day brilliant.
I can’t handle the weight of being someone’s buzz kill.
My biggest weakness as a radio on-air talent is taking the glass is half full and not half empty approach to everything I touch, only to hear, “Is that a real laugh or are you faking it like a radio disc jockey?”
That attitude lasts about as long as a typical radio show…
In a commercial production room I take on a different face—I’m overboard serious, almost too much to the point, a fan of the client and always willing to throw my career on the line in the name of getting them business or someone to tune in rather than out of their commercials. If you walk into my studio, you’re guaranteed to get a producer whose only mission in life is to make sure success is connected to their name.
Ego? Yes!
Which is Lou’s purpose of writing his new chapters—the world of business has been overtaken by untalented top dogs who rely on ego driven statements to seize control of having a job tomorrow: Make it or break it. We shall conquer! We’re here until the end! Quality over quantity. The best never rest. Lead or be led.
You get the idea…
In most cases Bookstore hero bosses who’ve become addicted to reading and following John C Maxwell, Anthony Robbins and others would never go down with the ship—they haul tail and bail at the first sight of rough waters. Nice! Whatever happened to trust? I want to make sure that book or motivational speaker never collects dust on the shelves that which make up my personal library. It's too easy to learn how to quit. Once there, its too difficult to learn how to be great again.
An interesting conversation broke out in Tae Kwon Do the other night—Master Harris openly admitted to his senior Black Belts that he failed me by not suggesting in the months before my heart attack that I get a professional opinion. He noticed things were changing quickly and didn’t say anything. I in return failed my broadcasting friend and co-host of a Kentucky radio show Francine who unexpectedly passed last week at the age of 43. She wasn’t the normal explosion of energy she’s known to be…coming fresh out of a bout with the body, I could’ve easily said, “When was the last time you had your heart checked?”
How we act is how we lead. In your heart you may be convinced that your soul purpose is to be nothing more than a co-worker…in reality…how you act is how you lead. If you give up at 3pm, so does the person in the cubical next to you. Suddenly the innocent yawn has made it full circle and the boss is stuck spouting quotes from the latest book he picked up at Barnes and Noble.
If for one second I lay low on creating a piece of commercial copy—the multitude of students who pass through these halls to view the world of radio will assume the art of communications is nothing more than banging it out. Many can’t handle my dedication to the presentation of fine detail—they’d rather see highway billboard signs hanging inside radio speakers. Those interns elect to leave then spend the rest of their broadcasting lives wondering why the career never took off.
From the pages of Lou Solomon I’ve elected to speak real and that has upset many broadcasting schools.
It’s too easy to flower up a rain filled weather forecast. I can’t stand it when radio disc jockeys call every flick in the theater the greatest thing out there. I read the reviews in Rollingstone Magazine and want to vomit because the buddy buddy game of nudge nudge wink wink steals from your pocket.
On the air I’ll talk about how incredible American Idol is…I have too! It’s the number one show in America; to knock it means I’ve now invaded something you totally can’t get enough of.
Behind the scenes, in the world of me being real…the conversation has me wondering if this year’s worst performers are fake. What about the dude who was arrested on national TV for not wanting to leave or the tall guy with giant black glasses that failed to understand he had a bad attitude and wouldn’t stop repeating Kara’s words as if to be locating places to plan out his unrehearsed attempt at doing improv? Season nine is nothing more than a stunt show. Why? To get people to talk, write on Twitter or waste computer page space on blogging sites to say, “Did you see?”
What if Lou Solomon’s approach to recreating great business catches on…can the average worker handle abrupt in your face criticism?
A Program Director once said to me, “I’m not the king of a place of entertainment. I am your boss and your job is to make people move now. Not tomorrow, not in a week, not as a memory of the DJ they listened to as a kid. Become part of their life by 7pm tonight or don’t bother coming back in here tomorrow. It starts with faking a smile.”
This is where visions of my mother start to invade my walking space, “Don’t give me that DJ radio talk…what you see and have seen happens everyday in the real world.”
So you’ve got some homework—locate the America that best suits your job potential—fake it to win a popularity contest or a lean mean fighting machine that no other nation will topple because American made is undeniably the greatest product on earth. Pick a side and let’s win!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Caught between walk and don't walk...
In Lou Solomon’s new book Say Something Real: Humanizing Communication is Today’s Best Business Strategy…the author wastes no time when it comes to picking a fight. Lou is out front, blunt, pure in his vision and would probably get canned ten minutes after walking through the front door of any radio station.
One side of me loves his view; if it’s not a good morning don’t fake it to gain brownie points in a popularity contest. Be open, honest and to the point, in time coworkers and family members will adjust.
The politically correct side of my personality put on the boxing gloves on page one. It’s never a cloudy day in the Carolina’s—it’s partly sunny or two days from the now that big bright beautiful ball of heat will quickly return to make your day brilliant.
I can’t handle the weight of being someone’s buzz kill.
My biggest weakness as a radio on-air talent is taking the glass is half full and not half empty approach to everything I touch, only to hear, “Is that a real laugh or are you faking it like a radio disc jockey?”
That attitude lasts about as long as a typical radio show…
In a commercial production room I take on a different face—I’m overboard serious, almost too much to the point, a fan of the client and always willing to throw my career on the line in the name of getting them business or someone to tune in rather than out of their commercials. If you walk into my studio, you’re guaranteed to get a producer whose only mission in life is to make sure success is connected to their name.
Ego? Yes!
Which is Lou’s purpose of writing his new chapters—the world of business has been overtaken by untalented top dogs who rely on ego driven statements to seize control of having a job tomorrow: Make it or break it. We shall conquer! We’re here until the end! Quality over quantity. The best never rest. Lead or be led.
You get the idea…
In most cases Bookstore hero bosses who’ve become addicted to reading and following John C Maxwell, Anthony Robbins and others would never go down with the ship—they haul tail and bail at the first sight of rough waters. Nice! Whatever happened to trust? I want to make sure that book or motivational speaker never collects dust on the shelves that which make up my personal library. It's too easy to learn how to quit. Once there, its too difficult to learn how to be great again.
An interesting conversation broke out in Tae Kwon Do the other night—Master Harris openly admitted to his senior Black Belts that he failed me by not suggesting in the months before my heart attack that I get a professional opinion. He noticed things were changing quickly and didn’t say anything. I in return failed my broadcasting friend and co-host of a Kentucky radio show Francine who unexpectedly passed last week at the age of 43. She wasn’t the normal explosion of energy she’s known to be…coming fresh out of a bout with the body, I could’ve easily said, “When was the last time you had your heart checked?”
How we act is how we lead. In your heart you may be convinced that your soul purpose is to be nothing more than a co-worker…in reality…how you act is how you lead. If you give up at 3pm, so does the person in the cubical next to you. Suddenly the innocent yawn has made it full circle and the boss is stuck spouting quotes from the latest book he picked up at Barnes and Noble.
If for one second I lay low on creating a piece of commercial copy—the multitude of students who pass through these halls to view the world of radio will assume the art of communications is nothing more than banging it out. Many can’t handle my dedication to the presentation of fine detail—they’d rather see highway billboard signs hanging inside radio speakers. Those interns elect to leave then spend the rest of their broadcasting lives wondering why the career never took off.
From the pages of Lou Solomon I’ve elected to speak real and that has upset many broadcasting schools.
It’s too easy to flower up a rain filled weather forecast. I can’t stand it when radio disc jockeys call every flick in the theater the greatest thing out there. I read the reviews in Rollingstone Magazine and want to vomit because the buddy buddy game of nudge nudge wink wink steals from your pocket.
On the air I’ll talk about how incredible American Idol is…I have too! It’s the number one show in America; to knock it means I’ve now invaded something you totally can’t get enough of.
Behind the scenes, in the world of me being real…the conversation has me wondering if this year’s worst performers are fake. What about the dude who was arrested on national TV for not wanting to leave or the tall guy with giant black glasses that failed to understand he had a bad attitude and wouldn’t stop repeating Kara’s words as if to be locating places to plan out his unrehearsed attempt at doing improv? Season nine is nothing more than a stunt show. Why? To get people to talk, write on Twitter or waste computer page space on blogging sites to say, “Did you see?”
What if Lou Solomon’s approach to recreating great business catches on…can the average worker handle abrupt in your face criticism?
A Program Director once said to me, “I’m not the king of a place of entertainment. I am your boss and your job is to make people move now. Not tomorrow, not in a week, not as a memory of the DJ they listened to as a kid. Become part of their life by 7pm tonight or don’t bother coming back in here tomorrow. It starts with faking a smile.”
This is where visions of my mother start to invade my walking space, “Don’t give me that DJ radio talk…what you see and have seen happens everyday in the real world.”
So you’ve got some homework—locate the America that best suits your job potential—fake it to win a popularity contest or a lean mean fighting machine that no other nation will topple because American made is undeniably the greatest product on earth. Pick a side and let’s win!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
One side of me loves his view; if it’s not a good morning don’t fake it to gain brownie points in a popularity contest. Be open, honest and to the point, in time coworkers and family members will adjust.
The politically correct side of my personality put on the boxing gloves on page one. It’s never a cloudy day in the Carolina’s—it’s partly sunny or two days from the now that big bright beautiful ball of heat will quickly return to make your day brilliant.
I can’t handle the weight of being someone’s buzz kill.
My biggest weakness as a radio on-air talent is taking the glass is half full and not half empty approach to everything I touch, only to hear, “Is that a real laugh or are you faking it like a radio disc jockey?”
That attitude lasts about as long as a typical radio show…
In a commercial production room I take on a different face—I’m overboard serious, almost too much to the point, a fan of the client and always willing to throw my career on the line in the name of getting them business or someone to tune in rather than out of their commercials. If you walk into my studio, you’re guaranteed to get a producer whose only mission in life is to make sure success is connected to their name.
Ego? Yes!
Which is Lou’s purpose of writing his new chapters—the world of business has been overtaken by untalented top dogs who rely on ego driven statements to seize control of having a job tomorrow: Make it or break it. We shall conquer! We’re here until the end! Quality over quantity. The best never rest. Lead or be led.
You get the idea…
In most cases Bookstore hero bosses who’ve become addicted to reading and following John C Maxwell, Anthony Robbins and others would never go down with the ship—they haul tail and bail at the first sight of rough waters. Nice! Whatever happened to trust? I want to make sure that book or motivational speaker never collects dust on the shelves that which make up my personal library. It's too easy to learn how to quit. Once there, its too difficult to learn how to be great again.
An interesting conversation broke out in Tae Kwon Do the other night—Master Harris openly admitted to his senior Black Belts that he failed me by not suggesting in the months before my heart attack that I get a professional opinion. He noticed things were changing quickly and didn’t say anything. I in return failed my broadcasting friend and co-host of a Kentucky radio show Francine who unexpectedly passed last week at the age of 43. She wasn’t the normal explosion of energy she’s known to be…coming fresh out of a bout with the body, I could’ve easily said, “When was the last time you had your heart checked?”
How we act is how we lead. In your heart you may be convinced that your soul purpose is to be nothing more than a co-worker…in reality…how you act is how you lead. If you give up at 3pm, so does the person in the cubical next to you. Suddenly the innocent yawn has made it full circle and the boss is stuck spouting quotes from the latest book he picked up at Barnes and Noble.
If for one second I lay low on creating a piece of commercial copy—the multitude of students who pass through these halls to view the world of radio will assume the art of communications is nothing more than banging it out. Many can’t handle my dedication to the presentation of fine detail—they’d rather see highway billboard signs hanging inside radio speakers. Those interns elect to leave then spend the rest of their broadcasting lives wondering why the career never took off.
From the pages of Lou Solomon I’ve elected to speak real and that has upset many broadcasting schools.
It’s too easy to flower up a rain filled weather forecast. I can’t stand it when radio disc jockeys call every flick in the theater the greatest thing out there. I read the reviews in Rollingstone Magazine and want to vomit because the buddy buddy game of nudge nudge wink wink steals from your pocket.
On the air I’ll talk about how incredible American Idol is…I have too! It’s the number one show in America; to knock it means I’ve now invaded something you totally can’t get enough of.
Behind the scenes, in the world of me being real…the conversation has me wondering if this year’s worst performers are fake. What about the dude who was arrested on national TV for not wanting to leave or the tall guy with giant black glasses that failed to understand he had a bad attitude and wouldn’t stop repeating Kara’s words as if to be locating places to plan out his unrehearsed attempt at doing improv? Season nine is nothing more than a stunt show. Why? To get people to talk, write on Twitter or waste computer page space on blogging sites to say, “Did you see?”
What if Lou Solomon’s approach to recreating great business catches on…can the average worker handle abrupt in your face criticism?
A Program Director once said to me, “I’m not the king of a place of entertainment. I am your boss and your job is to make people move now. Not tomorrow, not in a week, not as a memory of the DJ they listened to as a kid. Become part of their life by 7pm tonight or don’t bother coming back in here tomorrow. It starts with faking a smile.”
This is where visions of my mother start to invade my walking space, “Don’t give me that DJ radio talk…what you see and have seen happens everyday in the real world.”
So you’ve got some homework—locate the America that best suits your job potential—fake it to win a popularity contest or a lean mean fighting machine that no other nation will topple because American made is undeniably the greatest product on earth. Pick a side and let’s win!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Take me back to the ABC's of going Green!
They talked about it on Sunday night’s Golden Globe Awards. We’ve heard about it on the NBC Nightly News, Good Morning America, Regis and Kelly, Oprah and Ellen—famous people telling us that now is the time to begin eliminating your carbon footprint.
Outside of being horribly out of this world expensive, the thought of going green seems endless on a planet locked on constantly speaking over the heads of 99.3 percent of those who could make the impact possible.
We’ve all heard of fingerprints, footprints and things we’ve stepped in on the front lawn but as of late it’s been a top priority to shout out, “Forget picking up trash and convincing major corporations to cool off their giant smoke stacks…instead lets put focus on ending what science calls your carbon footprint.”
You will not find Carbon Footprint in Webster’s or on dictionary.com.
Punch those letters into Google, Yahoo and Bling and over 4.5 million sites are rip raring and ready to feed you full of something that might come across as cow created methane.
A carbon footprint is "the total set of GHG (greenhouse gas) emissions caused directly and indirectly by an individual, organization, event or product" (UK Carbon Trust 2008). An individual, nation, or organization's carbon footprint is measured by undertaking a GHG emissions assessment.
I’d love to find the monkey who has to speak in lawyer talk when trying to describe an object that seems to be of major importance…no wonder we aren’t buying into this. They spend millions convincing top dog Hollywood actors to preach the word then require the rest of us to seek out a conclusion.
Carbon footprinting isn’t the Super Bowl or March Madness…there’ll be winners and losers but for that to be determined the everyday average Joe and his wife Hazel need to have scorekeepers to keep them abreast of what to trust or better yet…to understand in the most simple of all languages.
Which is my legal way of saying everything I’m writing today is based 100% on assumption.
I’ve been to the Green stores who want to sell the backpacks that utilize the suns energy to power up your laptop, the hot water heaters that instantly make showers a great experience, the lights that barely torch up a room and the multitudes of ways to plant your next meal so it doesn’t have to be trucked across an uncaring nation.
Last year at this time I began to participate by introducing rain barrels that didn’t resemble trash cans sitting next to the house. I got together with a designer in Ohio to bring beauty to your backyard landscape only to learn the cost of such positive thinking for the environment was astronomically unreal and there was no way Joe and Hazel would buy into it.
Ask a coworker, brother or sister or the lazy bum of a neighbor what they think a carbon footprint is. You aren’t going to get this: A carbon footprint is "the total set of GHG (greenhouse gas) emissions caused directly and indirectly by an individual, organization, event or product" (UK Carbon Trust 2008). An individual, nation, or organization's carbon footprint is measured by undertaking a GHG emissions assessment.
Hank will continue using his gas powered lawnmower. Hilda Marie has no idea what it means to purchase an environmentally safe car and there’s no way that her twin brother Sherman Oaks is putting his tail on a bright red something that looks like a motorcycle but spits and putters like a boat out of water.
Recycling is a joke. Cities make millions off your plastic trash while those not so planet loving take their water bottles and stuff them into the can at the convenience store.
Taking note of this behavior I thought to myself, “I’ll get the martial arts school involved in a recycling project that will raise money for the homeless, the sick, the Special Olympics…we’ll create special containers that will convince gas pumper’s to dump their plastic into this nice really cool looking bin.”
Businesses said, “Nope! Not interested!”
As community minded as it came across, the location Joe and Hazel would place their unwanted bottles would serve as a free spot for looters to pull up, nab the items and make a profit on our behalf.
No wonder the idea of going green is quickly becoming nothing more than a new millennium fad…something to do other than collect Pet Rocks, Beanie Baby’s and steal music from the internet.
This wasn’t written to create a guilt trip or force feed your system into buying into the Green House Effect. I came here to ask a question that doesn’t need a straight A student or 4.0 grade average reply. For the most polluted nation on the Mother Earth to finally give up its rank as being King Messy and its Kingdom of Ho Hum…we need Bob Barker to come out of retirement and put carbon footprinting in everyday English.
Nobody cares that cell phones laid next to your ear might cause brain cancer. Texting while driving is 100% against the law and everyday we see thumbs moving faster than Jeff Gordon at Lowes Motor Speedway. We buy metal arms designed to hold flat screen TV’s on boring walls fearing every second that the entire project may fall down and go boom in the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter…we’ll buy another then another.
Until someone says, “Carbon Footprinting will lead to your Wii Game and XBox to not work properly or The Twilight Series has been canceled due to a storm of carbon footprint flooding…Joe and Hazel aren’t moving, buying or changing their way of living.
We’d all love to save the planet! I know where Montana is on a map…I just don’t know how to get there. Going green is no different.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Outside of being horribly out of this world expensive, the thought of going green seems endless on a planet locked on constantly speaking over the heads of 99.3 percent of those who could make the impact possible.
We’ve all heard of fingerprints, footprints and things we’ve stepped in on the front lawn but as of late it’s been a top priority to shout out, “Forget picking up trash and convincing major corporations to cool off their giant smoke stacks…instead lets put focus on ending what science calls your carbon footprint.”
You will not find Carbon Footprint in Webster’s or on dictionary.com.
Punch those letters into Google, Yahoo and Bling and over 4.5 million sites are rip raring and ready to feed you full of something that might come across as cow created methane.
A carbon footprint is "the total set of GHG (greenhouse gas) emissions caused directly and indirectly by an individual, organization, event or product" (UK Carbon Trust 2008). An individual, nation, or organization's carbon footprint is measured by undertaking a GHG emissions assessment.
I’d love to find the monkey who has to speak in lawyer talk when trying to describe an object that seems to be of major importance…no wonder we aren’t buying into this. They spend millions convincing top dog Hollywood actors to preach the word then require the rest of us to seek out a conclusion.
Carbon footprinting isn’t the Super Bowl or March Madness…there’ll be winners and losers but for that to be determined the everyday average Joe and his wife Hazel need to have scorekeepers to keep them abreast of what to trust or better yet…to understand in the most simple of all languages.
Which is my legal way of saying everything I’m writing today is based 100% on assumption.
I’ve been to the Green stores who want to sell the backpacks that utilize the suns energy to power up your laptop, the hot water heaters that instantly make showers a great experience, the lights that barely torch up a room and the multitudes of ways to plant your next meal so it doesn’t have to be trucked across an uncaring nation.
Last year at this time I began to participate by introducing rain barrels that didn’t resemble trash cans sitting next to the house. I got together with a designer in Ohio to bring beauty to your backyard landscape only to learn the cost of such positive thinking for the environment was astronomically unreal and there was no way Joe and Hazel would buy into it.
Ask a coworker, brother or sister or the lazy bum of a neighbor what they think a carbon footprint is. You aren’t going to get this: A carbon footprint is "the total set of GHG (greenhouse gas) emissions caused directly and indirectly by an individual, organization, event or product" (UK Carbon Trust 2008). An individual, nation, or organization's carbon footprint is measured by undertaking a GHG emissions assessment.
Hank will continue using his gas powered lawnmower. Hilda Marie has no idea what it means to purchase an environmentally safe car and there’s no way that her twin brother Sherman Oaks is putting his tail on a bright red something that looks like a motorcycle but spits and putters like a boat out of water.
Recycling is a joke. Cities make millions off your plastic trash while those not so planet loving take their water bottles and stuff them into the can at the convenience store.
Taking note of this behavior I thought to myself, “I’ll get the martial arts school involved in a recycling project that will raise money for the homeless, the sick, the Special Olympics…we’ll create special containers that will convince gas pumper’s to dump their plastic into this nice really cool looking bin.”
Businesses said, “Nope! Not interested!”
As community minded as it came across, the location Joe and Hazel would place their unwanted bottles would serve as a free spot for looters to pull up, nab the items and make a profit on our behalf.
No wonder the idea of going green is quickly becoming nothing more than a new millennium fad…something to do other than collect Pet Rocks, Beanie Baby’s and steal music from the internet.
This wasn’t written to create a guilt trip or force feed your system into buying into the Green House Effect. I came here to ask a question that doesn’t need a straight A student or 4.0 grade average reply. For the most polluted nation on the Mother Earth to finally give up its rank as being King Messy and its Kingdom of Ho Hum…we need Bob Barker to come out of retirement and put carbon footprinting in everyday English.
Nobody cares that cell phones laid next to your ear might cause brain cancer. Texting while driving is 100% against the law and everyday we see thumbs moving faster than Jeff Gordon at Lowes Motor Speedway. We buy metal arms designed to hold flat screen TV’s on boring walls fearing every second that the entire project may fall down and go boom in the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter…we’ll buy another then another.
Until someone says, “Carbon Footprinting will lead to your Wii Game and XBox to not work properly or The Twilight Series has been canceled due to a storm of carbon footprint flooding…Joe and Hazel aren’t moving, buying or changing their way of living.
We’d all love to save the planet! I know where Montana is on a map…I just don’t know how to get there. Going green is no different.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
You don't need a boss to be a real winner!
The invisibleness of a physically noticeable world is what feeds shame into the hallow halls of unapproachable fame.
That’s nothing more than a poets description of how Henry Ford masterminded a daily work ethic based on honoring the best while ignoring the rest. Tiny collections of the companies top dogs lined up to be recognized as well as rewarded for their efforts of success while triple the amount of coworkers stood in far away corners watching...and losing.
Henry Ford believed in the identification of penetration—forging through massive amounts of doubt and fear by hiring masters of the fine art of salesmanship. But we all know, if there’s a top there’s going to be a bottom and everything located in the middle is what makes or breaks the difference between attaining and restraining.
By making public contact with the builders of his foundation Mr. Ford heightened the ego of the hard working, loyal and determined process by giving them room to celebrate and to remember everything that goes with it—because tomorrow is a brand new day and beginning and its going to require more of what you already have to continue leading this hourly battle to rock the top of the business world ladder.
Research shows…while the best of the best stood straight as an arrow and shock hands with the mighty man for their endeavors achieved in a past that no one could change—what Mr. Ford didn’t see was fear. The fear of being able to live up to what he set out to accomplish. Mr. Ford also didn’t recognize the faces of the others in attendance whose impeccable presentation was just as worthy but maybe not as profitable—within their grips, they too held fear but in a more destructing way of loosening up the beams that hold up the four corners of a building assumed bright beautiful and unforgettably strong.
My radio mentor Andrew Ashwood once shouted into the dimly lit radio station conference room, “Do you know why we don’t have contests? Most of you are eager to admit we can’t afford it. False! When you honor someone you in essence are knocking down thousands behind him. One winner equals nine thousand losers. I am not in the market to create enemies. In my book we will walk the same level of achievement and that means we will serve this station and community by way of making every one, not just one…a winner.”
Had Mr. Ford looked out across that giant auditorium and recognized Mrs. Ellerby for her typing skills and Macon William Holloman for tidying up the restrooms late at night so the early birds could have a comfortable place to stare into their soul before taking on the world—Ford might not have been taken over by a foreign country in 2009.
We waste too much time honoring the top dogs. The only reason why a CEO at a bank is awarded millions in bonuses has nothing to do with his or her personal efforts put into the pie but everything to do with the people hired to do the job—those who walk away each day with just enough pay for dinner and maybe a spoon full of ice cream.
Research may show companies need to reach out of the box to hit their expectations or stockholders will scream, scratch and cry like children whose parents refuse to let them play with toys at school but during the process of pencil drawn growth the physical conclusion is the destruction of what made a profit worth reaching for—a collected gathering of several departments and heads that give up their lives for eight or more hours a day and maybe 1 percent of them go home feeling like a winner.
Is it worth it? The average American has proved time and time again they’d die for the companies they work for and because of a constant push to pick up the strength of ten men and women or walk…mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters are falling and not getting back up.
My Grandpa Bakken passed away while pushing a load of heavy tools onto an elevator of a nearly completed building on the university campus in Bozeman, Montana. My Mother is nearing 70 and has never felt the retirement vibration. Stare into the eyes of a Wal-Mart greeter and the vision you’re handed back is the image of a survivor not someone who loves their job.
Who honors the poor, the getting poor and too embarrassed to admit middle class?
Nobody…because bosses with bosses who have bosses aren’t interested in the best you’ve got unless its shattering records set by Michael Phelps, Michael Jordon and Joe Montana. Every business in this country is treated like a professional sports franchise and without a doubt the employee roster is blanketed with more endorphin rushes than history can document. You push your mind, body and soul beyond its well built limits only to learn that it’s never good enough to sit in the front row during an awards banquet.
You have the power to make a change. You have the ability to rise above Mr. Ford’s inability to capitalize on the full circumference of the entire circle of life by taking the time each moment you get and thank Barbara Stanway in Accounts receivable for always bringing sweet smelling flowers to work with her because it brightens up your day. Thank Kevin the office comedian for his jokes because it takes the sting out of having to reach, reach and reach. Look at your manager’s manager and hold out your hand while saying, “I hope your day is as great as mine and if not…what can I do to make it part of your continued success?”
It’s time to make a point in America…saying thank you has the power and total impact to affect the next seven generations.
Jimmy Buffet recently spent some time recording in South Africa--walking into a local pub he took note of the posters on the wall...Bob Marley and a late 70's shot of himself. In his heart Jimmy realizes his music hasn't won major awards...to some writers and performers that's the ultimate blow to the ego. To Buffet though, knowing people in a different part of the world felt like hanging a poster of him next to Bob Marley was the greatest honor given to his well written chapters.
If we learn to quit today—I can’t imagine the USA in 2115. The difference begins today and continues tomorrow, then the next day and the next day. You don’t need a millionaires pat on the back to feel worthy…if that’s the case, your computer has put you on the wrong web page.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
That’s nothing more than a poets description of how Henry Ford masterminded a daily work ethic based on honoring the best while ignoring the rest. Tiny collections of the companies top dogs lined up to be recognized as well as rewarded for their efforts of success while triple the amount of coworkers stood in far away corners watching...and losing.
Henry Ford believed in the identification of penetration—forging through massive amounts of doubt and fear by hiring masters of the fine art of salesmanship. But we all know, if there’s a top there’s going to be a bottom and everything located in the middle is what makes or breaks the difference between attaining and restraining.
By making public contact with the builders of his foundation Mr. Ford heightened the ego of the hard working, loyal and determined process by giving them room to celebrate and to remember everything that goes with it—because tomorrow is a brand new day and beginning and its going to require more of what you already have to continue leading this hourly battle to rock the top of the business world ladder.
Research shows…while the best of the best stood straight as an arrow and shock hands with the mighty man for their endeavors achieved in a past that no one could change—what Mr. Ford didn’t see was fear. The fear of being able to live up to what he set out to accomplish. Mr. Ford also didn’t recognize the faces of the others in attendance whose impeccable presentation was just as worthy but maybe not as profitable—within their grips, they too held fear but in a more destructing way of loosening up the beams that hold up the four corners of a building assumed bright beautiful and unforgettably strong.
My radio mentor Andrew Ashwood once shouted into the dimly lit radio station conference room, “Do you know why we don’t have contests? Most of you are eager to admit we can’t afford it. False! When you honor someone you in essence are knocking down thousands behind him. One winner equals nine thousand losers. I am not in the market to create enemies. In my book we will walk the same level of achievement and that means we will serve this station and community by way of making every one, not just one…a winner.”
Had Mr. Ford looked out across that giant auditorium and recognized Mrs. Ellerby for her typing skills and Macon William Holloman for tidying up the restrooms late at night so the early birds could have a comfortable place to stare into their soul before taking on the world—Ford might not have been taken over by a foreign country in 2009.
We waste too much time honoring the top dogs. The only reason why a CEO at a bank is awarded millions in bonuses has nothing to do with his or her personal efforts put into the pie but everything to do with the people hired to do the job—those who walk away each day with just enough pay for dinner and maybe a spoon full of ice cream.
Research may show companies need to reach out of the box to hit their expectations or stockholders will scream, scratch and cry like children whose parents refuse to let them play with toys at school but during the process of pencil drawn growth the physical conclusion is the destruction of what made a profit worth reaching for—a collected gathering of several departments and heads that give up their lives for eight or more hours a day and maybe 1 percent of them go home feeling like a winner.
Is it worth it? The average American has proved time and time again they’d die for the companies they work for and because of a constant push to pick up the strength of ten men and women or walk…mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters are falling and not getting back up.
My Grandpa Bakken passed away while pushing a load of heavy tools onto an elevator of a nearly completed building on the university campus in Bozeman, Montana. My Mother is nearing 70 and has never felt the retirement vibration. Stare into the eyes of a Wal-Mart greeter and the vision you’re handed back is the image of a survivor not someone who loves their job.
Who honors the poor, the getting poor and too embarrassed to admit middle class?
Nobody…because bosses with bosses who have bosses aren’t interested in the best you’ve got unless its shattering records set by Michael Phelps, Michael Jordon and Joe Montana. Every business in this country is treated like a professional sports franchise and without a doubt the employee roster is blanketed with more endorphin rushes than history can document. You push your mind, body and soul beyond its well built limits only to learn that it’s never good enough to sit in the front row during an awards banquet.
You have the power to make a change. You have the ability to rise above Mr. Ford’s inability to capitalize on the full circumference of the entire circle of life by taking the time each moment you get and thank Barbara Stanway in Accounts receivable for always bringing sweet smelling flowers to work with her because it brightens up your day. Thank Kevin the office comedian for his jokes because it takes the sting out of having to reach, reach and reach. Look at your manager’s manager and hold out your hand while saying, “I hope your day is as great as mine and if not…what can I do to make it part of your continued success?”
It’s time to make a point in America…saying thank you has the power and total impact to affect the next seven generations.
Jimmy Buffet recently spent some time recording in South Africa--walking into a local pub he took note of the posters on the wall...Bob Marley and a late 70's shot of himself. In his heart Jimmy realizes his music hasn't won major awards...to some writers and performers that's the ultimate blow to the ego. To Buffet though, knowing people in a different part of the world felt like hanging a poster of him next to Bob Marley was the greatest honor given to his well written chapters.
If we learn to quit today—I can’t imagine the USA in 2115. The difference begins today and continues tomorrow, then the next day and the next day. You don’t need a millionaires pat on the back to feel worthy…if that’s the case, your computer has put you on the wrong web page.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Monday, January 18, 2010
Which one are you Darth Vader or Luke Skywalker?
Facing a level of resistance.
We should plaster this completely out of tune sentence on a poster and sell it at Wal-Mart, calling it a new frontier of reborn success. But to reach that destination, wouldn’t we have to beat it at its own game?
Resistance is nothing more than a cousin to a perfectionist?
You fight and fight until you can’t fight anymore only to learn you’ve stepped back an inch, six feet maybe even a mile all in the name of calling the journey quits.
Resistance is everywhere—sandpapering shades of ink and or paint placed on a wall by a child, how you swing your arm when throwing invisible bowling balls at your television set compliments of something called Wii, even attempting to balance your checkbook within the well tailored discomforts of a computerized generation.
It doesn’t matter who you are or where you work, every project and or personal challenge presented is met with resistance. How many times do you raise your arms and shout, "I quit!"
In Star Wars Luke Skywalker faced a level of resistance when battling Darth Vader and all things connected to the dark side. Avatar creator James Cameron bravely faced the resistance and waited for technology to catch up to his vivid imagination—thanks to discovering the hidden agenda the film has wrapped its tight grip around $1.6 billion...so far.
The caveman was onto something when inventing fire. Not only did it keep his family warm during blistering chilly January nights but thanks to a tiny yellow, blue and red flame foods that once quickly spoiled became safer to digest leading our modern day kitchen hero’s to incredibly cool spices and chocolate cake.
Locating a hidden agenda is the essential key to driving resistance from its assumed stable position linked to your defeat.
Since resistance is part of everything growing, living and wanting to succeed, Dr. Gary Ranker points to the need of locating the real agenda behind the purpose of gaining access to a higher level of success. Too often businesses and or department heads work against the flow by introducing ignorance to the agenda. A tremendous amount of hard to locate time is wasted on assuming you have the proper ingredients to make your agenda worth holding.
Take the mask off resistance and what do you see?
Change…
What do we fear most in life? Change… Real agendas are hidden from the worker bees because change creates talk and such openness generates negative vibrations—the end result being a department head who sees the horizon but has no way to get there except to walk through the desert for one hundred years with high hopes of locating a book that teaches him or her to part the waters and end famine.
Dr. Ranker speaks of some companies hiring what he calls a firestarter. Their main purpose is to set out and tactfully scare people which in essence teaches change by way of allowing it to be accepted. Once change has been formulated into the breathing patterns of coworkers the next step is to implement the new agenda—therefore eliminating resistance.
The computer world has made 90% of us nothing more than products of isolation. Security can’t be found in such far, far, far away places of assumed protection. Look how isolation completely destroyed proper channels of communication in the movie Avatar. While the science department locked onto a well developed plan to penetrate the surface of the Avatars spirituality—the true department head found tremendous amounts of resistance from not only his human counterparts but the Avatar found every reason to break out in war.
Sam Worthington and Sigourney Weaver were the firestarters set free on a single mission—to slowly introduce the Avatar to change. If allowed to have more time to proceed with the original plan, a well thought out out path of success might have led Giovanni Ribisi's team to the extremely rich core of the stones they searched for.
Giovanni should’ve been given Dr. Rankers new book Political Dilemmas at Work where such leadership might have been corrected. Therefore the future now rests in your hands. There can be no change on the home front of this unemployment nightmare in America until the firestarters are given the true agenda.
In every walk of life be it a librarian to a mother of twelve…resistance can be defeated if what you attain is its silencing. Research your methods of discovery and compare it to the rooting system of the agenda. Analyze the evidence that may contradict the final destination of your agenda. Locate people who will become stronger with knowledge by understanding your reasons for offering such change.
What daily challenges do you face? What is the image of your resistance? I’m often reminded of the number of time the same sun rises in the east then sets in the west. As simple as the journey looks are there mornings when the sun has a horribly difficult time stretching its rays from Charleston to San Francisco? No matter how hard it rains, how strong the wind might blow off the Great Smokey Mountains or crystal clear the skies may seem…every 24 hour period is a new beginning for that big bright ball of fire and because of its loyalty and dedication to the purposes it brings…this single firestarter is on a mission to affect and infect both sides of the horizon making life better for every living thing on this planet and that requires ample amounts of change we’ve learned to accept.
If your resistance is self doubt, a boss that never listens, kids that think they know so much more than your personal experiences or a collection of movie companies searching for the next big thing and the only idea you have to offer is a bunch of extremely tall blue people—never give up on your agenda. The lightbulb didn’t just happen nor did the airplane, big thick juicy hamburgers and trees that flower in the winter. Ideas begin in places of silence and if you keep it locked away from the world there will be no change.
It’s time to stop yelling at coworkers and family members, “Let’s go!”
Face your level of resistance and let’s grow…
Steal my art,
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
We should plaster this completely out of tune sentence on a poster and sell it at Wal-Mart, calling it a new frontier of reborn success. But to reach that destination, wouldn’t we have to beat it at its own game?
Resistance is nothing more than a cousin to a perfectionist?
You fight and fight until you can’t fight anymore only to learn you’ve stepped back an inch, six feet maybe even a mile all in the name of calling the journey quits.
Resistance is everywhere—sandpapering shades of ink and or paint placed on a wall by a child, how you swing your arm when throwing invisible bowling balls at your television set compliments of something called Wii, even attempting to balance your checkbook within the well tailored discomforts of a computerized generation.
It doesn’t matter who you are or where you work, every project and or personal challenge presented is met with resistance. How many times do you raise your arms and shout, "I quit!"
In Star Wars Luke Skywalker faced a level of resistance when battling Darth Vader and all things connected to the dark side. Avatar creator James Cameron bravely faced the resistance and waited for technology to catch up to his vivid imagination—thanks to discovering the hidden agenda the film has wrapped its tight grip around $1.6 billion...so far.
The caveman was onto something when inventing fire. Not only did it keep his family warm during blistering chilly January nights but thanks to a tiny yellow, blue and red flame foods that once quickly spoiled became safer to digest leading our modern day kitchen hero’s to incredibly cool spices and chocolate cake.
Locating a hidden agenda is the essential key to driving resistance from its assumed stable position linked to your defeat.
Since resistance is part of everything growing, living and wanting to succeed, Dr. Gary Ranker points to the need of locating the real agenda behind the purpose of gaining access to a higher level of success. Too often businesses and or department heads work against the flow by introducing ignorance to the agenda. A tremendous amount of hard to locate time is wasted on assuming you have the proper ingredients to make your agenda worth holding.
Take the mask off resistance and what do you see?
Change…
What do we fear most in life? Change… Real agendas are hidden from the worker bees because change creates talk and such openness generates negative vibrations—the end result being a department head who sees the horizon but has no way to get there except to walk through the desert for one hundred years with high hopes of locating a book that teaches him or her to part the waters and end famine.
Dr. Ranker speaks of some companies hiring what he calls a firestarter. Their main purpose is to set out and tactfully scare people which in essence teaches change by way of allowing it to be accepted. Once change has been formulated into the breathing patterns of coworkers the next step is to implement the new agenda—therefore eliminating resistance.
The computer world has made 90% of us nothing more than products of isolation. Security can’t be found in such far, far, far away places of assumed protection. Look how isolation completely destroyed proper channels of communication in the movie Avatar. While the science department locked onto a well developed plan to penetrate the surface of the Avatars spirituality—the true department head found tremendous amounts of resistance from not only his human counterparts but the Avatar found every reason to break out in war.
Sam Worthington and Sigourney Weaver were the firestarters set free on a single mission—to slowly introduce the Avatar to change. If allowed to have more time to proceed with the original plan, a well thought out out path of success might have led Giovanni Ribisi's team to the extremely rich core of the stones they searched for.
Giovanni should’ve been given Dr. Rankers new book Political Dilemmas at Work where such leadership might have been corrected. Therefore the future now rests in your hands. There can be no change on the home front of this unemployment nightmare in America until the firestarters are given the true agenda.
In every walk of life be it a librarian to a mother of twelve…resistance can be defeated if what you attain is its silencing. Research your methods of discovery and compare it to the rooting system of the agenda. Analyze the evidence that may contradict the final destination of your agenda. Locate people who will become stronger with knowledge by understanding your reasons for offering such change.
What daily challenges do you face? What is the image of your resistance? I’m often reminded of the number of time the same sun rises in the east then sets in the west. As simple as the journey looks are there mornings when the sun has a horribly difficult time stretching its rays from Charleston to San Francisco? No matter how hard it rains, how strong the wind might blow off the Great Smokey Mountains or crystal clear the skies may seem…every 24 hour period is a new beginning for that big bright ball of fire and because of its loyalty and dedication to the purposes it brings…this single firestarter is on a mission to affect and infect both sides of the horizon making life better for every living thing on this planet and that requires ample amounts of change we’ve learned to accept.
If your resistance is self doubt, a boss that never listens, kids that think they know so much more than your personal experiences or a collection of movie companies searching for the next big thing and the only idea you have to offer is a bunch of extremely tall blue people—never give up on your agenda. The lightbulb didn’t just happen nor did the airplane, big thick juicy hamburgers and trees that flower in the winter. Ideas begin in places of silence and if you keep it locked away from the world there will be no change.
It’s time to stop yelling at coworkers and family members, “Let’s go!”
Face your level of resistance and let’s grow…
Steal my art,
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Middle America has lost a voice...Francine Cucienello
There's no feeling better than the one chance you get to see the dreams of an intern become a reality. It has nothing to do with ratings, money or a brotherhood of players who colleged together...the raw gift handed to a person is a calling and those truly dedicated and loyal to the art of radio can't just hear it but see it in the seconds of first meeting.
It's like a woodcarver who sits staring at a single tree never taking his mind off a heart warming sound he'll one day bring from the rings of life. Once felt, patience becomes the path and its within those chapters the diamond begins to surface.
Broadcasting is a sport. Those who play it for real make it their life. If you're lucky enough the talkers, performers and joke keepers might squeeze ten to thirty years from an industry crafted by decision makers who have nothing to do with the four walls that make up the initial tunnel leading to a listeners ears...those with a purpose to share keep marching forward.
That's what I saw in this intern nearly twenty years ago here in Charlotte.
She was destined to do talk radio before talk radio was cool and she didnt stop wanting the want until programmers started realizing women have just as much a voice as guys who think they know it all.
At the age of 43 Francine Cucienello suffered a heart attack. It's obvious God needed a woman's point of view on a newly opened station on a passing cloud.
It is a great loss because if you truly knew of her, then you know of her hard work, dedication and loyalty to the listener. She shall be missed in Louisville, KY and within the ranks of great radio held by the palms of communicators selected to share simple thoughts that become a whole lot.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
It's like a woodcarver who sits staring at a single tree never taking his mind off a heart warming sound he'll one day bring from the rings of life. Once felt, patience becomes the path and its within those chapters the diamond begins to surface.
Broadcasting is a sport. Those who play it for real make it their life. If you're lucky enough the talkers, performers and joke keepers might squeeze ten to thirty years from an industry crafted by decision makers who have nothing to do with the four walls that make up the initial tunnel leading to a listeners ears...those with a purpose to share keep marching forward.
That's what I saw in this intern nearly twenty years ago here in Charlotte.
She was destined to do talk radio before talk radio was cool and she didnt stop wanting the want until programmers started realizing women have just as much a voice as guys who think they know it all.
At the age of 43 Francine Cucienello suffered a heart attack. It's obvious God needed a woman's point of view on a newly opened station on a passing cloud.
It is a great loss because if you truly knew of her, then you know of her hard work, dedication and loyalty to the listener. She shall be missed in Louisville, KY and within the ranks of great radio held by the palms of communicators selected to share simple thoughts that become a whole lot.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Friday, January 15, 2010
Win! Win! Win! At all costs!
The New Year arrives and with it comes billions of reasons why rebuilding a stronger better you. You feel better than good! Your arms might be tired and your legs ready to fall off but not this year…you’ve got a new attitude to win, win, win!
Then it happens—ten steps into any drug store USA and your eyes instantly lock down on the beautifully designed one piece at a time Easter Candy lined up perfectly all in a row. Next to it…St Patrick’s Day gimmicks, hats and tooters but no green beer. You think you’ve got it beat until the phone rings, “It’s Girl Scout Cookie time again!”
“Holy munchies Batman! The only missing is a bag of Doritos and a couple of packages of Pop Rocks chased by an icy cold Coke!”
If Denzel Washington’s new movie The Book of Eli becomes a reality—the first thing I’m grabbing is Easter candy and Twinkies. When it comes to survival it has to be incredible! Unlike a banana or loaf of bread, Peeps sit on shelves for a solid 120 days without ever losing their flavor.
Mom always told us to make friends with the cockroaches—they’ll be the only animal around at the time of boom, boom pow. I’ve yet to reach my hand out and shake its fuzzy nasty paw. It’s not that they move too quickly, I just have problems holding down a solid conversation with a creature so brilliant in endurance but still hasn’t figured out how to stand up on two feet.
He probably thinks the same of me, “Too damn tall to fit under refrigerators and kitchen cabinets. I refuse to work with sticks that constantly bump their heads on things I easily crawl under, around and between. But I do love the human appetite and keen sense of smell to hunt out some pretty cool junk to toss into my trunk.”
I’d call my new found best friend the cockroach Kevin Bacon—I’d never be lonely thinking about the enormous amount of people the actor has starred with. The only rule Kevin would have to follow; don’t ever attempt to talk to me when I’m holding a writing instrument. Mork used his fingers to Na Nu Na Nu his messages. On 3rd Rock from the Sun actor French Stewart would close his eyes and talk to the Big Head. Just don’t bother the poet with his pen...
Can you imagine having such a bug as a new found best bud? The times we’d share sitting in a room wondering and worrying about the elements belonging to the newly developed world outside the four walls I assumed was protecting us. I’d instantly dub Kevin Bacon Secretary of State and give him full control of walking out of the room and pacing the once alive streets like Wally and Eva.
“Bring back to me a fully powered Ipod with over 100,000 selections pumped into it! Make sure it includes I Gotta Feeling from The Black Eyed Peas and Vision of Love from Mariah Carey! And it has to include a computerized flame that I stare at for hours thinking I’m keeping warm. Oh wait…that comes with an I-phone. Come on Kevin Bacon don’t let me down!”
I wouldn’t make a great survivalist in a world requiring survival—once 30 Rock and Cougar Town disappear from the flat screen, the only thing left will be HBO with its 500th showing of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and that’s just not enough to pump into the veins of oh my God this could be it.
I do admit though…having such a bad attitude will instantly change if I notice the blinking light in the window at Krispy Kreme. Nothing says perfect diet better than sending these teeth into a fresh blanket of crystallized sugar. In fact, I’ll tell you right now…I’d trade my friend Kevin Bacon in for two bites of a Krispy Kreme. Sorry, like most friendships…it’s gotta go sometime so why not sell out when the price is right?
It’ll be me alone again in a tiny world that went Wham Bam Shang-a-lang. Because I’m such a sucker for co-dependency, that’s all I'd need to set out on a journey looking for a better way to live. It’s time to find James Cameron, the Wizard of Avatar. Holy cow I would look incredibly small compared to those giant blue men, women and funky lit up tree of hope but man, can you imagine this thinker attached to my shoulders holding conversation with a mass of people so brilliant in spirituality?
Stop! I have to catch my breath! Um…comparably speaking—me and the Avatar…it’s no different than my sold out relationship with Kevin Bacon! No! I won’t be able to handle it! I’ll be stuck with never ending flashbacks of how I’d tie a tiny rope to Kevin’s back and send him out into the world hoping to find the remote control. What about those late nights when I begged Kevin to seek a single sack of Cheetos?
How could I have done this to Kevin Bacon? Why did I let my Mother convince me to befriend a cockroach? My Titanic has sunk! James Cameron this is your fault! The best I can do is shove this computer keyboard away from me and get my bum back to work. I’m so heart broken! My dreams of being when all other things have stopped can’t go on. I would miss my friend Kevin Bacon so much!
Wait! I still have bags of Easter candy, Twinkies and Girl Scout Cookies—I’ll trade one, two…all three for Kevin and me!
Life is good. No its Great! Welcome to a brand new weekend!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Then it happens—ten steps into any drug store USA and your eyes instantly lock down on the beautifully designed one piece at a time Easter Candy lined up perfectly all in a row. Next to it…St Patrick’s Day gimmicks, hats and tooters but no green beer. You think you’ve got it beat until the phone rings, “It’s Girl Scout Cookie time again!”
“Holy munchies Batman! The only missing is a bag of Doritos and a couple of packages of Pop Rocks chased by an icy cold Coke!”
If Denzel Washington’s new movie The Book of Eli becomes a reality—the first thing I’m grabbing is Easter candy and Twinkies. When it comes to survival it has to be incredible! Unlike a banana or loaf of bread, Peeps sit on shelves for a solid 120 days without ever losing their flavor.
Mom always told us to make friends with the cockroaches—they’ll be the only animal around at the time of boom, boom pow. I’ve yet to reach my hand out and shake its fuzzy nasty paw. It’s not that they move too quickly, I just have problems holding down a solid conversation with a creature so brilliant in endurance but still hasn’t figured out how to stand up on two feet.
He probably thinks the same of me, “Too damn tall to fit under refrigerators and kitchen cabinets. I refuse to work with sticks that constantly bump their heads on things I easily crawl under, around and between. But I do love the human appetite and keen sense of smell to hunt out some pretty cool junk to toss into my trunk.”
I’d call my new found best friend the cockroach Kevin Bacon—I’d never be lonely thinking about the enormous amount of people the actor has starred with. The only rule Kevin would have to follow; don’t ever attempt to talk to me when I’m holding a writing instrument. Mork used his fingers to Na Nu Na Nu his messages. On 3rd Rock from the Sun actor French Stewart would close his eyes and talk to the Big Head. Just don’t bother the poet with his pen...
Can you imagine having such a bug as a new found best bud? The times we’d share sitting in a room wondering and worrying about the elements belonging to the newly developed world outside the four walls I assumed was protecting us. I’d instantly dub Kevin Bacon Secretary of State and give him full control of walking out of the room and pacing the once alive streets like Wally and Eva.
“Bring back to me a fully powered Ipod with over 100,000 selections pumped into it! Make sure it includes I Gotta Feeling from The Black Eyed Peas and Vision of Love from Mariah Carey! And it has to include a computerized flame that I stare at for hours thinking I’m keeping warm. Oh wait…that comes with an I-phone. Come on Kevin Bacon don’t let me down!”
I wouldn’t make a great survivalist in a world requiring survival—once 30 Rock and Cougar Town disappear from the flat screen, the only thing left will be HBO with its 500th showing of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and that’s just not enough to pump into the veins of oh my God this could be it.
I do admit though…having such a bad attitude will instantly change if I notice the blinking light in the window at Krispy Kreme. Nothing says perfect diet better than sending these teeth into a fresh blanket of crystallized sugar. In fact, I’ll tell you right now…I’d trade my friend Kevin Bacon in for two bites of a Krispy Kreme. Sorry, like most friendships…it’s gotta go sometime so why not sell out when the price is right?
It’ll be me alone again in a tiny world that went Wham Bam Shang-a-lang. Because I’m such a sucker for co-dependency, that’s all I'd need to set out on a journey looking for a better way to live. It’s time to find James Cameron, the Wizard of Avatar. Holy cow I would look incredibly small compared to those giant blue men, women and funky lit up tree of hope but man, can you imagine this thinker attached to my shoulders holding conversation with a mass of people so brilliant in spirituality?
Stop! I have to catch my breath! Um…comparably speaking—me and the Avatar…it’s no different than my sold out relationship with Kevin Bacon! No! I won’t be able to handle it! I’ll be stuck with never ending flashbacks of how I’d tie a tiny rope to Kevin’s back and send him out into the world hoping to find the remote control. What about those late nights when I begged Kevin to seek a single sack of Cheetos?
How could I have done this to Kevin Bacon? Why did I let my Mother convince me to befriend a cockroach? My Titanic has sunk! James Cameron this is your fault! The best I can do is shove this computer keyboard away from me and get my bum back to work. I’m so heart broken! My dreams of being when all other things have stopped can’t go on. I would miss my friend Kevin Bacon so much!
Wait! I still have bags of Easter candy, Twinkies and Girl Scout Cookies—I’ll trade one, two…all three for Kevin and me!
Life is good. No its Great! Welcome to a brand new weekend!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Win! Win! Win! At all costs!
The New Year arrives and with it comes billions of reasons why rebuilding a stronger better you. You feel better than good! Your arms might be tired and your legs ready to fall off but not this year…you’ve got a new attitude to win, win, win!
Then it happens—ten steps into any drug store USA and your eyes instantly lock down on the beautifully designed one piece at a time Easter Candy lined up perfectly all in a row. Next to it…St Patrick’s Day gimmicks, hats and tooters but no green beer. You think you’ve got it beat until the phone rings, “It’s Girl Scout Cookie time again!”
“Holy munchies Batman! The only missing is a bag of Doritos and a couple of packages of Pop Rocks chased by an icy cold Coke!”
If Denzel Washington’s new movie The Book of Eli becomes a reality—the first thing I’m grabbing is Easter candy and Twinkies. When it comes to survival it has to be incredible! Unlike a banana or loaf of bread, Peeps sit on shelves for a solid 120 days without ever losing their flavor.
Mom always told us to make friends with the cockroaches—they’ll be the only animal around at the time of boom, boom pow. I’ve yet to reach my hand out and shake its fuzzy nasty paw. It’s not that they move too quickly, I just have problems holding down a solid conversation with a creature so brilliant in endurance but still hasn’t figured out how to stand up on two feet.
He probably thinks the same of me, “Too damn tall to fit under refrigerators and kitchen cabinets. I refuse to work with sticks that constantly bump their heads on things I easily crawl under, around and between. But I do love the human appetite and keen sense of smell to hunt out some pretty cool junk to toss into my trunk.”
I’d call my new found best friend the cockroach Kevin Bacon—I’d never be lonely thinking about the enormous amount of people the actor has starred with. The only rule Kevin would have to follow; don’t ever attempt to talk to me when I’m holding a writing instrument. Mork used his fingers to Na Nu Na Nu his messages. On 3rd Rock from the Sun actor French Stewart would close his eyes and talk to the Big Head. Just don’t bother the poet with his pen...
Can you imagine having such a bug as a new found best bud? The times we’d share sitting in a room wondering and worrying about the elements belonging to the newly developed world outside the four walls I assumed was protecting us. I’d instantly dub Kevin Bacon Secretary of State and give him full control of walking out of the room and pacing the once alive streets like Wally and Eva.
“Bring back to me a fully powered Ipod with over 100,000 selections pumped into it! Make sure it includes I Gotta Feeling from The Black Eyed Peas and Vision of Love from Mariah Carey! And it has to include a computerized flame that I stare at for hours thinking I’m keeping warm. Oh wait…that comes with an I-phone. Come on Kevin Bacon don’t let me down!”
I wouldn’t make a great survivalist in a world requiring survival—once 30 Rock and Cougar Town disappear from the flat screen, the only thing left will be HBO with its 500th showing of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and that’s just not enough to pump into the veins of oh my God this could be it.
I do admit though…having such a bad attitude will instantly change if I notice the blinking light in the window at Krispy Kreme. Nothing says perfect diet better than sending these teeth into a fresh blanket of crystallized sugar. In fact, I’ll tell you right now…I’d trade my friend Kevin Bacon in for two bites of a Krispy Kreme. Sorry, like most friendships…it’s gotta go sometime so why not sell out when the price is right?
It’ll be me alone again in a tiny world that went Wham Bam Shang-a-lang. Because I’m such a sucker for co-dependency, that’s all I'd need to set out on a journey looking for a better way to live. It’s time to find James Cameron, the Wizard of Avatar. Holy cow I would look incredibly small compared to those giant blue men, women and funky lit up tree of hope but man, can you imagine this thinker attached to my shoulders holding conversation with a mass of people so brilliant in spirituality?
Stop! I have to catch my breath! Um…comparably speaking—me and the Avatar…it’s no different than my sold out relationship with Kevin Bacon! No! I won’t be able to handle it! I’ll be stuck with never ending flashbacks of how I’d tie a tiny rope to Kevin’s back and send him out into the world hoping to find the remote control. What about those late nights when I begged Kevin to seek a single sack of Cheetos?
How could I have done this to Kevin Bacon? Why did I let my Mother convince me to befriend a cockroach? My Titanic has sunk! James Cameron this is your fault! The best I can do is shove this computer keyboard away from me and get my bum back to work. I’m so heart broken! My dreams of being when all other things have stopped can’t go on. I would miss my friend Kevin Bacon so much!
Wait! I still have bags of Easter candy, Twinkies and Girl Scout Cookies—I’ll trade one, two…all three for Kevin and me!
Life is good. No its Great! Welcome to a brand new weekend!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Then it happens—ten steps into any drug store USA and your eyes instantly lock down on the beautifully designed one piece at a time Easter Candy lined up perfectly all in a row. Next to it…St Patrick’s Day gimmicks, hats and tooters but no green beer. You think you’ve got it beat until the phone rings, “It’s Girl Scout Cookie time again!”
“Holy munchies Batman! The only missing is a bag of Doritos and a couple of packages of Pop Rocks chased by an icy cold Coke!”
If Denzel Washington’s new movie The Book of Eli becomes a reality—the first thing I’m grabbing is Easter candy and Twinkies. When it comes to survival it has to be incredible! Unlike a banana or loaf of bread, Peeps sit on shelves for a solid 120 days without ever losing their flavor.
Mom always told us to make friends with the cockroaches—they’ll be the only animal around at the time of boom, boom pow. I’ve yet to reach my hand out and shake its fuzzy nasty paw. It’s not that they move too quickly, I just have problems holding down a solid conversation with a creature so brilliant in endurance but still hasn’t figured out how to stand up on two feet.
He probably thinks the same of me, “Too damn tall to fit under refrigerators and kitchen cabinets. I refuse to work with sticks that constantly bump their heads on things I easily crawl under, around and between. But I do love the human appetite and keen sense of smell to hunt out some pretty cool junk to toss into my trunk.”
I’d call my new found best friend the cockroach Kevin Bacon—I’d never be lonely thinking about the enormous amount of people the actor has starred with. The only rule Kevin would have to follow; don’t ever attempt to talk to me when I’m holding a writing instrument. Mork used his fingers to Na Nu Na Nu his messages. On 3rd Rock from the Sun actor French Stewart would close his eyes and talk to the Big Head. Just don’t bother the poet with his pen...
Can you imagine having such a bug as a new found best bud? The times we’d share sitting in a room wondering and worrying about the elements belonging to the newly developed world outside the four walls I assumed was protecting us. I’d instantly dub Kevin Bacon Secretary of State and give him full control of walking out of the room and pacing the once alive streets like Wally and Eva.
“Bring back to me a fully powered Ipod with over 100,000 selections pumped into it! Make sure it includes I Gotta Feeling from The Black Eyed Peas and Vision of Love from Mariah Carey! And it has to include a computerized flame that I stare at for hours thinking I’m keeping warm. Oh wait…that comes with an I-phone. Come on Kevin Bacon don’t let me down!”
I wouldn’t make a great survivalist in a world requiring survival—once 30 Rock and Cougar Town disappear from the flat screen, the only thing left will be HBO with its 500th showing of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and that’s just not enough to pump into the veins of oh my God this could be it.
I do admit though…having such a bad attitude will instantly change if I notice the blinking light in the window at Krispy Kreme. Nothing says perfect diet better than sending these teeth into a fresh blanket of crystallized sugar. In fact, I’ll tell you right now…I’d trade my friend Kevin Bacon in for two bites of a Krispy Kreme. Sorry, like most friendships…it’s gotta go sometime so why not sell out when the price is right?
It’ll be me alone again in a tiny world that went Wham Bam Shang-a-lang. Because I’m such a sucker for co-dependency, that’s all I'd need to set out on a journey looking for a better way to live. It’s time to find James Cameron, the Wizard of Avatar. Holy cow I would look incredibly small compared to those giant blue men, women and funky lit up tree of hope but man, can you imagine this thinker attached to my shoulders holding conversation with a mass of people so brilliant in spirituality?
Stop! I have to catch my breath! Um…comparably speaking—me and the Avatar…it’s no different than my sold out relationship with Kevin Bacon! No! I won’t be able to handle it! I’ll be stuck with never ending flashbacks of how I’d tie a tiny rope to Kevin’s back and send him out into the world hoping to find the remote control. What about those late nights when I begged Kevin to seek a single sack of Cheetos?
How could I have done this to Kevin Bacon? Why did I let my Mother convince me to befriend a cockroach? My Titanic has sunk! James Cameron this is your fault! The best I can do is shove this computer keyboard away from me and get my bum back to work. I’m so heart broken! My dreams of being when all other things have stopped can’t go on. I would miss my friend Kevin Bacon so much!
Wait! I still have bags of Easter candy, Twinkies and Girl Scout Cookies—I’ll trade one, two…all three for Kevin and me!
Life is good. No its Great! Welcome to a brand new weekend!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Arroe didnt show up for writing today! No way not in the mood!!!!
Just a small note to let you know I’m not going to write today—it’s an artist thing…you do what you do and when you don’t…it builds up, up, up so the next time you do, it’s a big ole boom do.
You know we creative types…only when you’re in the mood. If the urge elects to show no face, it’s every reason to walk away. I’m sure the scent of a rugged old pair of radio DJ earphones might ignite the skipping edges of an out of control imagination…but not today…I can’t do what the body wants to because I’m an artist and not doing is perfectly ok.
I’ve written on mountain tops, WWII desk tops, the top and bottom of a new year, been on the top of my game while tapping my toe to the beat of the blaring music while Michael Jordon played—I’ve even written while taking a ferry across the Puget Sound just to say I did while doing hoping to locate separated situations that make up reason to believe you’ve been inspired to do nothing more than push a writing instrument into a once living tree.
Nope, not going to write today—on strike, have every reason to set aside, feel no urge to splurge in a world of spin, spun and done—so please don’t expect anything freaky, sneaky or bizerky cuz what I’m finding out is that everybody does it! What? No way! No wonder people think I’m crazy!
Words in a word dump, trucked in thoughts and phrases that are vacated on a childhood playground now tucked away from everyday play cuz doing is now done with thumbs. Single visions like, “Out with the dog. Being friendly at the grocery store. Birds that coo backwards sound like they have the hiccups.”
Writing is writing and without there being fighting the goal is to no longer wear this on my shoulder—a blotted stain from a poets nib dipped in a bottle of ink then shot through the air on a dare to see what figure it paints when it finally comes face to face with something so incredibly neat.
But I’m not going to write about it…too much to do, not enough squeeze play in the world of self fame and glorified beginnings that seem bigger than life until you realize, its only you who seems to be listening, watching, hanging pictures you painted, planting flowers in a garden or redesigning the garage to look incredibly better than Tim the Tool Man Taylor.
Well, gotta go…I’ve taken too much of your time, got no time to write, write and write—besides being creative is such an unexpected sport…any day, Monday, Tuesday, even if it’s 2008, you’re never late because laying a single line on a pad of paper has this far out brotherly love cool feeling about it until poof it’s gone!
I mean, I’ve heard every excuse, blunder, wonder and reason as to why the measurements of what you do, see, feel and smell just don’t seem important enough to document. You know what it is? Paper companies haven’t figured out of a way to put advertising between your thoughts—a good old fashioned two minute timeout to pick up from where you left off while hanging off the edge of a cliff only your imagination can participate with.
What is writing? The art of thinking? The presentation of doing. The end result of connection, an inner vision so deep inside fish hooks dating 50 years dangle with worms still attached. Then poof from out of nowhere…Nemo shows up and takes a bite.
Can’t write about it though—that would require energy and Red Bull doesn’t create a can big enough to print out a purpose, the boss might be 300 feet from me looking over my shoulder, the cow didn’t jump over the moon and there’s been a tragic event on the doorstep of movie popcorn—they’ve run out of butter and that stinky, sticky icky stuff is the only thing I need to jump start a plan to put Stan in motion. Who’s Stan? Damn characters come from out the woodwork. Hire him please so I can get him out of my writing.
Wait! I’m not writing today. I did yesterday—a piece of something, poetry I guess, a jotted down sentence that became two, then three and it inspired me to sing. NO! Not during American Idol Premiere week!
It didn’t stop me because writing made me laugh like a kid and giggle like a silly Willie sitting in the principals office, “I got kicked out of Heaven for asking a question—God sent me back to learn a few more lessons. It was a quarter to four and I was knocking on Heavens door. He rolled his eyes one thousand times saying he’ll get me when the time is right…until that day I’m supposed to be nobody but me. ”
Breathing in…one then two lungs full of air. There! I’ve made it clear…I’m not writing today. Guess I could blame it on the cold weather but I’m a little late on that escape, gonna be in the 50’s today. Naked trees with no leaves? Flowers with no petals? There’s got to be a solid Perry Mason styled answer that will finally give me a solid reason to put away these fingerprints left on a page filled with my writing.
Writing is like carving—woodworkers aren’t blind, they see something inside those rings and cut through the impossible until they locate the voices that sing. Truckers don’t see traffic—their visions are locked on the destination making what they do the fine art of traveling. Sales reps mastermind ways to move up, over, through and around the word no…incredibly inspiring until they use the same trick on your efforts to make words stick.
Since the idea of writing makes my stomach turn today…it’s your turn to do the talking. I want to know why you constantly stop creating.
I’ll wait for your answer…cuz I’ve got the time. I’ve elected not to write!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
You know we creative types…only when you’re in the mood. If the urge elects to show no face, it’s every reason to walk away. I’m sure the scent of a rugged old pair of radio DJ earphones might ignite the skipping edges of an out of control imagination…but not today…I can’t do what the body wants to because I’m an artist and not doing is perfectly ok.
I’ve written on mountain tops, WWII desk tops, the top and bottom of a new year, been on the top of my game while tapping my toe to the beat of the blaring music while Michael Jordon played—I’ve even written while taking a ferry across the Puget Sound just to say I did while doing hoping to locate separated situations that make up reason to believe you’ve been inspired to do nothing more than push a writing instrument into a once living tree.
Nope, not going to write today—on strike, have every reason to set aside, feel no urge to splurge in a world of spin, spun and done—so please don’t expect anything freaky, sneaky or bizerky cuz what I’m finding out is that everybody does it! What? No way! No wonder people think I’m crazy!
Words in a word dump, trucked in thoughts and phrases that are vacated on a childhood playground now tucked away from everyday play cuz doing is now done with thumbs. Single visions like, “Out with the dog. Being friendly at the grocery store. Birds that coo backwards sound like they have the hiccups.”
Writing is writing and without there being fighting the goal is to no longer wear this on my shoulder—a blotted stain from a poets nib dipped in a bottle of ink then shot through the air on a dare to see what figure it paints when it finally comes face to face with something so incredibly neat.
But I’m not going to write about it…too much to do, not enough squeeze play in the world of self fame and glorified beginnings that seem bigger than life until you realize, its only you who seems to be listening, watching, hanging pictures you painted, planting flowers in a garden or redesigning the garage to look incredibly better than Tim the Tool Man Taylor.
Well, gotta go…I’ve taken too much of your time, got no time to write, write and write—besides being creative is such an unexpected sport…any day, Monday, Tuesday, even if it’s 2008, you’re never late because laying a single line on a pad of paper has this far out brotherly love cool feeling about it until poof it’s gone!
I mean, I’ve heard every excuse, blunder, wonder and reason as to why the measurements of what you do, see, feel and smell just don’t seem important enough to document. You know what it is? Paper companies haven’t figured out of a way to put advertising between your thoughts—a good old fashioned two minute timeout to pick up from where you left off while hanging off the edge of a cliff only your imagination can participate with.
What is writing? The art of thinking? The presentation of doing. The end result of connection, an inner vision so deep inside fish hooks dating 50 years dangle with worms still attached. Then poof from out of nowhere…Nemo shows up and takes a bite.
Can’t write about it though—that would require energy and Red Bull doesn’t create a can big enough to print out a purpose, the boss might be 300 feet from me looking over my shoulder, the cow didn’t jump over the moon and there’s been a tragic event on the doorstep of movie popcorn—they’ve run out of butter and that stinky, sticky icky stuff is the only thing I need to jump start a plan to put Stan in motion. Who’s Stan? Damn characters come from out the woodwork. Hire him please so I can get him out of my writing.
Wait! I’m not writing today. I did yesterday—a piece of something, poetry I guess, a jotted down sentence that became two, then three and it inspired me to sing. NO! Not during American Idol Premiere week!
It didn’t stop me because writing made me laugh like a kid and giggle like a silly Willie sitting in the principals office, “I got kicked out of Heaven for asking a question—God sent me back to learn a few more lessons. It was a quarter to four and I was knocking on Heavens door. He rolled his eyes one thousand times saying he’ll get me when the time is right…until that day I’m supposed to be nobody but me. ”
Breathing in…one then two lungs full of air. There! I’ve made it clear…I’m not writing today. Guess I could blame it on the cold weather but I’m a little late on that escape, gonna be in the 50’s today. Naked trees with no leaves? Flowers with no petals? There’s got to be a solid Perry Mason styled answer that will finally give me a solid reason to put away these fingerprints left on a page filled with my writing.
Writing is like carving—woodworkers aren’t blind, they see something inside those rings and cut through the impossible until they locate the voices that sing. Truckers don’t see traffic—their visions are locked on the destination making what they do the fine art of traveling. Sales reps mastermind ways to move up, over, through and around the word no…incredibly inspiring until they use the same trick on your efforts to make words stick.
Since the idea of writing makes my stomach turn today…it’s your turn to do the talking. I want to know why you constantly stop creating.
I’ll wait for your answer…cuz I’ve got the time. I’ve elected not to write!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
You can't blame this on Mother Nature...wait...yes you can!
Why do we eat more food in winter? Mom used to say, “It’s because your body is burning energy and feeding the system you were given at birth will make you incredibly warm.”
Truth is…I was born to argue. If eating was created to maintain comfort why then don’t we stop during the months of summer? That’s when Dad took me into his manmade basement with dusty dirt clod flooring and opened the guts of the ventilating machine, “See that? Don’t just look at a chunk of metal and assume it suddenly appeared on earth to perform…it’s required to do a daily job. From the outside, common knowledge tells us that it heats and cools but once you grab a glimpse of what it’s made of…you begin to realize that it requires an enormous amount of energy to keep the process moving.”
At 47…I still disagree.
The battle stems from self delivered sentences designed by unperfected vowels, adverbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns—the outside shell of the working machines we’ve become hold within their buckets of bolts and bones verbal abuses that melt rust off ancient yard art.
If what we say shall become…why then don’t we feel the same way about leafless trees and the wired vines that fight to keep the assumed thick trunks in its selected place? My argument is…we eat to bring fullness to what to we see.
While a forest takes a well deserved nap between November to March, beneath its anxiety to come popping back into play by spring rests the other makers who turn everything bright, beautiful and unforgettably green—turtles, frogs, big ole hairless black snakes, fiery red ants and giant bumble bees with big thick as mink yellow and black coats that don’t stink.
The human spirit is locked in a mode of performance or fail—combine that with a city made of billions of trees with no leaves and invisibly it becomes our friendship to invite something filling to the presentation of what nature brings. Nobody stops to notice the noise crazy crows who holler and holler or the strikingly stellar Blue Jays that rob the cradles of dazed squirrels and chipmunks. The cattails have exploded sending seeds in places the wind spends millions of years scanning out while poison ivy lay silent patiently waiting for an untrained eye to come walking by.
Every now and then someone might take note of the rising of a daily sun but lost is the true connection, hidden away by a completely natural desire to fill all things that look empty. We eat until there is no more room.
Studies show the heaters and coolers within the bodies we keep…don’t require heaping spoons full of ice cream. The recommended amount of food a dog is supposed to get is 1/3 cup in the morning and at night…a bird is only supposed to receive a few sprinkles of seeds in the cup. Fish get a pinch a day and your neighbor would be satisfied to receive just a beer.
We may be the smartest thing to hit the earth scene since the creation of the apple but in reality the project called human is kinda off track on the smack. We use food to pick us up, it’s a great way to celebrate a holiday or wedding day—food is inviting, a way to tease the imagination, it’s flavorful, blessed with creative flow and sadly unlike a forest of trees who are required to get some sleep…food is nonstop.
Humans don’t take a break and if we do…there’s no shedding of the leaves or scampers to the nearest hole in the backyard dirt pile. McDonalds, Burger King, Wings and BBQ Ribs Are Us and every Chinese, Italian, Mexican and Home Cookery restaurant in the country have led us to believe there is beauty in fine dining.
We eat to bring fullness to winters disappearing act. Toss in snow flakes and life become a desert with irritating waves called mirages that whisper, “Eat a cookie. It’ll make you feel warm.”
Every morning I wake up, the sunrise puts light on a forest of trees that I’ve written beside since July 1994. Each year at this time I write and write and write about how much I can’t stand to see those naked sticks standing out there doing nothing more than catching a quick wink. I guess if I held up ten billion green things for nine months out of twelve by the time winter arrived, I too would dive into the depths of rapid eye movement.
We’re only being human when we want to add compassion to a hillside that looks dead. We crank the music up so loud the wind carries it to the next county, all in the name of making sure there’s always something vibrant around every step we take. Alcohol consumption skyrockets during the winter break…for some, it makes digesting the big change a little easier to handle, which is the very reason why grocery stores stack boxes of cookies, already prepared foods and other rip from the plastic bag items near the cash register because once you’re in the car…you don’t have to deal with Mama Natures break from the everyday bump and grind.
What’s the best way to beat the street and shatter the habit…by becoming aware of how many times you look at the images outside your window and inside the the mirror. Deathly looking trees and shrubs are heavy to hold and so is the image in that sheet of glass in the bathroom...the one you never, never, never say good morning to and yet you expect coworkers and bosses to make your day better than great. Fulfillment begins with adding a plastic rose to your car...everywhere you travel those two eyes are looking back at you. No matter how many times you try to get out of the meeting…you always have to pee.
Starting today take the time to say, “Hi!” Welcome to the worlds greatest diet!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
Truth is…I was born to argue. If eating was created to maintain comfort why then don’t we stop during the months of summer? That’s when Dad took me into his manmade basement with dusty dirt clod flooring and opened the guts of the ventilating machine, “See that? Don’t just look at a chunk of metal and assume it suddenly appeared on earth to perform…it’s required to do a daily job. From the outside, common knowledge tells us that it heats and cools but once you grab a glimpse of what it’s made of…you begin to realize that it requires an enormous amount of energy to keep the process moving.”
At 47…I still disagree.
The battle stems from self delivered sentences designed by unperfected vowels, adverbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns—the outside shell of the working machines we’ve become hold within their buckets of bolts and bones verbal abuses that melt rust off ancient yard art.
If what we say shall become…why then don’t we feel the same way about leafless trees and the wired vines that fight to keep the assumed thick trunks in its selected place? My argument is…we eat to bring fullness to what to we see.
While a forest takes a well deserved nap between November to March, beneath its anxiety to come popping back into play by spring rests the other makers who turn everything bright, beautiful and unforgettably green—turtles, frogs, big ole hairless black snakes, fiery red ants and giant bumble bees with big thick as mink yellow and black coats that don’t stink.
The human spirit is locked in a mode of performance or fail—combine that with a city made of billions of trees with no leaves and invisibly it becomes our friendship to invite something filling to the presentation of what nature brings. Nobody stops to notice the noise crazy crows who holler and holler or the strikingly stellar Blue Jays that rob the cradles of dazed squirrels and chipmunks. The cattails have exploded sending seeds in places the wind spends millions of years scanning out while poison ivy lay silent patiently waiting for an untrained eye to come walking by.
Every now and then someone might take note of the rising of a daily sun but lost is the true connection, hidden away by a completely natural desire to fill all things that look empty. We eat until there is no more room.
Studies show the heaters and coolers within the bodies we keep…don’t require heaping spoons full of ice cream. The recommended amount of food a dog is supposed to get is 1/3 cup in the morning and at night…a bird is only supposed to receive a few sprinkles of seeds in the cup. Fish get a pinch a day and your neighbor would be satisfied to receive just a beer.
We may be the smartest thing to hit the earth scene since the creation of the apple but in reality the project called human is kinda off track on the smack. We use food to pick us up, it’s a great way to celebrate a holiday or wedding day—food is inviting, a way to tease the imagination, it’s flavorful, blessed with creative flow and sadly unlike a forest of trees who are required to get some sleep…food is nonstop.
Humans don’t take a break and if we do…there’s no shedding of the leaves or scampers to the nearest hole in the backyard dirt pile. McDonalds, Burger King, Wings and BBQ Ribs Are Us and every Chinese, Italian, Mexican and Home Cookery restaurant in the country have led us to believe there is beauty in fine dining.
We eat to bring fullness to winters disappearing act. Toss in snow flakes and life become a desert with irritating waves called mirages that whisper, “Eat a cookie. It’ll make you feel warm.”
Every morning I wake up, the sunrise puts light on a forest of trees that I’ve written beside since July 1994. Each year at this time I write and write and write about how much I can’t stand to see those naked sticks standing out there doing nothing more than catching a quick wink. I guess if I held up ten billion green things for nine months out of twelve by the time winter arrived, I too would dive into the depths of rapid eye movement.
We’re only being human when we want to add compassion to a hillside that looks dead. We crank the music up so loud the wind carries it to the next county, all in the name of making sure there’s always something vibrant around every step we take. Alcohol consumption skyrockets during the winter break…for some, it makes digesting the big change a little easier to handle, which is the very reason why grocery stores stack boxes of cookies, already prepared foods and other rip from the plastic bag items near the cash register because once you’re in the car…you don’t have to deal with Mama Natures break from the everyday bump and grind.
What’s the best way to beat the street and shatter the habit…by becoming aware of how many times you look at the images outside your window and inside the the mirror. Deathly looking trees and shrubs are heavy to hold and so is the image in that sheet of glass in the bathroom...the one you never, never, never say good morning to and yet you expect coworkers and bosses to make your day better than great. Fulfillment begins with adding a plastic rose to your car...everywhere you travel those two eyes are looking back at you. No matter how many times you try to get out of the meeting…you always have to pee.
Starting today take the time to say, “Hi!” Welcome to the worlds greatest diet!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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