earl's brain

Random Action Jackson.

2012-02-07T07:23:00.001-08:00

Just a few random thoughts that came to me while in the shower. The shower is where I do almost all of my solid thinking...

* Bullet points. Since we're consumed with work, might as well use the ever-businessy bullet points. Unfortunately, on this blogspot site, I can't figure out how to make them look clean and professional. Kind of fitting, I suppose.

* Back to the shower... There aren't too many places that I love more than the shower. Aside from the soothing, meditational rain on my back, nearly scalding my skin, I think the most definitive part of the shower, as far as inducing solid, constructive thinking, is the fact that nobody can fuck with me in the shower. There are no phones or email. Even if my wife screams something from downstairs at me, I just ignore her. This is my 15 minutes of solitude a day. This is where everything gets done.

I feel sorry for people that don't shower. I understand the very Coloradian point of view of "Use Only What You Need" in a wasting water sense. But I need that water. It's the most important part of the day. That's probably why most everyone in Colorado stinks. Damn hippies...

* I am quickly growing tired of screens. I spend just about every waking moment of every day in front of some sort of screen--as do a lot of you, I'm assuming. (Ironic, huh? I'm bitching about screens by typing on a screen.) Whether it's a phone or computer screen to accomplish a day's work...or an iPod, iPad, or TV to relax, there's always a screen present.

I try to think back to when I had my first office job and how in the hell work got done without computers. Back in the mid-nineties I remember having a computer at my desk, but it was for creating graphs and charts and shit. No email, no IM, no Skype, nothing even close to that. Everything was done through telephone, fax, and face-to-face meetings. I remember hating those office days about as much as I hate these office days. That probably has more to do with my dislike for offices, office work, office sayings, bullet points, and people in general, though. "Dude, you're such a whiny little bitch." "Yea, I hear that a lot."

Bottom line on the screen speech: I need to relax on them. It's hurting my eyes and making me disappointed in myself. More staring at a tree--not a digital image of a tree on one of my 11 screens (shitty example. Sorry.).

* It's snowing. I don't really care for snow. I don't ski, snowboard, sled, make snow angels, participate in snowball fights, or build igloos. I don't enjoy shoveling snow, driving in snow, scraping snow from my windshield, or pushing cars out of ditches filled with snow. It's kind of pretty, but that's pretty much where it starts and ends with me. It is better than ice, which is what I left in Missouri. It doesn't snow there, it ices. I just want to be a snowbird (I think that's the correct term...) who lives in the Keys for four months out of the year. I'm going to work on that.

* Dokken Day 2.0 is quickly approaching. I haven't hyped it near as much this time around as I did in 2010. Not to make excuses, but I've been very preoccupied with making sure I stress out as much as I possibly can due to work. That's had me pretty busy. But don't you worry--I'll be there with my leather trench coat (Oops! Did I spoil the surprise?) and clean pipes for hitting those high notes.

* What is it, twelve days until pitchers and catchers report? God, I hate sports in February. April and I went to a Nuggets game last night, which was actually pretty fun, aside from me dwelling on work-related garbage all night (may need to start medicating myself). We got there late and left early--and certainly didn't pay for the tickets--but enjoyed ourselves. Not sure who won. Don't care.

I heart baseball.

Nuggets....

* Lately, I've been thinking fairly deeply about happiness. There's a real good chance that we've only got one ride on this train. Corny sounding, but you get it. I'm not interested in spending any of that time unhappy. It's time wasted. Whatever you can do to ensure that you and your loved ones are happy throughout this lifetime is what needs to be done. At least for me it does. And that includes making sacrifices, I'm afraid. I'm guilty of getting caught up in my own happiness that sometimes I forget that I need to make other people happy, too. Well, just the important ones.

I won't get too deep into that now.

I've got to run downstairs and get a fresh cup of coffee. Maybe that will help me out of this extremely "gray" mood.

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i am entirely too cynical.

2012-01-19T19:47:00.000-08:00

My extraordinarily interesting life (he says sarcastically) has led me today to a musty hotel room with furniture from the late 70s (but with a microwave!), in the beautiful but weird City of Salt Lake. I am attending the Outdoor Retailer's Convention--or OR, as the cool kids call it.

OR is the time when everyone from the Outdoor Industry convenes in one place as vendors show off their updated wares to buyers. It's loud, obnoxious, stressful, claustrophobic, and exhausting...which doesn't really reflect the outdoor lifestyle that once attracted me to this business. Brands like Patagonia, Marmot, Columbia, and The North Face are seeing who has the biggest dick. Their show displays most certainly break the million dollar mark, and it's almost a game to see who can make the most noise and attract the most people. Granted, I'm not opposed to the tactic of giving away free beer to attract people--it worked on me.

It's "sell, sell, sell!!" nonstop. Selling products, selling lifestyles, selling your company, selling your word, and selling yourself. When you break it all down, it essentially has nothing to do with the outdoors, it has to do with dollars. It's just another industry. Sure, it's probably more fun than selling dog food or something, but it's just selling to make money.

Matt, you're a SALES REP. Yea, I know...

I couldn't help but think as I elbowed my way through thousands of people today, that I would like to start minimizing. I mean, there's so much stuff! Everyone is making everything for every occasion. This convention center was filled to the seams with stuff--just to make enjoying the outdoors more enjoyable? Yea, I guess to a point. But I'm getting so damn jaded with all the "this brand is better than this brand", "this product is better than this product", the mud-slinging, the egos, the bullshit, and excess. It's not what the outdoors are. In fact, it's the opposite.

The outdoors represents a step back. A step back from the egos, bullshit, and excess. It simplifies life in a backwards kind of way where you escape everyday conveniences and rely on basics. Today felt like REI, the New York Stock Exchange, and Vegas got thrown in a blender without a lid and this is what sprayed all over the ceiling.

My happy place today was envisioning a week-long float trip down the Buffalo River in Northern Arkansas that I'll hopefully get to make a reality in May (thanks for the invite, Jeffrey!).

It's a strange contrast. Loud, obnoxious, stressful, claustrophobic, and exhausting; mud-slinging, egos, bullshit, and excess--to try and help make someones outdoor experience more enjoyable. I suppose business is business--money is money. That's how it is. And I suppose I should be thankful that it's still an enjoyable (for the most part) industry to be in.

It'd be a lot cooler if someone would just pay me to be on the other end...camping alongside the Buffalo River, not worrying about selling stuff to people. An end user on payroll. Not a bad title.

That's what's on my brain.

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Perspective.

2012-01-11T21:26:00.000-08:00

I've been stressed out lately. That doesn't happen all that often.

I grew up in an atmosphere where money wasn't taken for granted. Whenever something monetarily bad would happen, my folks would not let it crush them. They would find a way to pay the mortgage, keep the water on, and feed the family. Commissioned sales can be a very lucrative means to a living, and it can be empty and unforgiving.

When checks weren't being deposited on a regular basis, my folks would keep their chin up and with a sincere tone say, "It could be a lot worse."

It could. Cheesy, but we always had each other. We were extremely fortunate in the grand scheme of all things and scenarios. We had a roof over our heads, good eats on the table, and a tremendous relationship with each other. Not everyone can say that.

Now that I'm the one with the mortgage, the car payments, the insurance and taxes, I need to take a page from my parents and not let dollar signs stress me out. I have learned to adapt. When things are going well, and the dollars signs are a positive presence, I need to be better at appreciating. Appreciating the things that we tend to fall back on when times could be better--because they could be a lot worse.

From time to time I call my folks when I'm a little stressed--always about money, in some form--and they both deliver the same "pep talk". First, there's the tone in their voices that basically say, "Dude, you don't have it bad. WE'VE had it bad. So shut up." Then there's the empathetic ear--the understanding. Then finally the bluntness of, "Hey, at least no one's been in a wreck, or has cancer or something."

Eloquent? No. But poignant and true.

So I suppose when I get stressed out, I should be very thankful that it's over money. 'Cause it's just money.

That's called perspective.

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Big Winner.

2012-01-03T16:11:00.001-08:00

I heard this saying once, "Think of what you would do if you won the lottery, then strive to do that for a living.", or something like that.

So I guess that means if you were to spend all of your winnings buying things, you should be a professional shopper or merchandiser. If you would travel to exotic places, then maybe you should work on a cruise ship. If you decided to put all the money in the bank and live off the interest, then you're super-boring and I don't want to talk about this with you.

What would I do? That's easy. I'd fish. Yep, as simple--and redneck--of an answer that it is, that's exactly what I would do. But it is actually much deeper than it sounds.

When I'm fishing, I am completely shut off from outside interference. I don't worry. I don't think about grown-up things like money, working, investing, mortgages, payments, insurance, and taxes. I don't dwell on my travel schedule, or worry about kids, or wonder how this or that will get done. I am on the water with one intention, yet still take time to appreciate my surroundings.

Sure, if I won the lottery I wouldn't have to worry about any of that stuff anyway. But I don't like playing with money, so why not hire people to while I go fish? Sounds like a plan to me.

But there's much more than just hook, line, and sinker. By fishing all the time, I would travel to all ends of the earth (except Asia--creeps me out) in search of great water. And by traveling, I would be able to sample a vast variety of local eateries and drinkeries--another one of my favorite things. I would probably meet a lot of new people, too. That's cool, I guess...as long as they're not douchey.

Basically, I want to live my life happily and worry-free. Like when I'm fishing.

Better go buy my Power Ball ticket.

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Blessing in Desguise.

2011-12-10T15:16:00.000-08:00

I'm not really sure why I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, it's a game.

But like so many other sports fans, it's more than just a game. It's more than just a friendly contest. It's loyalty and appreciation for a city, state, region, school, or tradition. I wish I were above this sort of addiction, but I'm not.

The loyalty that people have towards their team is pretty amazing. My wife, for instance--she is from small town Nebraska, went to school in Lincoln, and bleeds Husker Red. She knows more about the history of Cornhusker Football than anyone I know. She can talk Big 8, Big 12, SEC, whatever with anyone out there. But it's not that she loves the Huskers just because she feels she needs a team to root for. It's something that brings together family and friends; it's her history, home, and heritage; it's her alma mater; and no matter how good or bad the team is that particular year, you can bet that she'll be watching and rooting for the 'Skers.

I'm kind of the same when it comes to the St. Louis Cardinals. My entire family is from St. Louis, and as a little kid I was enamored with the Cards. I'm 37 now and nothing has changed.

And, like my wife and the Cornhuskers, it's not just a team for me to root for. I'm not a fan just so I feel like I'm a part of something. There's no fairweather rooting with us. No, I grew up watching the Cards with my entire family. My family is St. Louis, and the Cardinals are St. Louis. We knew every player and their stats, we took sick time from work to attend Opening Day, we knew when the Cubbies were coming to town, we worked at Anheuser-Busch, we applauded the visiting team, and we felt like we were best friends with Jack Buck and Mike Shannon. We appreciated the blue-collared mentality of coming to work and busting your ass--giving 100%. Running out grounders, diving for line drives, not showing up the competition. That's St. Louis baseball. And we embrace those that represent great St. Louis baseball. Not many teams have true Hall of Famers seemingly roaming around the stadium in their red blazers.

In this day and age, there aren't many players that stick with one team throughout their entire career. Players come and go, yet we still appreciate them and their time spent with St. Louis. There are certain, unfortunate situations in which a player leaves in a negative light. Scott Rolen didn't get along with Tony LaRussa, so he was traded. Jim Edmonds was on the downside of his career, so he was traded. Ozzie Smith ended his career on the bench, being replaced by the younger Royce Clayton (who?). It happens, but that's how it is.

So when you have a player like Albert Pujols, who came up through St. Louis' farm system and has had the career that he has had, the city is going to throw themselves at him. He is a god walking among mortals in St. Louis.

Then he splits. For more money.

And it bothers me a little. It shouldn't at all, but it does. I think it's bugging because it feels like a slap in the face. That guy could do no wrong in St. Louis' eyes. He owned the city. We let him get by with anything. And then after the Cards offer him ridiculous money over a ridiculous amount of time--just like he wanted--he walks.

Have you ever dated a girl that was just a little out of your league? When you first started dating, she was young and genuine. But over the years, her hotness increased. Now, she's incredibly attractive and amazing in the sack, and she knows it. And you throw yourself at her, you spoil her, you tell her she's perfect and can do no wrong. She never really reciprocates her feelings back to you. Sure, she says she loves you and will never leave you, but it doesn't really sound that genuine. Still, you keep hope alive. Then it comes time when you feel you really need to commit yourself to her and "lock her up". You ask her if she will be yours forever and give her a promise ring. She tells you that it's not shiny enough and gives it back to you. She says she doesn't want to talk about it while she's busy being hot for the next seven months. You say okay. During that seven months, she proves to everyone just how hot she is. You come back to her after the duration and ask for her hand in marriage. She tells you that she's met someone else. He's some rich guy that work for Fox Sports, lives in Los Angeles, drives a Maserati, and gave her a bigger ring. They've only known each other for a couple days. He's never met her family, and they've never even been to LA. It's a tough, confusing break up.

Well, even though that relationship ended with a kick in the dick, I guess we did have some good times together. She really wasn't my type anyway. Actually, I've got a couple other chicks I've been seeing, and they're pretty hot in that "girl next door" kind of way.

Yes, it's a tough break up. It's a bit of a slap in the face. But--and we all know it--it wasn't meant to be.

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Dokken Day 2.0

2011-11-29T10:47:00.000-08:00

Look at the hair. Hair that says, "I like to party, kick ass, and fuck." Hair like this was once considered a symbol of power. Accompanied with ripped t-shirts, boots with buckles, various tapestries dangling, very very tight pants, and a little makeup applied to the face, this was a style that led 80s rock 'n rollers to the land of loud, obnoxious, sexy, big dumb rock. It was a glorious land.

This particular band pictured is, of course, Dokken.

In the year 2010, a party was held in Springfield, Missouri to celebrate the day that is, Dokken Day. The party was good. There was rock, spandex, heavy drinking, hot tubbing, an 80s metal kick contest, high-pitched vocalizing, and good fellowship.

Two years later, Dokken Day will rise again from the ashes like a glowing, fiery hawk--talons agape, ready to latch onto a hot pink Ibanez electric guitar and fly high above the horizon for everyone to see. 2012 will bring together the same band of rockers committed to celebrating not only one of the greatest 80s Metal bands with two "k's" in their name--but every band that donned the perfectly hairspray-teased mane; the denim, spandex, and leather; and the attitude of excesses.

Dokken Day 2.0 will be ridiculous.

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Badass.

2011-11-27T14:51:00.000-08:00

Badass:

(slang) Concerning extreme appearance, attitudes and/or behavior that is considered admirable.

That's what Wiktionary says. But badass (in the adjective form) is kind of indescribable. It's one of those terms that you just know when it fits. I use it quite a bit, probably because I, for one, am badass. I am not a badass, mind you--far from it, actually--but I surround myself with things badass, therefore I am.

In case you are unclear on this adjective, the following is a list of things that are badass--and also a list of things that you might think are badass, but are not.

The movie, "The Incredible Hulk" = badass
The movie, "Hulk" = not badass

Motorhead = badass
Nickelback = not badass

Trans Am = badass
Mustang = not badass
Camaro = bitchin'

Star Wars Episode IV, V, and VI = badass
Star Wars Episode I, II, and III = not badass

Willie McGee and Tommy Herr = badass
Nyger Morgan and Brandon Phillips = not badass

Monster Truck Jam = badass
NASCAR race = not badass

Devil horns = badass
Peace sign = not badass

Budweiser = badass
Mike's Hard Lemonade = not badass

That's just a small example of certain things that are badass.

Typically, a successful doings is considered badass. Like, "That _____ was badass!" Here, we can insert "roadtrip", "concert", "game", or "party"--just as long as the subject of the statement qualifies as badass. For example, you cannot say, "That roadtrip to Branson, Missouri was badass!" That doesn't work. Only unless your roadtrip to Branson, Missouri consisted of dangerous drunken driving, accosting a local celebrity (ie: Yakov, Andy Williams, or an Oak Ridge Boy), or defacing a theater by means of human excrement. Then--and only then does your roadtrip to Branson, Missouri classify as badass.

When descibing music as badass, it gets a little tricky. Certain musical acts are a given: Social Distortion, Johnny Cash, Van Halen, AC/DC, Willie Nelson, Ramones, and the aforementioned Motorhead. Bands trying to be badass, but instead being ridiculous (see above: Nickelback) are obviously not badass and never will be badass. I say "never will be" because--and this is the tricky part--musical acts that do not fall into the categories of "badass" or "ridiculous" can be accociated with the term badass at times. Example: "Wow, that Coldplay concert was badass!"

Now, I don't consider Coldplay to be badass. I don't consider them ridiculous, either. To me, they're just kind of there. But I'd say there's a possibility based on what I've heard about their live shows that if I were to go see Coldplay in concert, realistically with low expectations, that I might be surprised to the point of saying, "Wow, that Coldplay concert was badass!" Please note, though, that this statement does not, in any way, make Coldplay badass. It just means that they really impressed me to the point of liking them for the time being and I have expressed my pleasure by stating that their concert was badass, that's all.

This is a totally hypothetical example, too. I've never seen Coldplay or really even listen to them. I'm just using them to make a point.

Some confuse the terms "badass" and "kick ass". Totally different. It's similar to "like" and "love"--or "yes!" and "fuckin' a!" Kick ass expresses an intense feeling of pleasure, whereas badass takes it to the next level.

Example: "That party last night was kick ass!"

"No man, that party last night was badass!!"

Please be aware, though, that "kick ass" used as a verb is equally as powerful as the adjective "badass" and more powerful than the adjective "kick ass". Example: "Every Rodney Dangerfield movie kicks ass." is equal to "Every Rodney Dangerfield movie is badass."...but not equal to "Every Rodney Dangerfield movie is kick ass."

"Kick ass" is just more powerful as a verb than it is an adjective...as powerful as "badass". That's just how it is.

The terms "badass", "kick ass", and "fuckin' a", when used properly, can assemble an extremely powerful sentence structure.

As far as the spelling for badass goes, I've decided that it should be one word. I realize that this is probably the prefered spelling for the noun variation (ex: "Nick Nolte is a badass."), but I feel that regarless of the terminology, the one-word spelling is more powerful. Plus, it's easier to text (ex: "got u tix to soc d show 2nite"..."badass"). And in addition, it is acceptable to include quotations or not to--your choice.

Now, I'm off to watch the Chiefs vs. the Steelers on tv. I do not feel strongly enough about either team, nor NFL Football in general to describe this doings as "badass". But, like with my Coldplay example earlier, the game may pleasantly surprise me enough for me to deem the game "badass".

Please enjoy these videos of things that have earned the definition "badass".

Thoughts, Updates, Ramblings, and Such.

2011-11-08T16:33:00.000-08:00

Let the randomness....begin!

** First things first--I have moved on. I no longer manage a retail store. I associate with people who manage retail stores, but I myself do not hold that title anymore.

I have moved on to the profession of sales representation once again. Only this time I am not representing things that I could give a shit about (re: air handling units, pumps, and whatever else I used to sell. Sorry dad.), I am representing things that I enjoy (re: tents, hiking boots, camp stoves, cool winter jackets). I work from home, travel quite frequently, and am moving back to the Midwest.

Yes, out of Colorado and back into Kansas City. It's cool though, it will allow me to be closer to my family, my friends, and my baseball team.

How's that for a segway?

** My baseball team is, and always will be the St. Louis Cardinals. My first memories of existence include the Cardinals. Cards posters, Cards lamp, Cards sheets, Cards jammies, Cards ball caps... I remember them winning the 1982 World Series. I remember them losing to the Royals in 1985, assisted by "the call" at first base. I remember '87 against the Twins. I saw Mark McGwire's first home run as a Cardinal...back to back with Ray Langford. I own a streak of 11 years in a row seeing the Cubs/Cards rivalry. 2004 WS loss. 2006 WS win.

And then came the greatest game ever played. Game six of the 2011 World Series. And I was at a fucking sales meeting. I saw the meat of the game in the bar at the fancy resturant where our work dinner was. Then followed the play-by-play in the shuttle back to the hotel. Luckily I made it back to my room to see the dramatic win. But it wasn't just game six, it was the entire run from August that made that win so special.

** My dad's best friend growing up died. It's kind of a weird deal. Dad and Jim were best friends as kids, up through high school, and then past college. Jim was dad's best man, and I believe dad, Jim's. Jim and his family moved to Texas some time after college and they obviously saw much less of each other. I remember seeing Jim when I was a kid. Him and his family would visit from time to time, as we would visit them. Then as the years went on, dad and Jim drifted apart for whatever reason.

This whole story has me thinking fairly deeply about a few things. Dad didn't find out about Jim's death until some random, mutual acquaintance included dad on an email about Jim's obituary. Now, let me back up. Over the years, dad has tried reaching out to Jim--he's called him several times with no reply. Why? Who knows. Probably because people get caught up in their own shit and the past becomes an afterthought...I don't know. And upon finding out this sad news, dad obviously felt extremely bad. Felt he should have tried harder.

Here's what makes me start thinking: Not to place any "blame" on my dad's deceased friend, but dad tried. If I were to drift apart from my best friend since memory starts--which is bound to happen to a point during adulthood--I'm going to return his calls. I'm going to shoot him an email from time to time. And I'm certainly going to let him know that I have cancer and am going die soon. There's drifting apart, and then there's just oddly blocking someone out for no apparent reason.

Here's the rest of what's got me thinking: Jim, obviously, was my dad's age. That makes, let's see...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 parents of friends or friends of parents whom have passed away recently. All from cancer, I believe. And that's just the ones that I was close to.

It's a depressing subject and one I don't enjoy thinking about, but "who knows when?" No one.

That's why, if you are best friends with your parents, like I am...best friends with your wife, like I am...best friends with your sister, like I am...best friends with your best friends, like I am...and best friends with your kids, like I am going to be...then you need to throw any selfishness out the window and spend as much time with them as you can. No need to suffocate them, just find that balance of good, quality time.

** Balance. That's such a meaningful term to me. Balance is the blueprint to my entire life's structure. I don't feel like explaining that--I'll just let you ponder it for yourselves.

** Pujols? Sure, for a fair price. I wouldn't mind getting the band back together as long as we're not breaking the bank for the next ten years. If he splits though, so be it. He's a good ballplayer, but he's not THE Cardinals. At this point in his career I'd say he's replaceable. I'd be okay with letting him go to South Beach with LeBron and us finding the next Joey Votto.

Whatever happens, happens. And that's cool.

;;

The Thing About Retail...

2011-09-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

I've been in retail for a long time now--too long. There are certain things that occur in retail on a daily basis that are utterly maddening and break you down like a turd in the rain.

My rant...

If you are ever cornered into eating your lunch at the shop, which unfortunately happens far too often, then you're probably familiar with this scenario: No matter what time of the day you choose to eat your lunch, be it 11am or 3pm, the split second that you take that first bite of sandwich or slurp of soup, a customer walks in. Always--it never fails. The only alternative to that is the phone ringing. It's about a 70/30 ratio in my experience, with walk-in's leading. Inevidibly, the person inturupting your only break of the day, wants to chat...a lot. Honestly, you can go two, three hours without seeing a customer walk through your door. But as soon as you decide to grab a quick bite, there they are. It's like they know. It's like they're out to ruin not only your lunch break, but your entire day--your entire existance (maybe not that bad...).

Other constant amazments in the retail relm are customers who can't seem to make it to your store between the hours of open and close. And they're pissed. Pissed because you don't open early enough or stay open late enough for their convenience. Weekly, I have customers waiting at the front door when I roll up with my coffee, half asleep still. And half the time they just want to hang out. Their only agenda is to anger me first thing in the morning.

On the other end of the day, and perhaps my greatest pet peeve, is the customer who enters the store, fully aware that we close in 2 minutes, and proceeds to take 30-60 minutes of my time. Do they buy something? I really don't care. That's because I have no motivation to sell anything. What do I care if this rude human buys something or not? All I know is that he/she couldn't make it to the store within the 9 hours that we were open. That's just poor planning on their part. But, over the years I've learned to deal with this type of person. If I'm in a good mood (which isn't often) or if I take a liking to this person--which usually stems from them apologizing profusely about their shitting timing--I just deal with it...effeciently But nine times out of ten, I tell them we're closed and what our hours are the next day...politely, of course. It still doesn't take away my fury.

And this is probably more common with working a fly fishing shop than say, a liquor store--but I'm sure other retail folk can relate: The constant barrage of questions. In the fly fishing world, people expect us to know up-to-the-minute everything about every body of water in every corner of the world. That's not much of an exageration, either. This is no joke--I had a customer enter the store yesterday and bee-line it straight to where I was standing with a completely helpless look on his face (which is VERY common). He asked about a river in a different state that I, nor the rest of my staff had never heard of. We did some research and and figured out which river it was (he had the name of the river totally wrong) and where it was. This process took us about ten minutes. After our investigation of which and where and pointing it out on a map to him, he proceeds to ask, "Do you know what they're biting on there?"

"No."

Up until ten minute ago, I'd never even heard of this river. How the fuck would I know what the fish are biting on at this mystery river seven hours away in a different state? Fucking Google it, like I just did! Helpless.

But instead of saying all of that, I just completely bullshitted him. I don't feel bad, because I'm certain that's all he wanted. He came into the store asking the ridiculous, and he received bullshit. I guess that's how it works.

I would honestly say that 95% of the customers that walk through the shop door have questions. Working at a fly shop is not just retail, it's being a help desk, an advice column, and an information center. The redundantcy can be tough to handle--it's like "Groundhog Day". Repeating myself to every person that walks in is exhausting. Maybe that's because I was never that person. I'm not saying that I'm better than these people, I'm just able to figure things out without asking strangers a hundred questions. (sidenote: as I write this paragraph, I've had two customers approach me saying, "I've got a question." I know you do...I know you do.)

Retail is a strange world. Anyone can walk through those doors--that is, unless I lock it in front of you. The other morning, as I was having a casual meeting with one of my reps, a drugged out hippie kid walked up to the store with no idea where he was. He was yelling at himself, slobbering, walking in circles, obviously out of his mind. He glanced at the door a time or two before I finally excused myself from my conversation and quickly locked the door. It was perfect--as he looked down at the ground, drooling, I clicked the lock and scurried back to the group. The nutbag then looked up and tried opening the door. Dang, it was locked. He turned away and stummbled into traffic. Kind of sad, he couldn't have been older than 25 and his brain was 100% melted.

One last beef with my current retail situation: The guys who come in every day for at least an hour. I hate them because, one: They obviously do not work. Boulder is littered with trust-funders who have no reason to hold down a 9 to 5. Money magically appears in their bank account while they're out fishing, skiing, drinking, getting high, and buying unnecessary things. And two: Because they come in every day. It's kind of funny that people with a money tree who are able to fish everyday of the week still come into my store asking for advice. I get to fish maybe one day a week...maybe. But they still insist on loitering, hanging out, not buying much, talking, talking, and talking. They don't need the money, but I do. They want to be here at the shop for shits and giggles, and I don't. They'll hang out at the shop for an hour or so, ask where they should go fishing, I feed them some bullshit to get them on their way, they fish for the rest of the day, then go spend hundreds of dollars on booze and pot afterwards. Next day, repeat. Next day, repeat. Can't blame them, I guess. (sidenote: As I write this paragraph, customer "Bill" walks through the door. It's the sixth time this week he's been in. He's in his sixties, squinty eyes, consta-smile, "Heeey, man" hippie-voice--all residual effects from years of smoking pot instead of working in the Boulder Bubble. I grit my teeth. I do not offer any loose ended conversation for him to jump on start talking my ear off. I quickly and efficiently get "Bill" out of the store before I find myself in an hour-long game of 20 Questions.)

The good parts of working in retail? Well, let's see...I get a lot of free shit. But for a jaded veteran of over ten years on the floor, that's about it. The novelty has worn off, regardless of what I'm selling. Be it cogs, sprockets, or yes--fly fishing equipment, it really just doesn't matter anymore. I still have to deal with weirdos on an hourly basis. It's still retail.

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Assholes Flying Planes Into Buildings.

2011-09-11T16:42:00.000-07:00

"Never Forget"

Not to be heartless, but to me, that statement about 9/11 is stupid. Of course we're never going to forget. Twenty years from now I'm not going to have someone ask me, "Say, remember those two towers crumbling to the ground in New York?"

"Towers? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know, those two tall buildings that got hit by planes. They fell...thousands of people died...you know."

"Hmmm, you know...I think I do remember something about that. Not so much the 'towers falling' you speak of, but everyone holding up these Hallmark-made signs reading "Never Forget". There were also ribbon stickers on people's cars, Facebook updates, headlines ten years later--all reading "Never Forget". So yea, I knew that I was supposed to remember something. I guess it was the tower thing you're talking about."

Who made up this slogan? Who is profiting from this? Who sat around at an office conference table and came up with this phrase that is on everything...everything?

It's the tenth anniversary of the attacks today. I've been jockeying back and forth between football, baseball, even a 9/11 special on NatGeo Network. And I've seen "Never Forget" or some variation of that phrase a good 300-400 times tonight. It's on backstops, end zones, State Farm commercials, jumbo-trons, public service announcements, t-shirts, hand-written signs, what have you.

And I get it. It's not a literal statement. It's a "Don't Tread On Me" type of thing. A banding-together-as-one type of thing. It's all about support and unity and remembering.

Once again though, how did this one phrase come to characterize the entire post-9/11 commercialization. And yes, that's exactly what it is--commercialization. Someone is profiting from this slogan being used constantly. And it kind of sickens me. But that's America.

As far as what happened on that day ten years ago, we all have our stories and memories and connections. After watching that special on 9/11 this evening, it brought back the horrific reality. That shit wasn't a movie.

I'm not a dramatic guy. I'm really not even that patriotic. But seeing those planes hit the buildings...seeing the buildings fall...seeing the horror and panic on people's faces...and then trying to put myself in their shoes...it's unfathomable.

I've never been to New York, but I still tear up every time I see that footage. So, I do have a sense of patriotism I guess.

I really hope that whomever came up with "Never Forget" or "We Shall Not Forget" or "These Colors Don't Run" or "Forgetting is For Losers and Colors are For Winners" or whatever is giving their money to the families of the victims. That would make me feel a little better about the whole thing.

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Drunk Ramble About Punktry & Western.

2011-08-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

Punk.

The term describes a person who rebels against "normal" everyday society. Generally speaking, they incorporate loud, obnoxious, simple, angst-ridden music into their rebellions. They poke fun by mocking, sticking their tongues out, and cursing violently. I have much punk inside me.

Now old and cynical, I can still one hundred percent love and appreciate Punk Rock. My aged personality still hinges on punk tendencies--for good or for bad. I have a short toleration span, and my humoring skills are about as bad as they were when I was 18.

Although my musical stylings have mellowed in my later years towards Americana, Country (the good shit) and obscure Classic Rock, I still live by Iggy, Bad Brains, Rancid, and the Ramones. The simplicity of the music and message are more than straight forward and essentially say "fuck you" to people that don't get it. People who adhere to the norm need not apply--Punk is not interested.

I don't listen to a lot of punk. I don't branch out to find new bands or go to many shows anymore. That part of it is basically over for me. I still listen to the old standbys, though. And a lot of the bands and styles that I listen to nowadays have Punk similarities and influences.

Punk and Country have crossed paths, and it's glorious. Take Jason and The Scorchers, Social Distortion, or the Supersuckers...Punk Country. Or as Sheriff Kevin Joe Phillips of 40 Horse Johnson calls it, "Punktry & Western". (That's my old band--40HJ. We were glorious. Maybe one day I'll be drunk enough writing on this thing that I'll post some old footage of 40HJ doing a little Johnny Cash or Jerry Reed.) A lot of "fuck you" mentality went in to old Country, as well as simple, straight forward music and songwriting. A lot of Punk similarities...I think that's a big reason I like it so much.

Please don't confuse the style of music that I'm describing as something it's not. When Punk and Country cross, you do not get Jason Aldean or Big & Rich. That's what happens when you cross Nickleback, Rascal Flatts, and a bag runny dog shit. When Punk and Country cross, it can be extremely subtle, like when listening to John Prine or Billy Joe Shaver. And I think it's safe to say that Punk Rock was influenced substantially by Country Music. Think Hank Williams, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Johnny Cash. Rockabilly is living, breathing proof that the two genres are best friends.

Fantastic Combination

2011-08-18T21:24:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was a kid, riding in the car with the parents on a hot day with the air conditioning at full blast. And for some reason, at some point, I would feel compelled to roll down my window, at which point one, or both, of my folks would yell, "Roll your window up! You're letting out the cold air!"

I now understand what my parents were yelling about. They had achieved the perfect comfort level for traveling in a car, and they didn't want to have to start all over just because I fucked it all up by rolling my window down.

But now that I'm all growsed up and have my own car, I really like the "A/C On, Windows Down Combo". Especially while driving around town. Dehumidified, cold, crisp air is remarkable, especially places like back home in Missouri where it's more humid than an elephant's butt. But it's hard to beat the soft, cool breeze of fresh, outdoor air coming in through your car window, too.

So why not create a fantastic combination?

Even to this day, my wife or a friend will say, "Oh, we better roll the windows up since the A/C is on." No. No, we don't need to.

"A/C On, Windows Down Combo" is the best of both worlds. I don't lose cold air, I create superior air. I mix it up. I don't settle for either, or. I combine two wonderful methods.

I honestly don't notice a sufficient loss of fuel economy or power to my air compressor--or really anything at all out of the norm with my auto when I have the A/C on and windows down. My car acts just like it does when I have the A/C on and the windows up--like any civilized person would have. And even though a lot of that cold air is getting sucked out of the window and lost forever, my air conditioner makes more. It makes it really fast.

The key to amazing air is this; First turn on your A/C. Turn it on fairly high--about one notch higher than where you would comfortably have it. Then...roll your window down. I like to roll my driver's side window down all the way, and then I usually experiment with other windows at other levels. Sometimes my passenger side window is the way to go. But other times it makes more sense to roll my driver's side backseat window down--usually about half way. That way the wind isn't blowing me away. It's just a soft, cool breeze.

Don't feel guilty about "wasting" your cold air. It was invented to make you more comfortable whilst driving. So turn it up with confidence...and roll that damn window down so you can experience superior air in the form of "A/C On, Windows Down Combo".

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The Perfect Gig.

2011-08-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

You ever hear that saying about people that can't figure out what they want to do for a living? I'm not sure where I heard it, but it basically goes: Think of the perfect job for yourself. Then make it happen.

I can appreciate the simplicity--the straightforwardness. Like a lot of jobs, it sounds good on paper. But I'm not here to bitch about my job again. I'm here to talk things out. To figure out how to accomplish that simple, beautiful statement.

First, I must ask myself that very question. "What is the perfect job?"

Hmmm, I've thought about that question every day for the last 15 years. This much I know: The answer isn't "a fireman" or a "fishing guide" or any other established profession. It's one that I have to create.

The perfect job for me isn't settling. It's not having to deal with bullshit on a regular basis. It isn't redundant, routine, or anything resembling a scene out of "Groundhog Day". The satisfaction that comes from the perfect job isn't solely monetary...it's knowing that you are really damn good at what you do, and that you get paid accordingly. The perfect job is one that grew from your thoughts and ideas, one that feeds creativity and adventure, one that makes you feel alive inside. And obviously, one that you don't have live from paycheck to paycheck on.

So, what is it that I consider the perfect job?

Well, it would be foolish to choose something that I have no experience in. So many professions sound romantic and Utopian, but in reality they probably kind of suck. Example: Fly Fishing Guide. "Wow, you get to go fishing everyday and meet new people! That sounds like the best job ever!"

Yes, it does sound like a swell job. But it ain't for me. I've guided, and managed guide services, and it takes away from the passion. But fly fishing is definitely what I would like to do for the rest of my life. So I might as well get paid for it--only not by guiding.

The perfect gig for me is just fishing. Fishing on my own watch, wherever I want to fish, for whatever fish I choose, traveling to different states, countries, continents, and then writing about it. Writing whatever I want to write for whomever I want to write for. Chronicling my travels, my experiences...mapping out my routes, spinning stories about characters--both of human and fishy races.

Here's the catch, though...I don't want to do the whole "finding a publisher" or "networking with people in the business" or any of that shit. I want to travel, fish, eat, drink, bullshit, and write--that's it--and I want to somehow be paid for it. A modest salary plus travel expenses would suffice. Not a lot to ask for, I don't think.

A mature adult person would start submitting pieces to reputable magazines, newspapers, and various publications. They would start finding the names of big shots in the business--people with some pull. Networking, elbow rubbing, trying to make a name for oneself. Someone with terrific ambition would make it their life's work to hit the pavement and assure that this profession would somehow, someday happen. But that isn't perfect. I really don't want to deal with any of that shit. It totally de-perfectizes it. Remember what I said earlier about not wanting to deal with bullshit on a regular basis?

So in a perfect world, I find a way to be able to split for periods of time. I split, and I fish. I fish, and I write. And hopefully, people adore it. And that's when the tens of hundreds of dollars start rolling in.

I also remember hearing a phrase that goes: Do what you love doing, and people will follow...or some shit like that.

Maybe if I incorporate that phrase with the previous phrase, I might be on to something. The perfect job is doing what I love doing. Keep doing it and doing it well, and people will start digging it and paying me money out of their wallets.

I like that.

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I'm Goin' Back to Springfield.

2011-07-13T14:53:00.000-07:00

I am in dire need of home.

Home is, and always will be Springfield, MO--like it or not. I suppose if all of my friends and family decided to up and move somewhere else together, then that might earn the title of home, but they're not, so it's Springfield.

I lived in Springfield from birth until about five or six years ago. Growing up there, it seemed like a normal city to me, though I really didn't have anything else to compare it to. As I grew up though, and started traveling around a bit and living other places for brief periods of time, I soon realized that it's not a normal town. It's weird.

I won't pick it apart completely, but what other city has a church, liquor store, or Chinese restaurant on every corner--almost literally? And it's not necessarily in the Bible belt--it's the buckle. Very religious. I'm talking churches that resemble shopping malls in size.

And then there's Branson. Where Osmond's go to die. If Austin, Nashville, and Branson were all brothers, Branson would get his ass kicked on a daily basis. The place is beyond words.

As odd as I find Springfield and Branson, their locations are tough to beat--at least for somewhat of an outdoorsy-type, like myself. Lakes, rivers, and vast acreage surround the area.

And so do my friends and family. That's the important part.

So, tomorrow I'm off to Andy Williams International Airfield, where hillbillyness and less than sub par entertainment live. I'm sure a huge poster of a toothless, floppy-hat-wearing, moonshine drinkin', yuck-yuck hillbilly from Presley's Mountain Music Celejamboration will be greeting me along with all the Bass Pro Shop cabin vomit when I deboard.

But my friends and family will be there, too. We'll bypass all the theaters and hit the lake. We won't be going to giant church on Sunday morning--we'll be cooking breakfast together and spending some much needed time together. But we probably will go to one of the millions of liquor stores and Chinese restaurants...

As much as I love Colorado...the mountains, the rivers, the lifestyle...it still isn't home. It's just an extremely extended vacation. At least until I recruit everyone here.

Fuckin' A.

2011-06-23T21:37:00.000-07:00

Fuckin' a.

I have no idea what that saying means or where it came from, but I absolutely love it. It reminds me of the hoods that bought me and my crue beer when we were 17. Lenny, Mike, Shannon...and the countless other dirt rockers that looked out for our thirsty taste buds.

"Dude, thanks for the beer! You want one?"

"Fuckin' a, man."

That's how a normal conversation would go after the boxes of beer and bottles of girl-booze were purchased for us minors.

Following that exchange of pleasantries, we would commence to cranking the stereo to the likes of Ozzy, Dio, Motley Crue, or Van Halen. If we were lucky, some of our female classmates would stop by whatever "older person's" house we were at to see what was happening. Usually they were immediately frightened by the ogling and inappropriateness of our older "friends", and would quickly leave.

"Sorry, man. Guess they had some other party to go to."

"Fuckin' a."

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Yet Another New Blog

2011-06-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm giving it another shot. I've resurrected one of my other blogs and am attempting to feed another one of my creative sides. The old "Earl Pics", that floundered in creation, is now The Art of Doing (www.artofdoing.blogspot.com).

The name came from my brother-in-law, Pat, and I rapping about...well, doing shit. Basically, Pat and I share a similar outlook on life. We both feel that life is way too short to just sit idly and watch it pass by. Cliche'? Absolutely. But it makes sense to us. Call it a reaction to experiencing a loved one's life cut short...call it motivation to not regret...call it inspiration for others to do...call it a "Bucket List"...call it cliche'. I don't care. But doing makes Pat and I feel satisfied. Experiencing different things makes us happy. It makes us feel like we are constantly in motion, living. That's us, though. We're generally not content, and want to see what's around the next corner.

Anyway, "The Art of Doing" is primarily motivation for myself to not get stagnant. I don't plan on cramming it down your throats, posting everything I do on Facebook, bragging and boasting on how glorious my life is and how everyone else should do as I do because I obviously know all. No, it's just going to be a mish-mash of shit that I, and possibly others, do. A trip, hitting a new bar, going bowling, taking a hike, planning a party, inventing a new chili recipe--whatever I find interesting and motivational. The Art of Doing doesn't have to be epic travels and accomplishments--but they are certainly welcome when or if they ever happen.

Earl's Brain is a stage for thinking. The Art of Doing is a stage for doing.

Do. Don't don't.

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sweet-ass 80s metal video.

2011-06-11T19:23:00.000-07:00

When art and poetry collide.

Enjoy.

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"Backstage at the CMAs, Dick in a Box!"

2011-06-10T13:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's back to reality. After three days in Nashville being pampered like a celebrity, it's back to the grind.

In case you didn't get one of mine or April's updates, we won a free trip to the CMT Awards in Nashville. I know, I know--The CMTs suck! That is correct--but only if you watch them on TV. If you win a free trip to see them live and are a VIP at the pre and post parties, then it most certainly does not suck. It's not anything that I would ever spend my own money on, so it was a fantastic experience that will most likely never, ever happen again.

I thought tons about music, culture, and heritage while I visited Nashville. It was my first time there, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Is it going to be like Branson? I loathe Branson. Is it more like Vegas? I hope not. So I kept an open mind and just approached it like a dog with his head out the window. I tried to bury all of those preconceived notions, all of those prejudgements.

I witnessed a cornucopia of people, from your fat, old, touristy, RV folk with their white socks and shoes and freshly purchased hats from the corner gift shop...to punks with Mohawks, wallet chains and tattoos on their hands and necks. That type of diversity generally isn't found in Branson. I listened to different styles of Country music. Sure, there was your Rascal Flatts, Toby Keith, and the like. But we also heard musicians still playing the bars for tips alone, vying for someone to discover them. Some, embarrassingly talentless...others so good it was almost sad that they weren't headlining the CMTs. These were the acts that filtered across downtown Nashville during Country Music Appreciation Week. So that, along with the CMTs and Bonnaroo Music Fest being held on the same week in Tennessee, provided a pretty cool vibe in the air.

The CMTs are basically an MTV'd version of Pop-Country music, accessorized with pseudo-stars that in one way or another have something to do with the Pop-Country scene. Pop-Country to me is defined by overly produced, catchy tunes concentrating on a lead vocalist. This person is generally surrounded by studio musicians who would much rather express their talents on another stage, but are able to wipe away their tears at night with dollar bills.

Pop-Country covers quite a few bases, as far as listeners go. For people that like to party in a Nickleback sort of way, you've got your Jason Aldean--who is quite possibly the love child of Montgomery and Gentry. He's in your face and enjoys rapping Country-style. Chicks seem to really dig him for the most part.

True Americans prefer the vocal stylings of Toby Keith, mainly because he loves America and likes singing about it. Don't tread on Toby, because he's also a bit of an outlaw and might throw down with you. From what I hear, his chain of restaurants serves a horrible cheeseburger. Jimmy Buffet would be disappointed.

And of course there's Rascal Flatts. Two guys who act like they're playing guitars on either side of the main Rascal, who does in fact resemble an ugly, flightless bird.

I can make fun. But the thing is, there actually is a talent factor there for all of them. Shit, they wouldn't be on stage if they weren't talented. I may not like their voices or their lyrics or their music, or Justin Bieber...but someone does--lots of someones. The music is fine-tuned and mistake-free. The vocals are typically the same. Maybe twangy, maybe too rehearsed--but ultimately very talented. And it's not just music, it's entertainment. And they do entertain. I caught myself starting to roll my eyes during some of the performances and had to remind myself, "Just go with it. It's fun.".

When someone asks me if I like Country music, I normally give some sort of reply about liking some Country..."real" Country. You know, Willie, Johnny, Hank. Real artists with real talent.

But if you think that record producers and the "industry" didn't get a hold of any of these guys, then you're wrong. Jesus, just look at Elvis. Although these "true" artists have more or less blazed trails in Country music, they have had their fair share of over-production and pop tendencies. Listen to the "Highwaymen" albums. It's the Country super-group of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash recorded in the mid-eighties and early-nineties. My opinion: Horrendous. The idea is beautiful, but the end product is a disappointment, to say the least.

So, although Nashville is Pop-Country Central, there is at least some solice in knowing that it pretty much always has been. These faces on CMT that we see today are essentially the same faces we saw on The Johnny Cash Show and Hee Haw. The music may have been a little different then, but the fact that they're doing what their doing to make themselves and their producers money remains the same.

Toby Keith and Hank Williams are different. But they're kind of the same, too...as much as it pains me to say it. It's all music, it's all entertainment, it's all art...of different degrees to different audiences.

The heritage, the culture, and the purity of Country music is what makes it such a broad medium. Don't like Branson? Go to Nashville. Don't like Nashville? Go to Austin.

It's like that with every genre. Rock? Well, is it Classic, Alternative, Roots, Rockabilly, Heavy Metal, Thrash, Electronica, Americana, Punk, Progressive, Golden Oldies, or Pop? Same thing.

So when the next person asks me if I like Country music, I'll answer, "Yea, some." And then go into my Willie, Hank, & Johnny bit.

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Journey, Supper With Cliff, and Rain.

2011-05-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

My first thought of the evening:

Journey is a ridiculous band. Here is the inarguable proof:

Now that you've seen that, there will be no debate.

But the thing about Journey is, although they're ridiculous in a certain sense, they represent something fun. Anything that ridiculous has to be fun.

I have my examples, as I'm sure most everyone reading this does. If you're around or about my age, then you might remember the makeout tunes, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully". Makeout probably isn't the proper term...how about couple skate tunes. Yes, these were the songs all the couples or couple-hopefuls waited to hear at Skate Corral, Skateland, or Skate Port (please insert your local childhood roller skating rink's name here, ie: Skateville, Skatopia, Roller Action Central, or Crazy Lonnie's Skate Shack). "Faithfully" was generally the song that couples skated to, as a way to show their undying love for one another in the form of roller skating together. The couples that really loved one another usually didn't fuck around with holding hands side by side--they faced each other while one of the two skated backwards. If they were extra in love, they would switch skating backwards--guy, then girl. It was truly phenomenal. And no doubt the single moment of the entire week that these two couple skaters could not fucking wait for.

Of course these two Steve Perry-crooned rock ballads were not the first time we had heard of Journey. If you're ten years older than me, then you may have seen Journey on a world tour with the likes of Styx, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, or Ted Nugent. But my first memorable experience of Journey was the classic movie, Caddyshack. Perhaps the funniest moment in cinematic history, when Rodney Dangerfield's character, Al Czervick is in a one-uping conversation with that Italian caddy, D'Annunzio and in rebuttal to Tony's "So what?" Al replies, "So what? So let's dance!" He then cranks up the radio on his high-speed golf bag to "Any Way You Want It" by none other than Journey. Everyone on the golf course dances.

Around the same time as Caddyshack, Journey showed up on my favorite naughty cartoon movie, "Heavy Metal". And although Journey is a far cry from heavy metal, it totally worked in the film. Aliens, animated boobs, and Journey--what a great movie.

Wait, the Journey examples continue.

When I was in my twenties (which I have extremely vague memories...) my good friend Vinnie and I, after a hard day at work would load up in his 1964 Chevy Impala, turn on "Be Good To Yourself" by our friends Journey, and go to the Red Lobster for popcorn shrimp and fruity cocktails. We were being good to ourselves. It was kind of like being on the beach...with Steve Perry.

There were many goofy Journey songs that my friends and I sang along to, generally in an inebriated state. "Lights", "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'", and "Feeling That Way/Any Time"--that one song that's kinda two songs.

When I proposed to my wife, I did the whole down on one knee bit. I even put a tie on. When she said yes, with joyful tears in her eyes, beside herself at the fact that she was going to be my wife, I quickly pressed play on the iPod, where I had loaded and ready to go "Any Way You Want It". I did the Rodney Dangerfield dance in celebration. Yes, she still married me.

Speaking of...at our reception, in which we had a very strict playlist--or no-play list, I should say, the last song of the night (unbeknownst to us) was "Don't Stop Believing". We jumped on stage--just the two of us--and rocked the hell out of that song.

These are a few examples of where Journey has it's place. If you're a serious music critic-type, which I sometimes am guilty of pretending to be, then Journey is 100% laughable. But that's just it--they make me laugh, they make me smile, they're fun. I mean, just envisioning Steve Perry singing is enough to make you spew Cheerios out your nose. Steve Perry actually makes Chris Robinson look less birdish.

I've always semi-defended Journey by saying, "They're so bad, they're good." And I guess I mean that to a point. They represented safe, overly produced, corny radio rock in the late 70s and early 80s. Those of us who pride ourselves on appreciating "good" music snuff Journey. We listen to different music--punk, roots, reggae, Americana. We don't sit around listening to Journey on headphones, or debating with our friends which Neil Schon solo is the best. Journey is ridiculous.

Yes, they are. But I still like them.

With that stated, I have to watch myself when criticizing my wife or sister or whoever's choice in listening enjoyment. Whenever fucking Rascal Flatts comes on the radio, I have to deal with it. Because even though you and I know it sucks, I like Journey. So I can't say anything. That part's tougher than actually admitting I like Journey.

Second thought of the evening:

When my wife is out of town and it's just me and my good friend Cliff, I enjoy cooking for us. The other night I thawed out a couple sirloin steaks that we get from the family butcher back in Nebraska. Two steaks come wrapped in butcher paper, so I obviously nuked both of them on defrost. Even though I was only hungry for one, I looked into Cliff's deep brown eyes and my heart sank. He's a damn dog. All he ever eats is dog food and table scraps. This dog is one of my best friends--he never bitches about anything, he's always elated to see me, he loves to go fishing and camping, and he always listens when I've got something on my mind. Also, he's probably only going to live another 15 years at most. Dogs get jipped that way. Then add the fact that he's a carnivore.

Needless to say, I fired up two perfectly rare steaks on the grill that evening. One for me, one for Cliff. Jesus, was that dog happy. He looked at me as to say, "Holy shit, man. Thank you. Thank you so much. That was amazing. You're my best friend. Best friend always."

So obviously last night I barbecued some chicken thighs--once again to perfection-- to share with my carnivorous friend. He wanted those chicken bones, but choking is uncool, so I shredding the meat off the bone for him. He was still appreciative.

Tonight...bacon cheeseburgers. Two for me, two for Cliff. Right now Cliff's asleep and I'm fat. But it's cool, we took a jog earlier.

Third thought of the evening:

I live in Colorado nowadays. We don't get rain, or thunderstorms, or tornadoes too often. Back in Missouri, we did. A lot. But now that I'm residing in a drier climate, I miss those things. Sure, I don't miss the death and destruction of tornadoes, probably 'cause I never lost my house or died due to one. But I do miss the feeling.

The smell of rain. The flash of lightning followed by the delayed roar of thunder. The adrenaline you get during a bad storm. The amazement of how powerful and non-caring a storm can be.

It's raining right now a little bit. I immediately shut off all noise in the house so I could listen to the raindrops on the metal roof of my sunroom. It's weird, the things you miss. Of course, Missouri is under water right now, so I imagine I'd be a little pissed if I were getting rained on there...again.

Journey, supper with Cliff, and rain. That's what I've got going on tonight.

.

Rant and Joy.

2011-05-05T17:46:00.000-07:00

Man, what an awful day. Life would be so much more enjoyable if I didn't have to spend the majority of it away from the things that make me feel alive inside.

I tell ya, I've tried. I've tried to incorporate my passions into a nine-to-fiver. But until you can completely call all the shots in whatever financial endeavor you're immersed in, everyday jobs just flat-out suck. At least in this disgruntled bitch's experience.

As I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and take deep breaths to control the fits of anger caused by people I don't necessarily care for, I take a moment of escape and envision a stress-free life where I am neck-deep in all the things I love. The outdoors, the good times, the people I choose to spend my time with. It's all stress-free. I envision this, and it annoys me that it seems so feasible--so realistic. How can I escape these annoyances? The thousands of people per week that I deal with--many of whom I do not care for and hope to never cross paths with again. The low pay accompanied with low reward. The co-workers that I see more often than I see my family and friends.

We shouldn't have to live like this.

Sure, it's bitching. It's griping. It's ranting and venting. But the cold reality of this whole 'everyday job' thing is that it's what I spend the majority of my life doing and I don't like it. Work is not my second home...it's my first home. I spend more time at my place of business than I do at my own house. "Geez Matt, we all do!" you might say. Some of you might spend 60+ hours a week at the office. I don't care. If you're cool with that situation...if you're content, nice. You shouldn't be, but nice. Enjoy that two weeks off a year.

I'll keep working on it. I'll keep working on a solution to eliminate the nine-to-fiver...no matter how romantic the job might sound. The idea of jobs and the reality of jobs are two entirely different things. For those of you who understand and appreciate my rant, cool. For those who don't, I admire your contentedness.

For everyone else, please enjoy this video of AC/DC not working a nine-to-fiver. It's worth every bit of the ten minutes...

Sorry for being a dick.

Sunday Ramble.

2011-04-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else feel pressured to fit as much enjoyment into their short lives as I do? It's not a philosophical type of question--not meant to be deep or anything. It's just how I think.

In the grand scheme of things, we as humans live somewhat short lives. We're going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Who knows? And I don't care how religious, how spiritual, how all-knowing you think you may be--you don't know where we're going to end up. No one does. Do we get a second chance at life? Hard to say. Really, really hard to say.

So, without turning that corner to the deep end, I'd like to keep this conversation in the ballpark of "here and now", not "afterlife" or any of that stuff. Although that can be an interesting conversation...

The hard, morbid truth is that I could keel over in three seconds. What, with all the stress of a low paying, rarely rewarding, overly stressful job accompanied by food and drink that the FDA generally frowns upon--there's probably a decent chance of it. Or, I could live to be a frikkin' hundred. But you can't count on a hundred. That's just being foolish. So, we have to take advantage of this short time while on this Earth we know. And that ain't easy--especially for me.

I am not one to, nor have I ever been one to, have the majority of my life scaled out. From a young age I have jumped from one thing to another, trying to solidify and streamline my interests and create a smart and simple recipe for making a living. It has not worked...at all. I've never had a clear vision of what it is that I want to do for a living. So, that in itself makes it tough to incorporate all the extracurricular activities that I'd like to accomplish by life's end.

There are so many directions that you can go. It's tough to figure out which one to take.

There's obviously the side of me that has tried to incorporate passions and employment. It's been very bittersweet. It tends to dampen your interests a bit, when you have to do it. If I have to do something, then it fails to be a passion or interest. I'll do those on my own watch. But on the other side of the coin, it has opened up some fun doors as far as networks, knowledge, and experiences. It's time to move on, though.

Then there's the side of me that thinks going back to school might be the best answer. I'm more willing to learn now, I could use the credentials, and it would help secure a more permanent career. Once I've graduated and am on cruise control, let's say being a teacher, then I'm locked in with an okay salary and benefits--plus I've got my summers off to ramble. That's one train of thought.

And the side that I'm always battling is the side that wants to find a way to split. I'm not talking leaving my wife or anything. Just downsizing and leaving. Getting rid of the house, the car, the anchors. Responsibly freeing up time, while keeping a modest travel fund, and roaming the world until I run out of money or ambition.

Thing is, my jobs have never dictated what I do or who I am. I've had so many that I don't even remember half of them. I'm not a "DOCTOR" or an "ASTRONAUT". I'm just some dude named Matt who tries to make an honest living doing whatever so I can swing some living on the side.

I'd like to be able to swing a little more living, though.

.

squirrels and bunnies.

2011-04-04T21:18:00.000-07:00

Anthony Bourdain has the type of life that people like me would kill a human for. Traveling, writing, filming, eating, and drinking. Throw in fishing and it's my picture-perfect existence.

If you're not familiar with Anthony, he has a show on the Travel Channel called "No Reservations". It's based on his travels around the world, sampling real, local culture and cuisine. No touristy crap. No Samantha Brown, Rachel Ray, or Guy Fiero crap. It's all fairly real, really raw, and rarely disappointing.

While normally filming in exotic overseas locales, his latest episode really leaped out at me and I just had to DVR it. It was entitled "Ozarks". My first thought was, "Hmm, wonder if it's Missouri or Arkansas?" My second thought was, "Why the hell would he go to either?"

I'm from the Ozarks. And this particular episode was eerily familiar. Sure, they really sought out the hillbilly stereotypes, and it sort of got on my nerves. That is, until I realized that it's sort of difficult to get away from them.

First thing they did on the show was skin and cook squirrel. I've eaten squirrel. Thought everyone did. That's how I was raised...Grandpa, though second generation German whose family settled just South of St. Louis, would always go hunting. Yes, he would go deer hunting and turkey hunting, but what I remember him hunting for most often was squirrel. My very-German Grandfather was quite far from being a hillbilly, but that's how he was raised--hunting and gathering what you can and feasting. There wasn't a Taco Bell down the street from his one bedroom house. There wasn't a HyVee nearby. So hunting whitetail deer, gathering morel mushrooms, catching trout, planting a rich, beautiful garden...and eating squirrels was how he did it.

My Granny, who was also extremely German--but definitely had a "Granny, from The Beverley Hillbillies" quality to her--was the one that always cleaned and cooked the squirrel. Years after my Grandpa passed away, Granny saw a squirrel get hit by a car in front of her house. She walks out to the street, assess the situation, scoops up the dead squirrel, cleans it, cooks it, and eats it. Admittedly nostalgic and missing my Grandpa, this was a meal she hadn't had since his passing. Still, though...it's roadkill. So when I playfully take a jab at her for eating roadkill, while fully knowing that it was actually a sweet gesture and tribute to her years with Grandpa, she replies to me like she always did, "Nothing wrong with it! They only ran over the head!"

God, I miss those two.

But aside from this particular Grandpa of mine, most everyone else in the family hunted squirrel. I don't really recall eating it all that often--it was probably hunted more for sport or extermination.

Sucker gigging and raccoon hunting was also featured in this "No Reservations" episode. I don't gig fish, but I have eaten sucker...which in my opinion is properly named, because they suck. Not a big fan. I have never, and will never hunt for raccoon. But I know my dad used to as a kid. So, it probably wasn't too difficult to find these Ozarkian stereotypes.

I was brought up in the third largest city in Missouri, so you had a pretty broad spectrum of people types. We definitely had farmers and country folks, but not too many spooky, "Deliverance-type" hillbillies. I have certainly seen them though, and Anthony Bourdain was dangerously close to them. No offense, Arkansas, but the closer you get to your border, the less teeth and more tattoos you see.

Anthony Bourdain was in the Ozarks because of Daniel Woodrell, author of "Winter's Bone". Supposed to be a great book and equally as entertaining movie, and I'm sure it is.

But not as entertaining as "Hillbilly Hare" starring Bugs Bunny.

Enjoy.

.

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something I'm actually too young for.

2011-03-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

I was just dicking around online, looking up old concerts on YouTube, and found some great clips of Van Halen performing at the US Festival in 1983. I got to digging into the other performances and was blown away by the line-up!

I took this straight from Wikipedia...

Saturday, May 28 (New Wave Day)
Divinyls
INXS
Wall of Voodoo - Stan Ridgway's last appearance with Wall of Voodoo
Oingo Boingo
The English Beat
Missing Persons
A Flock of Seagulls
Stray Cats
Men at Work
The Clash - Mick Jones' last appearance with The Clash.

Sunday, May 29 (Heavy Metal Day)
Van Halen
Quiet Riot
Motley Crue
Ozzy Osbourne
Judas Priest
Triumph
Scorpions

Monday, May 30 (Rock Day)
Los Lobos (on a side stage only)
Little Steven & The Disciples of Soul
Berlin (band)
Quarterflash
U2
Missing Persons
The Pretenders
Joe Walsh
Stevie Nicks
David Bowie

Saturday June 4th (Country Day)
Thrasher Brothers
Ricky Skaggs
Hank Williams, Jr.
Emmylou Harris & The Hot Band
Alabama
Waylon Jennings
Riders in the Sky
Willie Nelson

Granted, some bands blow. But look at the ones that don't, especially for back in '83. Stray Cats, Bowie, The Clash, The Halen, Ozzy, Waylon, Willie, Joe Walsh, U2.

Dang.

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Tuesday Ramble Y'all.

2011-03-29T19:33:00.000-07:00

Something that I can't decide if I like or not is people who are really into something. I mean, reeaaally into it. Self proclaimed connoisseur, so to speak. I appreciate taking your interests to professional-type levels. But part of me gets extremely annoyed by the narcissism and over-the-top opinions.

For instance, I like to BBQ. I can smoke a mean turkey and have accomplished the art of properly preparing baby back ribs. It's not rocket science, you just have to know a few key things, a little trial and error, and your golden. Sure, there's a lot more to it. Rubs, sauces, temps, rotation, oxygen, wood, whatnot. But in my opinion, you don't have to overthink it.

Now, I have not been around true BBQ snobs. Competition guys who speak in a different language, scoff at weekend grillers, and debate about correct methods. I'm positive they're out there, though, and this is the type of person that annoys me.

I have been around fly fishermen and craft beer folk. The same rings true. You've got the clique, the subculture, the club. Guys who have nothing better to do than talk shop, put down others to make themselves feel superior, and basically just suck. This is the point where really getting into something crosses that line from having a genuine interest, learning the activity, getting very good at that activity, but not letting that activity consume your every thought---to being a cocky, opinionated, totally self-proclaimed "expert" asshole.

So with that said, I am going to continue BBQing, fly fishing, and enjoying different beers. But I will not be joining any fraternities on these subjects. I will remain knowledgeable, confident, open minded, and unbias. I've had BBQ at local specialty BBQ joints that has flat out sucked. I've spoken with fly anglers who can talk shop all day, but can't fish. I've tasted Heineken. So just because you're into something--reeeaaally into something--doesn't mean you're worth a shit at it.

Intermission.

I've been thinking about food quite a bit lately.

Out here in Colorado, we're bombarded with organic this, and natural that. It gets a little ridiculous, but it does make sense. Why wouldn't I eat the natural grass fed cow instead of the chemical-hormone fueled cow? I don't know much about farming, but I do understand that organic farming is much more difficult to maintain. And in the end, as the farmer, you don't get as much bang for your buck. You have to deal with smaller livestock and higher prices. With produce, it takes more work to grow, you have to charge more for that additional work, and the produce basically tastes the same as the pesticide-laced one sitting next to it for $.89/lb cheaper.

Then there's the whole hunting thing. Is it more humane to kill a deer and eat it than to purchase an 8-pack of chicken thighs? Probably so.

It's a tough decision. I want to care more, but I also don't want to have to think about every single thing I'm eating and where it came from. Shit, I ate Popeye's chicken today. I shutter thinking about where that came from. But it's Popeye's and it's good. A cage-free, free range, naturally fed bird this certainly was not. But it's weird, creepy tasting fast food that's convenient and hooks you somehow.

I love eating well, but I don't do it near enough. Takes a lot of time and effort. But I feel amazing afterwards. Funny thing is, I don't necessarily crave these good, healthy meals. What I do crave, from time to time, is a fucking Bean Burrito from Taco Bell. A Big Mac, McNuggets, a Triple Stack. I don't get it. I feel terrible after eating anything fast food, yet there's something addicting about it. I can get a flour tortilla, fill it with refrieds, and a little cheese, but it tastes nothing like a Taco Bell Bean Burrito. There's got to be some weird, addictive chemical or something that they put in there. Fast food tastes good at the time you're craving it, but makes you fat and feeling terrible. Yet we still go.

I try and find a balance. That's actually what I look for in most every aspect of life. A good balance when it comes to food is tough, but I think an open mind and a decent variety will suffice. That way, I get my organic, all natural, free range, grass fed shit--and I get my Bean Burrito. Mixing it up, moderation, eating mostly real food...I think that's the way to do it.

Second Intermission.

I think the reason that the two above subjects came up was because it was triggered during conversations about fishing.

I've been wanting to eat fish lately. Along with shitty fast food, luckily I've also been craving wild, healthy fish. But in the fishing biz, catch and take is frowned upon. It's all catch and release, which I've practiced fairly religiously my entire life. Hell, I haven't kept a trout in 20some years.

When I go back home to Missouri and we get into the crappie or the white bass, that's when we harvest and that's when we eat fish. But I want fish now. I want to eat a fat, healthy rainbow trout that has never seen a farm-fed fish pellet in its life. I want to eat an all natural fish that has eaten nothing but all natural food itself, like crawdads, baitfish, mysis shrimp, or insects. Brightly colored fillets--not those dull, grey fillets from hatchery fish.

I'm going to go ahead and do that. It sounds delicious. Fuck the fly snobs--I've released enough fish to stock a lake--a lake that the doughball casters will just trespass onto and catch and keep all the fish illegally anyway.

Good talk.

.

back on track.

2011-03-20T18:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, a few things.

First, as an effect of my last post, I now do not give a shit about much of anything anymore. In a good way. I'll explain.

If you've read about the Croissan'wich incident this morning, then you know that I had an extremely angry lady with a drive-thru headset on throw my breakfast at me this morning. Surprising. Shocking. Funny. But ultimately, uncalled for. You work at a godamn Burger King. Relax.

I've taken that occurance and applied it to my current mindset. I've been very stressed out at work lately. I won't get into it, but there are some miscommunications and practices that have been compromising my good-time personality. You see, this mean lady works at Burger King...I work at a fly shop. Not much difference as far as important occupations go. Neither of us are saving babies or curing feline AIDS (which is the leading form of cat deaths in the US. Wa, wa, wa...). No, we both have totally meaningless jobs. So there's no sense in getting stressed out and taking it out on random people who just want a fly rod--or in my case, a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich.

So even though it angered me, I'm glad it happened. It put things back into perspective for me.

Second, I saw some good friends from Missouri over the weekend who were up skiing in the mountains. It was awesome. Such good friends, and I rarely see them anymore. My fault for moving 700 miles away, but nevertheless it was great to hang out.

A couple of them used to follow this here blog. They says to me, "Hey Matt, what happened to your blog? It used to be so fun to read and all of a sudden you stop keeping up with it."

I gave them some excuse about filling my creative needs in other ways or someshit. Truth is, I've tried to change it over the past few months to possibly spark interest from some sort of publisher or something. I like to write, and I found myself using Earl's Brain as a reference to potential employers or someone that might want me to freelance. So I became very particular about what I would write, and would edit myself due to the possibility of certain editor-type someones reading it and judging my skills.

So no more stories about crapping my pants. No more getting shitfaced and seeing if I could form a sentence, much less an entire post. No more badass 80s metal videos. My blog became worthless. It became something it was not. Groomed, detailed, serious, and unentertaining. Unentertaining for you, and unentertaining for me.

Now, to revist the first point that I made on this post...I don't really give a shit about much since I got my breakfast hurled at me this morning. And with that said, the old Earl's Brain is back. I don't care about someone from Sunset Magazine, or Travel Channel calling me up and saying, "Fuck, Matt! Your blog is incredible! I've never read anything quite so eloquent and stylish! The pictures of you fishing and shit are unbelievable--and the brown background, breathtaking!" (that's what it looked like before I changed it back to just plain ol'...)

And even if you're not some bigshot that gets paid $200,000 a year to proofread shit, you might be an older relative, or someone who may be offended by questionable language and shocking images of 80s wickedness. That's okay. You're still invited to pour yourself a tall glass of Scotch, sit back in your easy chair, pull up Earl's Brain on the ol' Innertube, and enjoy yourself for a few moments.

I've attached a fantastic live performance of the entertaining band, Van Halen, for both your viewing and listening pleasure.

"Senni-seed....No second to none. Woooww!! Son of a gun!.........Alright." Those aren't the lyrics at all--they don't even make sense, but that's what Dave decided to say. That is a metaphor for how I want to live life everyday.

Please Boycott Burger King.

2011-03-20T12:05:00.000-07:00

Not because my wife was an employment casualty in the 800 person lay-off after BK got bought out earlier this year. Not because of their horrendous commercials that make me want to eat McDonald's everyday just out of principle. Not even because their food flat-out sucks.

I need you to boycott Burger King because I got a Croissan'wich thrown at me this morning.

Since my wife was a Marketing Manager for quite some time with the King, she had a stack of "Free Whopper" and "Free Croissan'wich" coupons laying around all the time. This was probably the biggest perk she received while working there. On my way to work today, I notice a coupon for the breakfast sandwich in my console. And although I rarely east fast food--especially BK--I was a little hungry and the "free" aspect appealed to me.

I pull in to the Boulder restaurant and proceed to the drive-through lane. I explain the coupon to the employee on the speaker and specify that I'd like sausage on that sandwich. She asked another time or two for me to repeat the coupon--which usually happens. I suppose they don't see these coupons all that often. So she accepts my explanation and instructs me pull around to the second window.

I hand the coupon to the stand-offish lady working the window, and hear her grumbling about "free sammich..." something or other. She didn't speak the best English, but I could tell she was put-out by my coupon.

A little time passes as she wrestles with how to ring up the coupon in the register and ponders how much attitude she wants to give me. She slowly approaches the window, headset on, and says without looking at me, "$3.35".

I think that there is a strong possibility that she's talking to the person in line behind me, seeing as how she's not looking at me and barking out a grand total just after I gave her a coupon for a free freakin' sandwich. But I ask very politely, "Are you talking to me?" She ignores me.

"$3.35!" she says much louder and more demanding, still while not looking at me. Once again, I politely try to verify that she is in fact talking to me. She ignores me for a second, then glances down at me. I point to myself and meekly ask for the third time, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes!! I'm talkin' to you!!" she yells. She literally yelled. "But...it's a 'free' coupon." I replied, confused and hungry.

She gives me the most "I want you dead" sigh I've ever received, storms over to the breakfast sandwich schute, grabs the sausage, egg, & cheese, chucks in a bag, and literally throws it out of the drive-through window and into my car window while saying, "Here!!"

"Sorry." I said. Then I drove off laughing at my response and surprised as hell that she actually put my breakfast in a bag.

My wife has done marketing in the fast food industry for years, and we have sampled most every form of convenience "food" imaginable. Burger King has hands down the absolute worst service I've ever witnessed. And I'm not just saying that because their food and their commercials suck.

So for all the many reasons that the King sucks, this morning's incident has actually made me boycott the company.

Throw a sandwich at me, will you... I have a blog, bitches.

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Quick Ramble Before Bed.

2011-03-08T21:33:00.000-08:00

Sorry.

I keep changing my blog. One minute it's fun and stupid...the next minute it's serious and formal. And sometimes it's white and sometimes it's brown.

Also, I've been sour lately and I apologize for that. I'll start concentrating on being more positive. Okay? Fine.

I've been gearing up for Spring. And what that entails is celebrations including Mardi Gras, St. Pat's, and Opening Day. So far, I've been to see the Dropkick Murphy's (their March tour, a tradition for St. Patrick's Day), I've been to Soulard in St. Louis for Mardi Gras (that was three days ago and I'm still hungover), and I've purchased my mlb.com Game Package for Cardinal viewing.

Although fly fishermen annoy me and I have to deal with their neediness, I am dying to get on the river. Or the lake. Pond. Wherever. It's been way too long and way too cold of a winter, and I'm sick of it. So I've been tying flies and gearing up for the Williams Fork, Lake Pomme De Terre, and my local open space pond down the street. I still dig fishing...

Alright, I'm tired and it's past my bedtime. I'll post some Mardi Gras pics and elaborate on it a little later on. And my St. Patty's entry promises to be entertaining too, I hope. We can't decide on green tutus, royal robes, or capes. I'm sure we'll make the correct green decision.

g'night.

Never-Happy Rant.

2011-02-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

And I thought I was egotistical when it came to fly fishing.

Dealing with fly fishermen everyday and witnessing first hand the incestuousness, the cliquishness, the clubhouse mentality--it has quickly made me grow weary of the one activity that I hold dearly to my heart.

When I say that I'm egotistical, it's more or less in a tongue-&-cheek manner. I've been fly fishing for thirty years, so I think I'm pretty good. That's where my back-patting starts and ends--with a shit-eating smerk, of course. Don't worry, I self deprecate enough to balance out both humors.

I don't loiter fly shops on a weekly basis. I don't keep up with the latest fish catching trends, methods, or gadgets. I don't read every magazine article, attend every clinic and trade show, or mimic anglers whom I deem better than myself simply because they're employed by the industry. No, I just kind of know how to fish. I adapt to conditions, understand what fish usually eat, and apply thirty years of trial and error. See? I'm somewhat egotistical.

To be accepted into one of these fly fishing cliques (or the fly fishing clique), you have to continually rub elbows with people in the know. That is, people whom other people think are fly fishing geniuses. People that can definitely talk the talk. They live, eat, and breathe fly fishing. At least fly fishing jargon. I call it shop knowledge. And I've never felt the need to frequent a fly shop for the sake of talking shop. I don't get satisfaction from spec-dropping. I don't need to feel that the more I talk the more I'm going to be accepted into the realm of fly fishing elbow-rubbers. It's like a Chamber Of Commerce meeting. All you're doing is trying to one-up the other guy with your random shop knowledge and name dropping.

I've never been subjected to ugly side of shop culture--until I started managing a fly shop a few months ago. Now, it's unavoidable. Fly fishing is not that exciting anymore. It feels like work--it is work. When I go to the river, I feel like I'm on the clock. I've lost track of why I go.

This is the first time I've incorporated passion and employment. It's a sour mix--at least for a passion that is based on solitude, art, and spirituality. My passion is quickly becoming a means for fueling shop jargon, reports, and anything else that helps the shop make a dime. Which is fine--that's how it works. I made my choice.

I honestly do like the industry, but not at the expense of diminishing my true likes. Work is work. Fun is fun. Ain't much mixing the two. At least in my experience.

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Sad Shit.

2011-02-17T21:54:00.001-08:00

It's time to vomit words and emotions. I've got quite a bit on my not-drunk-enough-mind tonight.

Ever had a bad break-up from someone you thought you were in love with? Whether it was back in high school or during your adult life--that tough, hurtful feeling of someone gone. There's that discomfort that you revisit months, possibly years later. That reminissing, that void, that anger...

I'm experiencing that this evening.

Except I'm not longing for that ex, or an explanation from that ex. Well, I suppose, in a way I am.

If you're reading this, there's a good chance that you know that a good friend of mine took his own life a couple years back. And that sucked. This evening, my thoughts have come to a head. All the manly, "put your feelings aside"-type of things have ceased. I miss him, and I am sad.

I'm not saying that Todd and I were in love. Jesus. I'm simply saying that I really have no other feeling to compare this to. I've felt love lost before...and it's the closest thing that I have to compare with the real loss of a close friend.

I normally try and sweep these sad feelings under the rug. I chalk them up to "moving on" or "what a selfish act". And this is true. That's certainly what I think about. I do...a'hem, WE do have to move on. And, as far as suicide goes, it is a selfish act. So with these blunt, truthful thoughts in my head, I stick out my jaw, squint my eyes, and move on like a man.

I'm not sure why I've been thinking about him lately, but I have.

He never got a chance to meet my wife. I've met his. She's contacted me lately via the Facebook. I accepted. She was always nice...we all got along really well. They had a beautiful little girl together. She's gotten so big.

I suppose I've been pretty homesick lately, as well. Thinking about old friends...family. My folks actually went to his funeral because I couldn't make it. That's love. Sure, they knew Todd. He was one of the boys that loitered my parents' house back in the easy days. I've been missing the whole crew.

This is really the first buddy that I've had that's died. Good chance I'll see more when I'm old and decrepit...but that's how it is then. I want to be able to celebrate my friend's and family's lives, not mourn them. Thinking about all this really makes me want to embrace my life, my family's lives, and my friend's lives.

This whole sad-fest isn't meant for anything other than my own therapy. I was reluctant to write, but it's my blog--my soap box--my voice, and I can write whatever I want. Good chance I won't even click "Publish Post" when I'm done. Only reason I might is because it may open up thoughts or conversation for some of my other friends feeling the same shit.

I'm sure my verbal diarrhea isn't exactly making anyone feel any better. Sorry. But talking about that asshole is starting to make me feel a little better. Somehow my sadness and anger have subsided--at least temporarily--and I'm thinking about all the other lives of people I love. Not sure what that's supposed to mean, but it's what I'm feelin'.

Maybe Todd knew something was wrong. Maybe he knew that he wasn't right--that someone might get hurt. Maybe he did it to protect people. Maybe.

Maybe he's letting me know that it's okay now.

Fuck, I don't know. Those thoughts might be delusional, but they make me feel a little better. I knew a Todd. But maybe I didn't know Todd.

At any rate, if I end up clicking "Publish Post" I should apologize for digging up sad thoughts. These things probably are better left unsaid.

But it's my blog. And I am sad tonight.

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I Was Reminded Of A Very Strong Opinion That I Have While On My Way To Work Today.

2011-02-10T08:49:00.001-08:00

I fucking hate R.E.M..

The end.

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Fish Lottery.

2011-01-28T22:08:00.000-08:00

Last night after I got home from work, I had a package waiting on the front porch for me. It was a book I had ordered about fly fishing Missouri--the state that I was born and raised in. As I flipped through this book that will remain nameless, I became disappointed. The book left out a ton of fantastic water that most definitely should not be overlooked. But as the disappointment quickly turned into acceptance, I started thinking about all the water listed, all the water not listed...and then I started thinking about all the water.

It's difficult to wrap your brain around, but there is an obscene amount of fishable water out there. And by "out there", I mean exactly that. Everywhere. Missouri, Colorado, most everywhere.

And that got me to thinking about fishing as much of that water as humanly possible. My thought process resembled that of trying to answer the question of "If I won the lottery, how would I spend my money?".

Jeez, if I had the chance to fish any and all bodies of water that my heart desires, how would I go about it? Where would I start? Where would I finish? Would I finish? Would I just fish until I physically or mentally couldn't take it anymore? I'd like to give it the ol' college try.

Then I started thinking about it in realistic terms--not just "spending my make-believe lottery winnings". How would an everyday, average Joe afford something like this? Could I balance a feat like this and my grown-up-type responsibilities? Hmmmm.

These are valid questions. And comparing this to winning the lottery is valid also, because this is exactly what I would do if I won the lottery: Fish as many places that I could fit into the remaining years of my life. Every state, every continent, every lake, river, creek, and sea. Sounds nice, huh?

I'm still thinking about it. I'm thinking about how to pull this off. The thought of fishing everywhere, for everything, greatly appeals to me. About as much as winning the lottery--which, at this point may be the only way to accomplish this.

If I figure it out, I'll let you know. If I win the lottery, though, I can assure you that you won't hear from me for quite a while...

.

Restless Soul.

2011-01-13T08:09:00.000-08:00

"A restless soul never finds what he's looking for."

I heard that phrase a couple weeks ago. It actually came from Vince Gill describing Merle Haggard, as Merle was being inducted into the Kennedy Center Honors. It's stuck with me--it's more than stuck with me. It's been at the forefront of my mind.

Those words describe how I feel about myself. I am constantly trying to discover the perfect life, the perfect ride. I've done a decent job so far. Managed to find an amazing girl to marry, got me a cute dog, family's good and all. But I am restless.

I want to move on to the next adventure. Not summiting Everest or anything like that, just quickly switching chapters in my life. Moving. Shaking. Some might suggest that I'm in the midst of one of those chapters right now, and maybe I am. But I am restless.

I am ready to move--in the general sense of the term. I want to be in motion. I want to travel, discover, explore--and when I'm unable to do that, I become restless.

I believe I'll find what I'm looking for. I'm too hell-bent on finding it not to. But when I do find it, will I realize that I've found it? Or will I be too restless to realize?

.

Earl's Mailbox.

2011-01-11T13:33:00.000-08:00

I tell ya, people are always asking me questions. It's cool though, I appreciate it. And I try and give an honest answer.

I've compiled lots o' questions from lots o' people throughout the years. Fly fishing questions, music questions, food questions, questions about this and questions about that. People that come into whichever shop I'm working at ask questions. People on the facebook asking me questions. People emailing me about one of my blog entries--asking questions. So I've decided to post some of these questions, along with my answers. As a general rule, I prefer to avoid too much seriousness in my writing by getting intoxicated.

So, I got me a day off today and have been drinking since 11am and listening to 80s metal. So here goes Earl's Mailbox.

(Please note that in order to protect people's identities, I've adjusted the questions appropriately.)

Q: If you're so damn all-knowing and particular about music, why do you listen to metal?

Earl: First off, it's 80s metal--not just metal. There's a big difference, which if you knew anything about metal, you would refrain from asking such a ridiculous question. Current metal lacks bandannas, spandex, partying all day, denim & leather, chicks, pyrotechnics, surprised guitar-solo faces, screams, kicks, songs about partying all day, fun drugs, triple-neck guitars, jumps, makeup, and partying.

So the reason that I listen to 80s metal is pretty self-explanatory...

Q: You say you like Scotch, what's your favorite?

Earl: I like the Johnny Walker Red. "Red??" you might ask? Yes, Red. It's only $30-$35 a jug--yes a jug (1.75ml), not a 5th (750ml)--and if you were to do the Pepsi Challenge with Red and Black, good chance you'd choose the Red. I'm not saying I don't like the Black, just can't justify paying the extra cash. More JWR for less money vs. less JWB for more money equals a no-brainer. If I've got a $60 bill in my pocket though, I may just buy me a bottle of Green Label. Mmmmm.

I tell ya, I've had some single malts that have blown me away. Sad thing is: can't remember the names of them and I'm sure I can't afford them. I do appreciate them, though.

Q: What's the difference between these pants and these?

Earl: Well, these are green and denim. And these are poly and tan. Both make you look fat and stupid.

Q: Are you ever going to move back to Missouri?

Earl: Hell, I don't know. Once I win the Mega-Millions I wouldn't mind buying a lake house there. But as far as an everyday lifestyle, I'm a bit reluctant. Creepy religion, humidity, bugs, not many trout, and the lack of good beer is definitely against MO.

On the other hand--my friends, family, great BBQ, the best Pad Thai, the Cardinals, Chiefs tailgating, Mexican Villa, and enormous lakes present a pretty good argument.

Q: What was your first live concert?

Earl: Kenny Loggins at Swiss Villa Amphitheater in Lampe, MO. That was with my best friend and his parents, though. First parent-free concert was Night Ranger with Great White opening.

Q: What was your favorite concert?

Earl: Wow, that's a great question. There are different answers based on different times and circumstances.

I've seen the Ramones several times, but the best was at Mississippi Nights, a small club that used to be on the Landing in St. Louis. Johnny Ramone spit on me. RIP, Johnny.

The first time I saw The Mighty Mighty Bosstones was very memorable. I was young and it kind of defined me at the time.

AC/DC's Razor's Edge tour was incredible.

Dropkick Murphy's at St. Pat's is always amazing.

Willie Nelson performing at Red Rocks ruled.

Seeing DLR back with Van Halen a few years back was a blast.

Motorhead...Black Keys...Ray Condo...BR549...NOFX...

To answer your question, I don't know. There are hundreds of them. If I would have ever seen Johnny Cash live, good chance that would be my answer.

But I didn't...so it's Stryper.

Q: What's your best recipe?

Earl: A dozen chicken thighs, salt & peppered, grilled on top of charcoal and hickory, basted with Oklahoma Joe's "Night of the Living Sauce".

Q: What would you do if you won the lottery?

Earl: Throw a party.

Well, that's just a smattering. Keep asking me questions, and I'll answer them eventually. Albeit, on my nationally acclaimed blog post.

Thanks for asking and thanks for reading.

.

Cool Things

2011-01-04T21:22:00.000-08:00

I was just reading some reader letters from the local publication, The Mountain Gazette. The letters were answering the question, list "Cool Things You've Done". There were certainly some cool things listed, most of which had to do with outdoorsy-type accomplishments, which I dig. Summiting Everest, kaying a waterfall, winning a marathon...

Some though, totally random.

So here's mine...in no particular order.

1) Shot a bird on accident with my sling-shot.

2) Lost my virginity on a 3rd story hotel balcony railing. (Actually, she was on the railing. I was safely planted on the balcony floor. Yes, she.

3) Ziplined over the Costa Rican rainforest.

4) Played in a spectacular live rock and roll band for adoring fans.

5) Got married along a Colorado trout stream to a cool chick.

6) Rock climbed a 5.10.

7) Almost stepped on a rattlesnake.

8) Had a 1989 Ford Probe airborn more than once.

9) Have seen The Ramones live...four times.

10) Had a boulder fall on me and pin me face down in a river.

11) Moved to Florida for a year, but don't remember it.

12) Have had my nose broken twice from fighting poorly.

13) The time after losing my virginity was in the bed of a white S-10 going 90mph down a farm road. Don't remember who was driving.

14) Met Mike Shannon and two of the four members of Rancid. At separate times.

15) Had a grand slam. In fly fishing, that's a rainbow, brown, brook, and cutthroat all in one day.

16) Whitewater rafted crocodile infested waters.

17) Been arrested.

18) Been to 15 consecutive Cardinals v Cubs series. The trend was broken last year.

19) Have seen Styper live. Icing on the cake? White Lion opened.

20) Been attacked by hornets. Not Lucas Parks dressed as our high school mascot.

21) Took a month off to travel and fly fish Colorado.

22) Helped arrange and celebrate Dokken Day, 2010--a festival of all things 80s metal.

21) Realized that this list needs much more added on to it.

,

I Suck.

2010-12-29T13:34:00.000-08:00

Yea, I suck.

It's hard to write when you're neck-deep in your plan of attack for life. "Wth?" you ask.

My plan of attack on life involves traveling my face off while incorporating wonderful things that I love into my travels. Great food, different corners of the country, fly fishing, things and deals abroad, delicious beverages, interesting people, my beautiful wife, maybe a kiddo or two, writing bunches, and so forth and so on. In order to get that ball rolling, I had to put an immediate stop to my at-the-time current profession. So I went ahead and did that.

Now, I'm much more in line with the direction that I need to be headed. I'm tuned into fly fishing, travel, and although I've slacked on my own blog...writing. Things are swell.

I am now practicing patience and slowly directing my dream. I realize that I'm being vague on what that plan, or dream actually is. That's because I'm not 100% positive what it is just yet. I just know that it involves traveling, fishing, experiencing, living, and writing.

So, with that said, I'll try and update this site on a more regular basis. If anyone out there is interested in offering me a substantial amount of money to do the aforementioned things listed above, facebook me or something.

.

D'nF'nD '11

2010-11-10T21:38:00.000-08:00

Wow. I can't believe this time of year is upon us again so soon. It seems like just yesterday that we were all preparing for the celebration, the togetherness, and the warmth.

Yes, Dokken Day 2011 is only 78 days away! Yep, I'm talking DD, not X-Mas. I zigged just when you thought I was going to zag.

2010's celebration was ridiculously awesome, and 2011's is going to be even bigger. The party plans have yet to be hashed out, but I can assure you that you're not going to be disappointed.

A quick recap to inform our friends new to the holiday: In 1988, Tom Bradley, the mayor of Los Angeles, proclaimed January 27 "Dokken Day" and presented the 80s metal band, Dokken, with the key to city. Not sure why, but I'm glad the drunk bastard did.

The way I like to picture it is, Tom Bradley got shit-hammered drunk one night with Don, George, "Wild" Mick, and Jeff (Dokken, Lynch, Brown, and Pilson, respectively) You've got a white-collar , African-American politician decked out in a neck tie and penny loafers hanging out with the fellas from Dokken. Tom lives down the street from the bandmates, who all live a nice, ranch-style subdivision home together. They've all been bowling and have had several Busch Lights and Rumplemint shots. Don, decked out in full spandex, teased hair, chain belt, silk headband, and a bowler's wrist guard, rolls a strike. Tom Bradley yells, "Don, you lucky fucker! Roll another one! If you don't get a strike, you have to take a shot of Schnapps for each one of us here!"

"You're on, T.B.!" Don retorts in a playful manner, "If I get it though, you're drinking them, cocksucker!"

Don positions his stance, slowly brings the bowling ball up to his chin supported by his non- bowling hand, and with an intent focus on that center pin, takes a deep breath and shoots one down the center of the lane. Crash!! All ten pins explode with the force that only a metal god can conjure.

"Drink up, bitch!" Don laughs.

Tom gracefully accepts his end of the bet and throws back five shots of Schnapps in quick fashion. His eyes instantly glaze over and he stumbles a bit while finding his way back to his plastic chair with his penny loafers stowed neatly under it.

"I tell ya what," T.B. suddenly says, "you roll a third strike and I'll give you the key to the goddamn city! You miss it, and I take over as lead singer and namesake of your band." he states confidently.

Don, who never backs down from a challenge--especially in the presence of his bandmates in the middle of a bowling alley--calls Tom on his ante-upping.

Once again, Don positions the ball in front of his face just below his eyes. Focuses on the lane, the pins, the encouraging words from Jeff, George, and "Wild" Mick, "Don...you can do this." they softly say. Nervous thoughts of his amazingly talented metal band changing it's name to BRADDLY. Don clears his head.

Then, with the determination that only an entertainer--a man--of Don's caliber can attain, he bowls that third strike. Don succeeds, as he has countless times before.

Mayor Bradley, with a defeated grin, reaches into his briefcase and removes a solid gold key the size of a ukulele. As the four band members stand in front of Tom with a confident swagger about them, they remain good sports and give a Tom a pat on the back and assure him that this gentleman's wager will not effect their friendship in the least. In fact, in a beautiful act of sportsmanship, George Lynch graciously asks Mayor Bradley and his wife over for a Sunday pot luck dinner to the band's house. "Wild" Mick Brown quickly offers his famous Chipotle Potato Salad for a side dish! This was well before the word "chipotle" became a popular culinary term. "Wild" Mick is considered a "trail blazer" in the art of fine cooking.

The next morning as the band members awake from a slumber fueled by the ravages of a night of pure rock and roll bowling alley debauchery, they start to piece together the events that transpired. They manage to remember the ultimate wager that evening, and while feeling triumphant that their leader once again came through for them, they couldn't help but wonder how their close friend, Tom Bradley, mayor of Los Angeles, felt that same morning. It brought a sense of concern to all four roommates.

Jeff flips the TV on to break up the worried feelings in the room, and to the band's amazement, Mayor Tom Bradley was on live television, holding an impromptu press conference. He was announcing his decision to proudly give the key to the city to the greatest rock and roll band the world had ever seen--as well as great friends and neighbors of his--Dokken. Mayor Bradley then ends his press conference by proclaiming that day, January 27, from that day forth, "Dokken Day".

That morning Mayor Tom Bradely proved to his close friends, Dokken, that being a gracious loser, actually makes you a triumphant winner...

The band and the mayor celebrated the following day with jello molds, casseroles, salads, and a delicious main course prepared by who else, Don Dokken.

That's kind of the way I envision the whole thing happening.

At any rate, I'll get back to you on the bad-ass details of DD'11. I'm guessing that although we'll all celebrate in our homes amongst ourselves and our families on the day of the 27th, the actual festival won't kick off until the following Saturday, the 29th--just so you know. So mark your damn calendars!

Thanks Mayor Tom Bradley! You won't be forgotten in this celebration of 80s metal wonderment!

,

Way To Go, MO.

2010-11-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

I'm a dreamer. But I dream about realistic, achievable things. I have a very crisp and vivid mind's eye, and sometimes what I'm seeing in my head is more romantic--more desirable than the reality of doing it. I tend to dwell on a memory or idea that is--in my head--exactly what I have to do right now.

For months I had envisioned going back home to Missouri. It was to be a perfect visit--obviously, seeing as how I'm dreaming about it. There was to be fishing at my favorite old spots, seeing friends that I used to get into trouble with, grilling meats and frying fishes in the parents' backyard, and spending very necessary time with my family. I had grown homesick. I had started to yearn for the things that used to be everyday life for me years ago. The visions of all these things in my head made me even more excited and ready to embrace my roots once again.

Well, I went. And with very few exceptions, it was absolutely perfect.

The visit started out swell. A good friend of mine, Bryan, took my dad and I out on his boat (my dad and I sold our boat, seeing as how I moved away) to our favorite launch on Stockton Lake. Since I cannot travel well with my conventional fishing tackle which is now in my garage in Colorado, my dad purchased a new $30 spin combo for me at the Bass Pro, or Pro Bass, or "Probe Ass" as it has become so affectionately called. After we arrived at our old honey hole, my new rig backfires before I'm able to make one cast, thus creating what us boat anglers call a "fiddle dee wa". It was an annoying beginning, but after 5-7 minutes of untangling my line from around the inside of my spool, I make my first cast towards this hallowed bank. On my second fling, I lace into a sizable white bass, the very species that we were hoping would be hungry this particular day. You see, white bass to some are a dirt fish. Possibly not a sport fish, and some do not consider them good eating. Those people are wrong and ignorant.

Here's a quick side note on the perception of certain fishes: Where I'm from, people love crappie. They are supposedly the most delicious fish, outside of the walleye. I disagree. Crappie do not have much taste, so most people--who likely don't like fishy tasting fish, prefer crappie. White bass, on the other hand, very much so have a fishy taste to them. Not overpowering, they just taste like a fish should. So me, and my friends and family who appreciate fresh, fishy tasting fish, prefer the white bass over the crappie. Hell, you're coating it in flour, cornmeal, salt & pepper, and cayenne--then dumping it in oil anyway, so a little fish taste certainly complements its crunchy, seasoned exterior. I do not turn my nose up at a crappie, mind you. I simply find it less tasty. Walleye are still the cat's ass when it comes to delicious fish sides. That can't be denied.

Okay, the white bass is tossed in the live well, and from then on we accumulate many, many more to accommodate the boat. The predominate species is the white bass--some in the 20 inch range--but also largemouth bass, walleye, and yes, crappie are added to the mix. Even a couple big, nasty catfish are thrown in. Several keepers are actually tossed into the boat by way of my fly rod. It's a little more work--especially when your fly line keeps getting tangled in the trolling motor foot controls--but well worth the effort!

A day and a half of this results in over 60 kept fish between the three of us. This is going to be fine fish fry.

The second day of fishing ended earlier than the first, due to the amount of fish that needed filleting and a few friends coming over to drink some beer with us. The picnic table was positioned just right in the back yard, two cutting boards placed on it, one electric fillet knife and one conventional for cutting rib cages out, cold Budweisers within arms reach, and country music cued on the CD player. Not pop country--I don't listen to that crap. No, good country. Our traditional fish cleaning country artists are BR5-49, Ray Condo and His Ricochets, and Willie Nelson. Any mention of Rascal Flatts and someone's getting a fillet knife in their thigh.

During the two hour process of preparing fish sides for the following day's fry, my good friend Jeffrey shows up with his Weber grill and three slabs of spare ribs.

Now, earlier when I said that I have a vivid mind's eye and dream about realistic things that make me incredibly happy--this is certainly one of those things. But it actually was better than how I envisioned it. Hickory smoke and fish stench in the air. BR5-49, sizzling ribs, and an electric fillet knife providing the soundtrack. Comrades that I see way too little of these days. It was one of those times that I have to take moment to absorb it all in. And I did. And then grabbed a can of Budweiser with my red, slimy hand and took at hearty quaff, and grinned in satisfaction.

The following evening was perhaps the crux of the visit. After a couple preliminary beers during the Nebraska/Mizzou tackle football contest with some old friends, it was time to prepare for the evening's festivities. 60+ fish equals 120+ fish sides. These were to be fried. Bryan, who has become an avid hunter, supplied venison loin that my dad was to hickory smoke on the grill. After old friends pulled into the gravel driveway one by one, Bud Lights were inhaled like the good old days and stories of the past were repeated like they are each time we meet up. A competitive game of horseshoes quickly led to further preparation for the night. We instinctively split into groups. Some get wood ready for the large fire, some help prepare the grill, and some assist in creating a fish frying station in the backyard.

Like usual, there was more food than all of our hearty appetites could consume. And like usual, an S.O.S. went out when the beer supply became thin. The crisis was quickly averted when my best friend, Kevin, showed up fashionably late with two cases of cold beer. To my recollection, there was much beer and laughter alongside a blazing campfire. Pickup trucks and lawn chairs circled the pit, and sing-along 80s metal provided a familiar backdrop.

It's different now, yet the same. My parents' backyard has always served as the stage for incredibly successful get-togethers. My friends and I, once being the kids that populated these shindigs, are now much more few and far between. People grow up. They move away. They move on. But there are still a few soldiers that carry on. The parties are less--especially now that I live 700 miles away. But when word gets out that a fiesta is in the works, there is always a swell crowd that delivers. My parents' backyard now has less of "us", but more of our offspring. 4 year-olds chasing each other around and playing tee-ball has replaced 22 year-olds doing keg stands and running through the fire. We still get together, though. We're not as rowdy, but we still have just as much fun.

Nice job, Missouri. Way to come through.

,

Twitchy Left Eye.

2010-10-19T20:57:00.000-07:00

I try not to talk about work too much on this thing. When I get home from a trying day--which is most all of them--the last thing I want to talk about is work. But there are some real characters out there that I just have to bring to everyone's attention.

Let's recap on what exactly it is that I do. I sell coats to dipshits. The end.

Sure, I've got to put up with a boatload of totally unnecessary micro-managing and bullshitting just to keep the corporate jackweeds off my back--but apparently that's not too uncommon.

Let's get back to the dipshits.

Now, if you've ever worked a job in the service industry--a job where they really emphasize the term "customer service", then you may get my drift on this bit. If not, please take note so you don't fall into this category of dipshitness.

I'll start with a fairly minor one. This happened today.

Loud, annoying phone-talking guy decides to walk into the store while still on his incredibly important and loud phone call. I make it a point to greet everyone who enters the store while on their phones just so they have to acknowledge me for one second during their cellular conversation. Sometimes it takes more than one greeting to get a reaction, but it's worth the effort because I get satisfaction from interrupting them. Loud, annoying phone-talking guy walks right up to me, puts his index finger out, as to say "Just a sec, chief.". I am in a not-so great mood to begin with--mainly because I hate my job--so I give him a "go to hell" scowl that was more genuine than he, or anyone could have known. He finishes his conversation with an "I'll have to pass this time, big guy, but maybe we can---blah blah blah (he started talking in frat-boy golf lingo that I don't understand).

This champion finally ends his cell phone conversation that he obviously wanted everyone within earshot--and then some--to hear, walks up uncomfortably close to me, and states, "Let's do some shoppin'!" My scowl increases to where no man in his right mind would think that I am even minutely happy at this point. While he stands there smiling, I stand with a look that all but screams, "Are you fucking kidding me? I don't get paid near enough to deal with fucktards like you." That's exactly what my look said...and then my left eye started twitching.

After I stand there, in dipshit-shock, he says, "What's your name?" Then he looks at my nametag ( I hate...once again, I hate...wearing a nametag) "Matt? Craig. I need to buy a casual, but cool jacket that I can wear if I want to learn to ski, but that also looks good with a suit, like if I get off work and meet some clients over at Elway's. Also something that I can run or ride my bike at night while it's snowing. I just moved here from Cali, lost 40lbs since February, and I'm out shopping like a chick!"

No shit. Nice job, Craig. Way to suck at living.

This brings to mind the man-shoppers that I have come in the store. Now, this is not intended to poke fun at gay dudes--that would not be as big of a deal. But I have a substantial amount of seemingly heterosexual men that enjoy spending a Saturday afternoon not playing basketball together...not drinking beer together...not watching baseball together...but shopping for clothes together. Yes, they carry around their little bags from the mall that have Aeropostle--or what the fuck ever that place is called, The Gap, The Navy, The Puma, and all the other mall stores that cater to man-shoppers.

"Hey Vinnie, you got Saturday off? Sweet! Me too! I realize that there's a game on TV, or we could head up to the mountains for a little fishing, or hell, we could even just spend the day in a bar tying one on.......but I'm wondering if you would just like to go to the mall, do some shopping? You know, for clothes and stuff? The two of us. That sound cool?"

Then some crazy lady comes in to the store, wondering if we sell body warmers? I don't know what a body warmer is. There is no such thing, so she's probably confusing it with something else. "Are you talking about hand or foot warmers? You know, those packets that you put in your gloves or socks in cold weather?" I ask.

"No, god no! It's a body warmer! You know, a piece of clothing!" Like I'm the idiot.

"O--kay. Like arm warmers for runners? Sleeves?" I'm at a loss.

"No! It's armless! It's an armless body warmer! C'mon!! I see them everywhere! Don't tell me you don't have them!" She's almost yelling at this point.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I have no idea what a sleeveless body warmer is." I say while keeping my cool and appearing completely genuine.

"Here! This! This is what I'm talking about!!" As she grabs a hold of a garment on a rack.

"A vest??" I say in utter amazement.

"Yea, whatever! Vest, bodywarmer...whatever! That's what I need!" still talking like I am a complete moron. My eye: twitching.

One more. Stay with me on this winner.

Guy is looking at luggage. I ask if I can help. He says, "I bought this piece of luggage yesterday, and I'm wondering if it's going to be big enough."

"Okay, I gotcha. What are you planning on packing in it" I reply.

"I've got six reels that I'm traveling with, and that's all I'm taking in this piece of luggage." he states.

"Alright, have you tried packing them in there yet?" giving this yutz the benefit of the doubt thus far.

"Yea, I brought 'em. They're in there." opening the carry-on to show me that all reels fit perfectly.

"Okay, so you bought this yesterday, and decided to bring your reels in to see if they'd fit in this exact same piece that you just bought?" Trying to make sense of it.

"Yea, I'm just not sure that they're gonna fit." he says, revealing that he is still uncertain that his cargo will fit into this piece of luggage that they are, in fact, fitting into right in front of both our eyes.

"Well.......it looks as though they fit in this piece....that you have already bought, pretty well....." I say with a hint of caution, in case I'm dealing with a mentally disabled person, or there is possibly something obvious that I'm overlooking during this conversation.

"Yea, I don't know if they're gonna fit, man."

At this point, I am completely speechless. I throw my hands up, as to say, "Sorry bud, I don't know what to tell you. You bought this same piece of luggage yesterday, but decided to bring your six fishing reels in here to see if they would fit in the display model--which they obviously do, without a hint of doubt, instead of....................." My left eye starts twitching. I walk away.

Please, please, please....stop being so goddamn stupid. Thank you.

,

half-drunk ramblings after a bad day at work.

2010-10-11T21:50:00.000-07:00

A Type A personality is described as a business-like, aggressive, controlling workaholic. Basically an asshole.

A Type B personality is the polar opposite. Easy going, relaxed, "whatever" types.

I am neither. Or quite possibly, lots of both.

I am not a workaholic, in the dramatized sense of staying late at the office, burning the midnight oil. I suppose you could classify me as a workaholic, though, seeing as how I am constantly trying to find a way to enjoy my profession...which hasn't happened yet. Controlling? Aggressive? Nah, not really. Asshole? Probably.

One main characteristic that I do share with these Type A jerks, is that I stress entirely too much over my job. It's really not that I care about it that much, or I strive to be the best so much that my ulcer starts bulging. It's that I dislike it (and every other job) so much that my left eye starts twitching, I grow a pain in my side right under my rib cage, and my chest becomes extremely tight.

That's my Type A bit.

In order to correct--or counter-balance my Type A tendencies, I immediately go Type B, to the point to where it probably hinders me.

There is no happy medium. If I become too stressed out over work, or the frustrations that lie within, I can't just "not let them get to me" in a grown-up, adult, professional manner. No, I have to say "fuck it, man"--sometimes aloud at work--and let any ounce of maturity that I've ever gained go straight down the shitter. It's either, or.

That's been my struggle. I get to the point of unhappiness with my career that I allow it to effect me physically--then I throw in the towel and don't give a fuck to cure it. It's kind of the two extremes of both Types of personalities.

I dwell, and I dwell, and I dwell. I am constantly unsatisfied, and want something different, something more, something now. There is no sense of patience--a trait of Type A-ers. But then I get to my boiling point...

That's when immaturity rears its ugly head. It's kind of cool, though. It's a little embarrassing at times--saying 'fuck it' to most everything and acting like I did in high school. But it's also liberating. It's nice to have that release. More times than not, I wish it lasted longer.

If I could choose one of my extreme personality traits, it would probably be the B. Mainly for health reasons. Of course, I would basically be a couch-draped hippie. But I suppose that beats a near heart attack on a weekly basis caused by stupid shit that revolves around selling coats and the jack-offs that surround that world.

The answer is simple, but acting on that answer is not. Do what makes you happy. Sounds great on paper, but it's not an easy feat to perfect. If I did what makes me happy, I'd probably be a bum, 'cause I don't want to work. At least not a "job".

I want to travel, experience, explore, taste, teach, and learn. Nine-to-fives do not interest me. That's where my stress comes in to play. Trying dearly to figure that puzzle out.

The older I get, the more stressed this makes me. Frankly, because my time is quickly getting measured. My time with friends, family, and hopefully kiddos one day. I don't want to be an angry, disgruntled coat salesman. I want to be utterly pleased and content with my career and the direction it's going. I want it to be meaningful, and gratifying. Selling coats to dickheads is not.

Hopefully I'll be able to figure this $47,000 question out for myself sooner rather than later. It's probably something that doesn't affect too many of you out there--I seem to be in the minority when it comes to making it one's life-long mission to find the perfect profession. I hope it's possible. I hope I'm not fucked.

But that's my personality, I guess. Type F.

,

Hagar or Roth? Good chance you're wrong.

2010-09-30T18:44:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, while half drunk at 11am on a random Thursday wine tour with my wife, I asked via the facebook: Hagar or Roth?

Some responses were alarming.

I understand that is a subjective question, to a point. So let's discuss this in an adult, open-minded manner.

My initial question, obviously, was referring to the frontmen of the rock and roll band, Van Halen. Outside of Van Halen, I really don't care about what either artist has accomplished. So let's start there. And in addition--remember that I have been drinking all day. So that means that I am uninterested in Googling facts and "researching" any written or recorded proof that may lead someone to lean towards one lead singer or the other. I'm simply writing what I know. And I know.

I'll start with saying this: I do like Sam. But he has no business being in a band called "Van Halen".

The name Van Halen was born from, of course, the brothers Halen--Edward and Alex, along with Michael Anthony and David Lee Roth. They were all formerly called Mammoth, back in their house party-playing days and then moving up to the L.A. club scene. Roth, digging the way the name, "Led Zeppelin" sounded, suggested the band be called Van Halen. This name would also counter-balance Roth's enormous ego, centering much of the attention to his highly skilled guitar player and equally adept drummer--the Van Halens. Roth would later create his own niche as one of--if not the, most extravagant, entertaining rock and roll frontmen in history.

After being discovered by The Demon bass player for KISS, Mr. Simmons, the Halen quickly gained a reputation for being a hard rocking party band referred to as "mighty". After this point is when the general music-listening public may start to become familiar with VH.

The first sound you hear on Van Halen (the band's first album) is a car horn that will make you frantically look in your rearview mirror, followed by Michael Anthony's low bass thump in "Runnin' With The Devil". From that point forward, this album takes you on a rock and roll journey that was, and is, different than anything recorded prior. Sure, the handsome, boisterous lead singer coupled by the quiet, classically trained guitar player had been done--Led Zeppelin. But with VH, you got an entirely different mood...and sound. The "brown sound", as some of you may have heard, is what Ed's guitar creates when he feels like playing it.

Okay. So meanwhile, you've got an established "Red Rocker", formerly with a band called Montrose, who has found himself enjoying a very successful (and deservedly so) solo career. "Heavy Metal", "Crusin' and Boozin", "There's Only One Way to Rock", and of course the classic-rock radio hit to this day, "I Can't Drive 55".

I'll be honest, I never listened to much Hagar. What I heard was pretty cool, but it didn't blow my skirt up. I liked "Heavy Metal", which was the title track of the animated movie of the same name, which is equally as cool. I miss you, John Candy. And then he had some radio hits that were kind of poppy, but not bad.

But let's get back to band that my question revolves around.

Van Halen, or Van Halen I, as most call it, was ground breaking. Sure, I was four when it came out, but that's beside the point. The diversity of the style of tunes, from Ed's solo, "Eruption" segwaying into the Kinks' cover of "You Really Got Me"--to the end of the album with "Ice Cream Man" to me is not only ballsy, but confident. It shows equal parts of Ed and Dave. Another track, of Dave's persuasion, was "I'm the One", which is a "boogie" style of a tune, as the band describes it, and would later be the foundation for "The Full Bug" and the more popular "Hot For Teacher"...as well as others that I'm probably forgetting. Remember--been drinking.

The following five albums released by the original members of the band would go on to be equally as fun, diverse, and entertaining--all in their own right. The band itself (like it or not) paved the way for essentially every 80s hair metal band to follow. VH was the main catalyst in creating a new genre of music--a genre that drank excessively, partied non-stop, humped a ton of chicks, and sang about cool shit like...well, all those things I just said. Spandex was also popularized around this time, quite possibly by Roth, which I do not have a problem with. For bike riding, no. For rock and roll entertainment, yes.

Roth, of course, was a major part of all of this. Roth-style VH was raw, energetic, and still poetic at times. While listening to Roth-VH on headphones, you can hear laughter, inhaling, exhaling, bottles clanking, and fuck-ups that went unfixed--all in the background. That, in itself, still portrayed them as real and honest to me. Roth himself--although undoubtedly an asshole--carried himself and his band to quick stardom by knowing exactly how to entertain an audience. I've seen Roth in concert, I've seen Van Hagar in concert, and I've seen the resurrected Van Halen (with Wolfie) in concert. For my money, I'll take Roth in a wheelchair over Sam any day of the week. But I digress, we're speaking only of these frontmen while with VH (albeit I may stop the conversation at 1995's (96?) Balance--Hagar's last bit with them. Then on to the Gary Cherone debacle.)

Here's the reality of it: I would probably get along with Sammy a hell of lot better than I would with Dave. Sam seems down to earth and easy to have a drink with. Dave is uber-eccentric and full of himself. So if we're all in a bar together, I'd probably end up having shots with Sam, and probably avoid Dave just to steer clear of disappointment. But that's not the premise of the semi-vague question: Hagar or Roth? The premise is, and I should have specified, who's the better frontman for Van Halen?

Let's take a look at Sam's time with the band.

As a 6th grader in 1986, I received the cassette tape, 5150 for Christmas. My parents, knowing that I was a young, but avid fan of "Jump", "Panama", "Hot For Teacher", and 1984 in general, bought me this as a gift. Granted, I did like it. I at least liked the first cut, I believe called "Good Enough"--the one that starts out, "Hello, baaaby!" Then came the synthesizers and some guy trying to sound like David Lee Roth. Although there were some decent tunes, this pretty much went on for the next ten years.

What Roth did with Eat 'Em And Smile was much more appealing to me. He kept a fantastic guitarist in Steve Vai, and added a substantial rhythm duo with Billy Shehan and Matt (Greg?) Bissonette. It was fun, kind of crazy, and ten times more energetic than 5150.

From that point on, there were three different bands that had existed. There was the original Van Halen with David Lee Roth; A band that created a new and powerful sound and image. A group that any other band in the entire world would hate to follow if on the same bill. And a band that, to this day, is considered part of the foundation of rock and/or roll as we know it. Then you've got Roth-solo; He had one, maybe one and a half good albums. I dig Roth, but don't care to listen to his solo attempts. After the 80s ended, he fell head-first into obscurity. Then, finally, you've got the second coming of Van Halen with Sammy Hagar; Hagar made a match with the other three members of the band due to the direction that they were heading at the time. Radio, synthesizers, over-production, seriousness, ballads--all unentertaining things to me.

It comes down to entertainment value. Sammy cannot jump over a set of drums on an eight-foot riser. Dave can. Sammy cannot hit that high note scream that defines the early Van Halen sound. Dave can. Sammy cannot write songs about wanting have sex with his teacher. Dave can.

As far as the singer for Van Halen goes, Sammy Hagar may as well of not even existed. If they wanted to call the band something else, like The Van Halenishes, or The Suckrealbads, or The Synthesizerballadqueers, then I'd be okay with that. But you can't continue to call yourselves Van Halen if you decide to stop having fun and start playing music that our parents like. "Why Can't This Be Love?"--jesus. And don't even get me started on that Crystal Pepsi song, "Right Now"--fuck. I'm just happy that they've decided to try and save a little bit of their pride by bringing back Dave to play the good stuff (after Dave splits for reasons still debated about, hiring Sam, firing Sam, reuniting with Dave briefly, telling Dave to go to hell, hiring the singer for Extreme, kicking him out, bringing Sam back again and firing him I think, kicking out Mike Anthony, hiring Ed's kid, then bringing Dave back once more).

The years 1978 through 1984 are Van Halen. If you disagree, then you like some other band.

whew!
,

Love Creates Serious Blog Posts.

2010-09-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

I've had a marvelous past few days. I've started some new friendships, rekindled some old ones, and created some pretty dang good memories. Last weekend is certainly not going to be forgotten anytime soon -- for many reasons.

My friends Andy and Katiy got hitched up in Estes Park on Sunday. It was a breathtaking setting, with wonderful people. My two friends are truly in love, and it certainly showed this weekend. Nice job, guys.

Friends and family from all over made the trek to attend, predominantly from the Kansas City area where my wife and I lived for a few years before heading out to Colorado. And it was great to see all the familiar faces from KC--some with new significant others that were welcomed into the old circle with open arms, much like I was about six years ago.

My wife, April, lived in KC for a few years before I made my way up there. She had a circle of fantastic people that she spent the majority of her time with--mostly co-workers. That's where she met Andy, as well as several others that were in attendance on Sunday. This group of friends has treated me with the utmost kindness and respect since I came into April's life. By entering April's life, I entered theirs. And although they were my wife's friends before they even knew that I existed, I honestly consider each of them my friend now.

Andy's dad, Mickey, whom I have met a handful of times prior to this weekend but never really got the chance to know, was Andy's best man. Andy has a very close relationship with his dad--obviously--much like I have with mine. Not only family, but great friends as well. I got to know Mickey over the weekend--several cold beers, a glass or two of whisky, a competitive game of washers, and some unforgettable comradary with Andy, Mickey, and their circle of friends. It was genuine, and appreciated.

Another old KC friend in attendance was our friend, Bob. Once again, April knew Bob as a co-worker well before I entered the picture. But like Andy and the other members of the KC circle, Bob welcomed me into the gang without hesitation. And although Bob and I probably didn't get to know each other as well as we would have liked to during my time in KC, when we do cross paths we're both genuinely happy to see an old face that we both consider a friend.

Bob's dad passed away unexpectedly about a week before the Colorado wedding. And for that--I honestly don't know what to say right now.

But I got the chance over the weekend to talk to Bob, and to express my condolences. He said that when he was young, one of the vacations his folks would take the family on was to Colorado. He said it's a wonderful memory. So, in a sense, Bob felt it meaningful--and possibly symbolic--to load up his beautiful family and come out to Estes for his friend's wedding during an incredibly difficult time. That, in itself, I find truly admirable. And I know for a fact, while watching Bob swing his two little girls around on the dance floor at Andy and Katiy's reception, with ear-to-ear smiles and laughter, that it was the right decision. Sounds like Bob and his dad had a close relationship--much like Andy and Mickey...and Matt and Rick.

Honestly, I'm not positive where I'm going with this story. All that I can tell you is, while wiping my eyes, is that the events over the weekend touched me in an extremely powerful way. Powerful in a sense that there was an incredible amount of love expressed by people that I know.

Husbands, wives. Old friends, and new. Moms...and dads. Celebrations of old memories. And celebrations of future ones.

Whether it's friendship, bonding, comradary, a great first impression, or a deep love and respect--it was all expressed over the weekend.

People reading this, wondering what the hell I'm getting at...

Don't take anything for granted. Not love, not your wife, not your kids, not your dad, not life...not anything.

Good shit, man. Good shit.

,

I'm going to buy a pair of K-Swiss, even though I don't need, nor want them.

2010-09-23T15:57:00.000-07:00

If my dad sees a terrible commercial on TV, he boycotts that particular brand. I think Hardees or KFC had a commercial a year or two ago that just sucked, so my dad refused to eat at these places.

If he sees a great commercial, he's much more apt to support this company.

I, like my father, appreciate a great commercial. So next time you see me, I just might be reluctantly wearing an ugly pair of K-Swiss Tubes...just out of principle.

enjoy.

,

dude on a bike has a bad day.

2010-09-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

On my way home from work today through downtown Denver, I noticed traffic backed up more so than usual in the far left lane. The closer I crept past stalled traffic, I noticed a couple cars stopped, thus backing up traffic immensely. What appeared at first to be a rear-ending--which is a common occurrence during my commute--ended up being a hit cyclist.

The road biker, clad in red spandex from head to toe, lay on the sidewalk next to his bicycle grasping his knee while a concerned party (presumably including the driver of the car with the now dented front bumper) of three or four leaned over him in a worrisome manner. It had to of just happened, I'm assuming, due to the traffic not being backed up near as much as it probably was 15 minutes after I drove past the ordeal.

The biker, whom I guessing was "sharing the road" with thousands of rush hour automobile commuters, more than likely got his back tire bumped by a Chevrolet and took a pretty healthy spill. Obviously the accident was moved from the road--unless the sidewalk was where the victim ended up landing after the bump. People weren't running around frantically, screaming or anything of an extreme nature. I didn't see any spleens or pancreases on the sidewalk, and there was certainly movement from the biker--albeit a squirming, writhing-in-pain, oh why me God!?-type of movement.

Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on anyone..... Let me rephrase that. Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on too many people. I surely don't feel any sort of satisfaction from seeing that poor person rolling around on the sidewalk, unhappy with the result of his bike ride. But it does make me ask a few questions.

Allow me to preface my questions a bit first.

In Colorado, we have an abundance of folks that really, really enjoy riding their bikes on the road. I have friends that ride almost everyday. With my job, I converse and interact with serious cyclists on a consistent basis. Shit, Lance Armstrong trains in Colorado. You've got the climbs, the switchbacks, the altitude. So needless to say, where I live is a mecca for road cyclists. I don't have a single problem with people getting joy from riding their bicycles. I have a bike, and more times than not when I ride it, I enjoy myself.

But there are a few things that do bug me.

Sure, the spandex is a given. But I think the main thing is the attitude that non-riding folk are given. If you are walking or driving, you had better get the fuck out the road biker's way because they are road biking and they are serious! They will yell at you to "Watch out!!" while you are walking on the sidewalk or pedestrian path through the park. They will give you the bird while darting around you and shooting through a stop sign if you don't give them enough room to pass.

It's difficult , too, at times to socialize with a cyclist if you, yourself, do not cycle. They constantly describe their rides as "long rides" instead of just "rides". They speak of them in terms of calories supposedly burned, as in "a 4600 calorie ride". No arguing, it's science.

Of course, these acts don't reflect all road bikers--I don't think.

It's funny to me, but understandable too, I guess. All like-minded groups of people or enthusiasts or subcultures all talk in their own language. They all share a common interest. They all encourage one another. But there is also always an unspoken competition. It's that way in climbing. It's that way in fly fishing. It's that way if you're in a band. And it's definitely that way in cycling.

Back to my questions on the downtown bicycle accident.

Why, why did this person decide it would be a good idea to ride his bicycle on perhaps the busiest road in the state during rush hour traffic? Speer Boulevard is laden with stoplights, traffic jammed in-between stoplights, and zero shoulder. Let me also add that there is a BIKE PATH that parallels Cherry Creek which Speer is built along. The Cherry Creek bike path was mere yards from where said biker was rolling around on the sidewalk, looking like The Flash just got his ass kicked.

I realize that this person may have just been commuting, but commute on the bike path--or even the sidewalk. Worst that could happen there is getting rear-ended by a bum. But you know what? Even if he was commuting--why the outfit? Why the spandex? To make you go faster? On Speer Blvd? During rush hour?

Wasn't a very long ride, was it?

I beg of you, road bikers claiming ownership of Colorado's paved by-ways--please stick to your climbs, and your switchbacks, and your altitude. I know I would if I were of the spandex-clad brotherhood. Please don't put us poor souls that are restricted to automobiles in a position of swerving to constantly avoid you on our hour-long commute home.

Friends and business acquaintances who regularly cycle the streets--please do not take offense. This has been an ongoing battle for quite some time with the "bad apples" in your circle. If you know of these few that ambush pedestrians taking a leisurely evening stroll in the park...that scoff at the thought of traffic lights, stop signs, and all rules and regulations of the streets...that decide to "train" on very major Colorado roads during the absolute worst times possible--please tell them to stop.

Cool. Thanks.

,

THE MOOD.

2010-09-07T16:41:00.000-07:00

I don't get it. I was in the strangest mood yesterday--good strange. It's a mood that rarely visits me anymore, and I'm not sure why it decided to now.

I couldn't have cared less about anything at all yesterday. I wasn't to the point of endangering myself or someone else. I didn't drive with my feet or anything. But I very well could have lost my job, deeply offended a member of the consuming general public, or caused my wife to deck me in the jaw.

It was the type of feeling that is usually drug-induced (I'm assuming...), whereas there is a numbness and consta-smile attributed to it. Nothing at all was making me bristle, which is extremely odd. You see, I like to portray the type of cool individual that lets absolutely nothing get under his skin. But in all reality, I've got somewhat of a quick temper, a loathing and constant stewing for stupidity as I see it, and others would probably describe my daily persona as "grumpy", "cynical", or "always pissed at something". So this feeling that had come over me was obviously something to behold.

If you didn't already know, I work in the service industry--which is a nice way of saying "I deal with assholes everyday." Actually, I sell jackets...and other associated items. But yes, dealing with assholes is a daily occurrence in my profession. This is not only a contributing factor to my bitterness, but probably the root of it. Each day that passes, my employees place wagers on when I am going to snap, and who is going to receive the brunt of my well-thought out "I fucking quit!" exit routine. And sadly, it doesn't include an inflatable airplane slide.

So when I showed up at the store yesterday...whistling, singing, dancing to the muzak...people knew something was awry. I felt drunk, or high, or roofied. I actually had to address my mood to my employees just to cover the fact that I was NOT drunk, high, or roofied (nobody had access to any of my beverages prior to my arrival at work, therefore I dismiss being roofied). Customers would ask their same ol' ridiculous questions, and instead of staring at them, gritting my teeth, taking deep breaths through my nostrils...I laughed it off and answered their dumb questions--admittedly, with a touch of sarcasm though.

I laughed hysterically at non-hysterical things. I danced in front of employees and customers--not trying to be obnoxious, just felt like dancing. I did not bullshit one person the entire day, which is a very rare and gratifying accomplishment at my place of work. I was clear-headed and very aware, not cloudy or "off". If someone drugged me, please do it again.

The "mood" lasted the entire day. It was glorious. And I still can't understand where it came from or what triggered it. Did I have an amazing dream that had me waking up a new person? Was there some sort of residual effects from attending the Willie Nelson concert the night before? Was I just overly pissed that I had to work yet another Labor Day, and my psyche revolted? Did my stress level finally start an inferno and that was how my brain extinguished it? It's hard to say. All I know is, I want more.

Today was a different day. I still maintained a better-than-normal amount of perk, but nothing compared to yesterday. Today was back to reality. Back to fake smiles. Back to eyes that tell customers "My God, you're an idiot". Back to the mundane and the meaningless. Back to not much fun.

But I know that I've got it in me now. I just need to dig deep and harness the energy. And once I've learned to harness that power, I need to control it. Once I have the power and can control it, I've got to use it to fight evil. That's all there is to it.

.

Today.

2010-09-03T06:32:00.000-07:00

The humidity seems to be gone. Of course it is 6:30am.

The water droplets on the grass, the morning haze covering the sky, the birds already busy. I step outside to load my fly rods into the car before heading to work and am greeted by a clean, briskness that I haven't felt in months. My cotton t-shirt isn't an efficient insulator for this morning. So I put my fleece on. That's when I smile. Brisk morning, hot coffee, soft fleece.

Let's put in a few hours at the office, then plan our escape. I'm thinking a three o'clock whistle, quick visit to the beer store, then meeting my wife and retriever at the lake in the mountains. Yea, that'll get me through the day.

It's going to be a swell Friday.

.

I Almost Crapped My Pants Today.

2010-09-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

I almost crapped my pants today. Literally.

Of course I immediately blame it on my morning commute. Each pothole, acceleration, turn, and brake magnified. Every stoplight seems like time is suddenly going in reverse. It’s been an hour since I left my house this morning – so it’s bound to happen one of these days. Neat, I manage to get behind the one person that decides to try parallel parking for the first time in their life this morning. “Jesus, hurry up!” Don’t lose your cool, man. You need to be concentrating. My toes are curling under and my feet start to go numb. I begin using muscles in my body that I didn’t know existed.

I try not to think about it. Go to your happy place, dude. Fishing. I think about fishing; how I’d love to be out on the water right now, alone, away from everything. The sound of the rushing water, cascading down… Stranded without facilities; bound by chest waders; paperless.

Okay, not helping.

I think of alternatives. A gas station? Man, I don’t know. I’ve been fucked one too many times by thinking that I’m home free at the 7-Eleven. My muscles start to relax the closer I get to the door. My sighs of relief and triumphant smile are suddenly washed away by the door being locked! “Occupied?? Shit! Hurry up, dude! Emergency!”

Or even worse, “Out of order?? Are you kidding me? S’cuse me, sir? Can I use it anyway? I’ll fix it! Shit.”

So no, I’m not going down that road again. I’d just be setting myself up for disappointment and possible disaster.

Okay, so what’s my game plan? We’re almost there….if this MORON would drive! Stay cool. Providing I can actually stand erect once deboarding my car, I’m thinking a swift, steady three and a half block walk to my employer’s front doors. Need to time the crosswalks perfectly so I’m not stopping. I’m walking, I’m walking, I’m walking. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. They’ll know.

Two blocks before, I’ve already got my key in hand, holding it exactly the way that I do when I unlock. I’m prepared.

An employee is waiting for me as I approach the door. When within earshot, I announce as a caution, “I’m two seconds away from shitting my pants.” He realizes the severity of the situation and gives me plenty of room for door unlocking.

Alarm off, briefcase down. My body knows what’s coming. The evil wants out. It wants out now. It can sense a john nearby. It has some sort of evacuational radar. I am actually alert enough to check the paper situation before the sit down. Focused.

The most difficult part is always the unbuckling of the belt accompanied by the simultaneous “pants-drop sit-down”. But it was executed flawlessly. Toes uncurled. Eyes rolling into the back of my head. My entire body quivers. And an over-vocal sigh to release every ounce of tension. It only takes a minute, then normalcy sets in. We did it.

I almost crapped my pants today. Almost.

.

K-Powers, Made in Calipornia

2010-08-27T21:56:00.000-07:00

Best fake commercial ever.

enjoy.

Kenny Powers Gets Signed By K-Swiss - watch more funny videos

I heart Kenny Powers.

.

Blog Anxiety.

2010-08-27T15:33:00.000-07:00

I can't get my shit straight, blog-wise, and it's turned into a catch 22. I feel like I've got so much to talk about that I need to have other blogs specifically geared towards these thougts (earljive and ramblin earl). But that overwhelms me, feeling like I have to keep up with all three of them. And I just ain't got time for that.

Well, the reality is that maybe ten people read this and it doesn't matter.

So back to basics. Earl's Brain is the only blog from hear on out. There will be a cornucopia of topics, a variety of writing styles due to my mood or alcohol intake at that time, and pictures ranging from beautiful, artistic shots that I'm quite proud of, to action photos of me drunk as hell.

Enjoy.

.

Brand New Rant!

2010-06-29T21:49:00.000-07:00

What's up, friends?

So I've been trying to feed my desire to talk about traveling and different excursions that I've been on. It ain't working. I sound like a douche bag. This is on my other blog, Ramblin Earl, not this one. On this blog, I can say fuck and boobs and crap. And I can write while five cocktails deep. On the other one, I sound like a pretentious dildo that is trying to sound like a professional somethingorother in hopes that someone from the fucking Travel Channel will discover me and offer me a billion dollars to travel around and rub it in people's faces.

Bottom line is, I need to write and this is my outlet.

But, ironically, what's on my mind is this whole traveling, writing, somebody please pay me for it thing. I've said it before, I'm not a great writer. I don't have an English or Journalism degree. I tend to write like I think, which is not unintelligent...but it's probably not professional. Adding that to the fact that I don't like working for people makes any sort of dream of writing for a travel magazine or someshit virtually impossible. See? Poor, unprofessional writing.

I tend not to talk about jobs or business or anything like that on this blog. But you know, a lot of us have dream jobs. We spend the majority of our time working a job we're not crazy about just so we can have those few precious moments at home enjoying our house and family and other fun things we have to work to pay for. But I am 100% not content with working for someone else doing something I don't really care about.

I don't really know what that dream job is, though. I see all these TV personalities like Anthony Bourdain and Samantha Brown and I think they've got a pretty sweet deal. They probably do, but they still have to work for somebody. That to me is not dreamy enough.

Ideally, my dream job would revolve around the outdoors, beer, food, music, wine, art, and/or possibly writing. I'm not sure what concoction of those things, but those things. I dig those things.

So lately it's been my life's work to try and figure out how to incorporate these things into a fun, self managed, money making venture for me to embark on.

I have noticed, though, that I am in the minority when it comes to this train of thought. At least within the people that I associate with. No one really even comes close to understanding my stressful desire to make this happen. Make what happen, you might ask? True, I haven't divulged any ideas or solutions in this post...and we're going to keep it that way. Point is, when you think like I think, constantly trying to come up with new ways to incorporate things that you are passionate about with making a living, it truly helps if you have someone to talk to...someone to share ideas, thoughts, and dreams. Not too many of you out there. The majority is content with a solid nine to five, okay benefits, fairly brainless work, and not a lot of fun.

Fair enough. Sometimes I wish I were that way. Being content with my profession is something that I have never felt. I've done the math way too many times...calculating how many hours per year I work, drive to work, prepare for work, drive home from work, stress about work, medicate because of work, and lose sleep from work. I'm not obsessive, just a realist. When I look at the number of hours that I spend doing all of this, it makes me sad. It makes me question why I do it. And it makes me try and figure out a way to make it worth a huge chunk of my life.

Sure, we all go through it. It's a part of life. Everyone's gotta work. I've heard them all. I realize that everyone has to make an honest, responsible living. I am just very particular about the way that I would like to continue making mine.

Okay, that's my speech for this evening. For those of you out there that are passionate about what you do for a living, or even content...I salute you.

.

New Blog

2010-05-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hey bitches. Haven't been writing much lately due to new financial endeavors on the horizon. Cross your fingers for me. I may yet be able to make my lifelong dream of ditching a real job and doing whatever I want come true.

Anyhoo, got me a new blog set up for readin'. It's all about doing shit. Yep, doing shit. Or as I like to call it, rambling. Going new places, eating new food, fishing new rivers, you know.

The act of rambling and the thought of rambling pretty much consumes me. Instead of working in between four grey walls, catering to the general public (which, trust me, all suck) I find myself day dreaming about going wherever I feel like, doing whatever I feel like.

Rambling, for me, revolves around traveling. Traveling to new or forgotten places and experiencing everything that I can possibly experience. Many times, the travel destination ends up being close to a river, lake, or trail. But sometimes it's just nice to meander across a new landscape, stopping along the way to eat some great food, sample some wine, take some pictures, and meet some new folks. All of that, which is the art of rambling, makes me grin from ear to ear.

So hopefully my new blog will help you get out and do what you can to experience what's out there. Whether you have kiddos or not, whether you live in an "interesting" place or not, or whether you feel consumed by the creeping death that is real life, you should make it a point to ramble around from time to time and see just what the hell is out there.

And if you feel like it, I would absolutely love for others out there to share their ramblings with me. You see, my new blog is not only intended to inspire y'all, but it's meant to motivate me to get out there and not let myself get caught up in all the day-to-day bullshit. I don't really have time for that, so I'm fighting diligently to replace it with fun and adventure. Join me, won't you?

Oh yea, it's http://www.ramblinearl.blogspot.com/.

Please enjoy.

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Green Fuzzies.

2010-03-19T16:51:00.000-07:00

Every one of us has certain moments or feelings in our lives that we replay in our heads from time to time that make us grin and give us warm fuzzies. Our "happy place" perhaps.

I've written about some of mine on this website before, and luckily for me I was able to experience a few of them earlier this week during my St. Pat's celebrations. Allow me to foreshadow a bit...

My St. Patrick's Day festivities are very close and dear to my heart. I've grown up learning to treat St. Pat's as if it were able to kick Christmas' ass. March 17th is a day that you plan months ahead of time for...or at least the celebratory weekend preceding or following it is. At my house, there was enough delicious food to feed a fat army and our kitchen counter resembled a tavern.

You see, my dad graduated from the University of Missouri-Rolla, aka the Missouri School of Mines (mines, not mimes). It is a college where future engineers go, which is what my dad has been since 1969 or so. UMR celebrates St. Pat's unlike anyone else in the state, or possibly the Midwest. The rationale behind the celebration is that St. Patrick was the patron saint of engineers...whatever the fuck that means. So greenness and debauchery ensued every month of March in Rolla. After I was born, I was quickly introduced to this holiday and when I was "old enough" to participate, my friends and I joined my parents and family in this delightful, green holiday.

This year I was unable to attend the traditional St. Patrick's Day festivities in Springfield due to a lack of funds caused by back-to-back trips to Missouri earlier in the year. The success of Dokken Day followed by my Granny's death forced me to fly into St. Louis on consecutive weekends. I wouldn't have missed either one of them for the world, though. That left my wife and I a little light in the wallet, so we decided to carry on the tradition in Denver the best that we knew how.

I won't get into all the details and descriptions of my St. Pat's Saturday in downtown Denver. But it did bring more than one moment that made me stop what I was doing for a second and smile. Surrounded by good people, no inhibitions, beautiful weather, a fantastic parade, competing against my wife at chugging Car Bombs, drinking green beer, dressed like green royalty...

There was definitely one instance while sitting at the bar, extremely hazy from the marathon of consumption, I (along with our good friend, Sig, who lasted the entire 11 hour duration) just lost my ass for the eighth consecutive time at a Car Bomb race to April, that I smiled to myself, satisfied that although we were unable to be with our friends and family in Springfield that we were representing all that was St. Pat's in a city where we know few. The attached picture proves that.

Fast forward to the following Wednesday; actual St. Patrick's Day. I happened to have the day off, but instead of repeating my downtown Denver drunkenness, I opted for the mountains. My squirrelly friend, Ted and I hiked into the Williams Fork Canyon for a little fly fishing.

Now, this feeling had nothing to do with St. Pat's or drinking or anything like that. It had to do with what makes me addicted to fly fishing. It's the type of feeling that you envision when you have cabin fever, or when you start reminiscing about particular fish you caught. Not because they were big fish, but because you caught them the right way. You figured out what bugs were flying around and landing on the water, and then getting slurped from underneath the surface by a hungry, brown predator below. The angle, the cast, the presentation, the drift, the mend, all perfect. Then you are rewarded by a spotted mouth breaking the clean, reflective surface and inhaling your dry fly. It's not over yet, because the angle of the set was perfect, the head pull from left to right, giving her some slack, and then bringing her in delicately after a valiant fight to a soft net. A couple quick snap shots, then I help her regain her breath by slowly pulling her back and forth in the water to get the oxygen flowing through her gills.

Directly after watching her swim away free and unharmed, I took a minute to smile, laugh, thank greater beings (ie: fish gods) and enjoy a brief, but extremely deep and defining moment.

All that...all that happened in the matter of three minutes. And I immediately knew--I actually said to myself out loud, "I'm gonna remember this one." Yea, she was good sized, but everything leading up to the landing was what sticks.

This year I missed out on hanging out with my friends and family from back home. But I was generously compensated by having one the best St. Pat's weeks of my life. Yes, change is good. But I'll still be back in Springfield next March.

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Vague Ramblings on Happiness.

2010-03-07T19:14:00.000-08:00

I'm happy as shit. I've got a lot of things to be thankful for, and I do not take any of them for granted.

But I'm ready to take happiness to the next level. There are certain things in my life that do not make me happy, and I am currently striving to take those out of my life and replace them with more things that make me happy. Selfish? I don't know, maybe. I really don't care. If I can incorporate all the things in this world that make me happy, then why not give it a shot?

The things that I'm not completely satisfied with are simple. They are things that we, as a society, generally put up with because they're "just part of life". I completely understand that. But wouldn't it be relatively awesome to just eliminate those things altogether so you don't have to worry about them anymore?

Obviously, working at a job that does not make you feel alive inside is one of them. Now, I've got a cool job...for the most part. Compared to other jobs I've had and jobs that some of my peers have, it's really not bad. But in all honesty, I put up with it because it's "just part of life". Well, the way I see it, my job takes up over 2/3s of my time on this planet. I've done the math. That's not including getting ready for work, commuting back and forth, any overtime, time worrying about work, time medicating because of work, and so on. So basically any of my free time is spent trying to avoid work and doing things to take my mind off of work.

"Jeez, get another job." you might say. I've had other jobs...about 70 or so other jobs. They are all the same, to me at least. I am essentially forfeiting approximately 80% of my time on this planet and dedicating it to someone else's business, so in turn they can pay me what they think I'm worth (which apparently has never been much) so I can afford to buy a house that I don't spend near enough time at (because I'm at work), gas money to get to and from work, booze to help me forget about work, and a little left over to cram some funness into my week.

I'm not bitching. Honestly. It's not my current job, or any other job I've had. It's just the mentality that I, and most everyone else that I know have. Thinking about that does not make me happy. But it motivates me.

I am currently motivated to completely flip this part of life upside down. The time that I spend working needs to be for greater reasons. Reasons that will also make me happy.

My motivation is to work towards being 100% happy, not continuing to talk myself into being 80% content. There are things that I want to happen, and they aren't just going to happen on their own. So in order to make them happen, I've got to figure out a way to make a substantial chunk of money in order to produce freedom for me and the people involved. But that means of making money has got to be very enjoyable as well...hence being happy 100% of the time.

It's not necessarily money that is motivating me to make an entrepreneurial leap, it's the happiness. Sure, I'm very happy now. We've covered that. But this leap is to take the happiness factor to the next level. I'm attempting to see just how much happiness I can cram into my life.

Just to reiterate; I am a very happy person. Could I be happier, though? Sure. So I'm going to make myself--and the people around me--even happier. Everyone I know could stand to be a little happier, so that's what is going to happen.

In order to accomplish this feat, I am going to have to travel, possibly extensively. You see, I am very close to my friends and family, but I don't live close to them. I live 775 miles away from the majority of them. "Then why don't you move back?" you might ask. Because I love the mountains and rivers of Colorado and I don't want to move away from it, that's why. So in order to split my time between Colorado and Missouri, I've got to make enough money and create enough time to allow me to travel back and forth. That, or incorporate the traveling into a career. That is precisely what I am going to do. Living and playing in Colorado makes me happy. But staying close to my friends and family also makes me happy, so I've got to do both. This is going to require money, and with any job I've ever had this is not going to be feasible. So I figure that I'll kill two birds with one stone. I'll stop working these low paying, pointless, mundane jobs that kill my soul and start paving my own path as a business owner...and with this new career path, I will be able to incorporate travel and make substantial cash--both, which will allow me to see the people that I love more.

So, right there are two things that would definitely make me happier.

Other things that I can think of might include traveling to places I've never been and experiencing things I've never experienced. Kind of like vacations. Well, I'm banking on this new endeavor to allow me to do that, too. Lots, hopefully. It'd be kind of cool to get paid for taking vacations, huh? It sure would.

So, to review: Taking out mundane, low paying job; lack of time to spend with loved ones, inability to travel and experience...and replacing it with new, exciting career path that includes travel, the outdoors, and potential to earn a fine living thus allowing me and my wife to visit out-of-town loved ones, experience new places and cultures, and ensure that the people we care about most are taken care of.

Money doesn't buy happiness? That's bullshit. But you have to first appreciate the small things and love what you have. Then I think it's fine to want to take it to the next level. There's nothing wrong with being motivated by money; as long as you are using that money to pay for plane tickets to see your family, or creating more time to spend with your wife, or making sure your kids get a great education. You've got to have the right things in sight. Not solid gold houses and rocket cars. Me, I want all the people that I dig the most to share extreme happiness with me. Like I said, everyone I know is very happy, very appreciative, and somewhat content with how the world works. But if I can provide time together, less worries, a more meaningful and enjoyable way to provide for your family, and more time to create more experiences and long lasting memories, then why not?

I might as well try.

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Dead Horse.

2010-02-25T19:15:00.000-08:00

I've been really feeling the need to do quite a bit lately.

Yea, I know I'm beating a dead horse. I'm always talking about the "things I'm gonna do" and how "we're not getting any younger" and what not. Well, it's true goddammit.

At the ripe ole' age of 36, I'm already starting to feel the pressure. Sure, I wouldn't change a thing in my life. Everything I've experienced up to now has prepared me for whatever comes next. But it's time to start living.

I am trying to perfect the art of incorporating as much fun into my life as humanly possible without overkilling it. As I've explained before, I am a dreamer. I constantly think about all these incredibly cool things that I'd like to do. And for the most part, they're actually all attainable. So that's essentially what I'm going for; all the cool, realistic things that I'd really like to do while I'm a human on this planet. It's definitely a work in progress, though. I'm still trying to close that gap between dreaming about all these things that I want to do and actually making them happen.

And please understand, I'm not trying to be "Mr. Fun Guy" or what the fuck ever. Everyone has things they want to do, whether it's travel to New Zealand, have children, be content with their career, or care for others. I happen to have quite a few "things" or certainties of how I'd like my life to be that I'm hellbent on making happen. And yes, New Zealand is one of them. So are the other three examples...

All I'm saying is...even though you may not be a religious person, spiritual person, or otherwise, you have to appreciate the fact that we're not going to be here for much longer. Sad? No. Exciting. Because we are here now, and we have endless possibilities in front of us.

Me, for instance: I do want to go to New Zealand...I will. I do want children...I'll get 'em (providing my junk works). I want to incorporate my career with my real life and make a fantastic living...I will. I want to embrace friends and family and do all I can for them...I have and I will.

Deep, mushy, queer...maybe. But that's how it is.

I'm gonna go make a pizza now.

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Save The Day.

2010-02-18T20:43:00.000-08:00

Today was a God-awful day. My customers and employees both were all fucktards. It was one of those days where I was on the verge of doing something. Nothing dramatic, just freaking out on someone or something. My neck hurt, my eyelid twitched, and my side ached all day. Crazy what stress can do to you. I had been planning on hitting happy hour with a couple buddies, but with the weather getting shitty and our moods spiraling downward we opted to just head home.

My incredible wife had been texting here and there throughout the day asking if she could meet us at our decided watering hole after work. After my day had turned to absolute shit, I let her know that I had planned on just coming home and staring at the wall, or something equally as brainless. She was cool.

On my way home, in the white-out snow and rush hour traffic, I decided that the bar was probably the place that I needed to go in order to salvage this horrid day. It's a shame to just wad up an entire day and throw it in the trash, so I texted April and we went to The Old Man. The Old Man is literally two minutes from my house, they have ridiculous bbq, and they always have 80s metal playing. Three things that are good, right there.

Today was Rib Tip Thursday. Yesterday was Wing Wednesday--or Wingsday, as some folks cleverly call it. Didn't make it there yesterday. But we did indulge in the $5 Rib Tip Tray and a few cold Coors.

We bitched about how stupid people are as a society, how we miss our friends back home, how our jobs were waring us down--all against the background of Guns 'N Roses, Bullet Boys, and KISS. Then some guy puts money in the jukebox and the music changes!...

It was a noise I had never heard before. It started out sounding like a Johnny Cash or Waylon Jennings tune...then it quickly got faster and started sounding like Glen Danzig singing over Testament and Motorhead...still with a bit of Cash and Jennings. I was intrigued.

I asked the fellow who put the nickel in the jukebox who we were listening to, and he told me a band I had never heard of. Volbeat. I thought that to be a stupid name, especially considering the mood I was in. But the longer it played, the more incredible it became.

This song became the savior of my day. It was exactly what needed to be played to salvage my piece of shit day. It was like God invented a song that sounded like Waylon Jennings, the Misfits, Johnny Cash, and Motorhead, all in one just to palpate my tender, frailed mind that stupid people had nearly destroyed. Classic country combined with punk-driven metal is the only thing that will cure a day like I had today. Trust me.

If you have had a bad day, please listen to this song. Don't bother checking out any of their other songs, they all sound like Godsmack.

Please enjoy.

I Like to Party.

2010-02-12T08:52:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've really been slacking on the writing lately. That's okay, though. I've had a lot on my mind, just really nothing that I feel like sharing with the universe. Some business ideas are in motion, some party planning, and a few travel plans have been floating around in my brain.

With the enormous success of Dokken Day 2010, I have decided that not only will DD be celebrated every January, but more epic shindigs need to be thrown. It makes everyone happy. When you get to be 30ish to 40ish, just hanging out at someone's house and getting liquored up is not considered a party like it was when you were 17ish to 25ish. You really need a reason to peel yourself away from your job, your kids, your house in the suburbs, and make the effort to not only go to a shindig, but participate to the fullest extent. That's why I've decided to start throwing larger than average, epic shindigs a few times a year. My buddy, Bryan and I have decided that it's good for the soul.

And why not? Parties nowadays consist of either a couple couples going over to another couple's house and drinking beer and wine while the kids play in the other room. Or a kind of "date night", where said couples meet at a semi-fancy restaurant for cocktails and dinner. All fun, I guess in their own way. But let's be honest, they aren't parties. Sometimes a party just "happens", but not too often at my age. So they have to planned. And to plan a party at this age takes a very strong, determined effort. Dokken Day, which initially was an idea that my sister and I had, was planned out amazingly by my buddy Bryan whom we offered the responsibility to, and he ran with it. It couldn't have turned out any better.

So with that said, there's a new party in making. Everyone that was invited to Dokken Day will be invited to this one. It will happen in the summer, and it will happen outside. It will be very big, and very fun. Trust me.

The way I see it, everyone that I associate with, for the most part, likes a good party. So why not provide good parties for the people that I associate with? It gives us all something to look forward to. The parties are always going to be fantastic. And when they're over with, you have fantastic, blurry memories that make you grin everytime you think about them.

So, my good friends and participants of Dokken Day 2010, please consider yourselves cordially invited to yet another fantastic get together happening this summer. Please trust me when I say that it will be good times.

And just to let you in on a little secret, I've been throwing around plans for a fall shindig as well. If it ends up happening the way I'm thinking it will, it will also be an epic shindig for all of us to savor...

I like to party.

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And The Winner Is......

2010-02-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

There were a lot of winners at Dokken Day. My friend Shannon rocked out so hard that she broke her foot. Some of the guys actually got their guitars and learned some sweet 80s metal ballads that we all sang along to. My brother and sister-law traveled three hours to party with people that they had never met. Very, very strong effort from everyone.

But my buddy Jason, he actually wore a pink cod piece with an iron-on of Don Dokken on it. To me, that's the big winner. To me, that's not fucking around. Jason did not fuck around when it came representing DD...he didn't have time for it. Neither did his wife, Kristy, who brought it full bore. They both showed up ready to kick ass. They were about to rock...and I salute them.

To you, Jason and Kristy, I have to say...fuckin' a. fuckin' a.

A Look Back at Awesomeness.

2010-02-01T21:43:00.000-08:00

My last two weeks has been odd. They have included a death in the family, an incredible party, another death involving acquaintances, two trips to Missouri, extremely strange funeral-goers, and a bunch of work stuff.

I don't feel like getting into all the death and the unpleasantries. I'd rather just talk about my party.

I've posted several times on this website about Dokken Day 2010. It's basically a day that the mayor of Los Angeles proclaimed back in 1987 for the 80s metal band, Dokken. He gave them the key to the city. Really. It's hilarious and ridiculous, but also an incredible excuse to celebrate the ridiculousness and throw a gigantic party. So we did. I contacted my good friend back home and he set up the entire thing; kegs, heavy metal kick contest, full bar, catered, RockBand...the whole nine.

Well, it went off without a hitch. It was more fun and more ridiculous than I ever could have imagined. The coolest thing to me was, that almost everyone showed up that I was hoping would, and then some...and they all brought their A-game. Everyone dressed up in 80s metal garb, drank their faces off, left all inhibitions at the door, and participated fully in the best party I've been to since my wedding.

So, for everyone reading this that attended...you fucking rule. For those that couldn't make it...we'll catch you next year.

Here are some wonderful visuals. Enjoy.

Dokken Day helps warm the soul...like soup.

2010-01-12T09:19:00.000-08:00

With Dokken Day quickly upon us, I have been diligently prepping my pipes, stretching my hamstrings, and polishing up my playlists. It will be a momentous occasion. And the timing couldn't be better for rock.

In a few of my recent posts I've expressed how the retail industry at holiday time has slowly chewed away at my soul. It has exposed me to people that I don't care to ever cross paths with again. People who yell and curse like spoiled children if they don't get their way; if they don't get their jacket. It has not only continued into the second week of January, but has actually progressed.

Lately, I have walked a fine line between keeping my mouth shut and accommodating this hellish beast...and losing all regard for maturity and planting my index finger firmly into the beast's chest while lashing out verbally at this creature to the likes I'm sure it has never witnessed before. Luckily, for my mortgage's sake, I've been able to balance toward the former.

I have recently gotten help, though. Help in the form of music.

As medication to fight this retail disease that is the customer, I have dabbled in classic jazz and various acoustic music to sooth my mind and lower my blood pressure. This disease has somehow powered it's way through my jazz-cooled mindset and forced my blood to boil again. I have tried a completely different drug in punk rock, but have experienced the opposite effect of putting me in a frame of mind that is detrimental to my job.

So with Dokken Day on the horizon, I have been compiling playlists on my iPod that put my mind at ease and make me want to get drunk.

Yes, that's what 80s Metal does. It makes you want to get drunk. And when I want to get drunk, I'm usually pretty calm and in a good mood, have a tune in my head, whistling perhaps. This is proving to translate well when dealing with assholes. I've got the "fuck you" mentality going, but with 80s metal it's a much cooler vibe than with punk. Punk makes me cross that fine line we discussed earlier. 80s metal helps me deal with shit in a "whatever" frame of mind and in a good mood.

The result is lower blood pressure and stress levels, being in a good mood which in turn reflects well on my employees and customers, and having a tune in my head that makes me laugh because it's so ridiculously great.

80s metal is so bad it's good.

So let us get an early jump on the Dokken Day celebrations with a song that makes us all want to get drunk.

Enjoy, my friends.

Poison - New Music - More Music Videos

"Do more shit you will, hmmm?"

2010-01-08T07:52:00.000-08:00

Today marks a new year. Not for America or the Earf, but for me. Today is my New Year.

On real New Year's, I never make resolutions or swear to stop doing this or swear to start doing that. In fact, I do not like New Year's. Something creepy and discomforting about it. But my birthday, now that's a different feel. It's when my mileage rolls over and I get a feeling of freshness, hope, determination, appreciation, and excitement.

I am 36 now. That's basically 40, which is fine. And age has never deterred me from doing what I want...it's just a number, right? But this year it's a little different. I don't necessarily feel like I'm running out of time to do certain things, I just feel like it is time to do certain things.

My personal feeling this year, my personal resolution, is to not be afraid of failure. I'm sure that there are a hundred old sayings out there by Ben Franklin or Teddy Roosevelt or Albert Einstein about "failing being the next step to success" or someshit, and that's cool. But this year it's the truth.

There are a lot of things that I want to do. A lot of ideas that I want to pursue to see what they might hold. And in the back of my mind, there is this little "something" holding me back a bit. Sometimes I break through that "something", but more times than not it holds me back. And more times than not, that "something" is me being afraid of failing. So I play it safe and don't even make an attempt.

So, during my thirty-sixth year on this planet I plan on being a failure.

I am really looking forward to the attempts, the roadblocks, the steps, the realizations, and the successes. There are going to be some transitions; some changes. There will always be balance. But most importantly, there will be the excitement of learning. Yea, it's cliche', but you don't know until you try.

When Yoda said, "Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.", it really made me think...

I totally see where he's coming from. When becoming a Jedi, there really isn't much room for failure. And I realize that is a great mindset to have no matter who you are. But in an everyday Earthling's life, when we decide to embark on a new career, or attempt something that we've never tried before, there is definitely room for failure. And I think "failure" is a pretty harsh term...

I suppose it applies to things that you know for a fact you want to do. Like, for instance let's say I want to be a school teacher. It's been my life long dream to become a school teacher. My mom is a school teacher, my dad is a school teacher, all my brothers and sisters are school teachers, I know that I want to be a school teacher...but I have all this college to go through and I have to work while I'm going to college and I just don't know if it'll ever happen! Well, that's when you have to listen to Yoda. No try. Do. And if you don't listen to Yoda and you give up, then you have failed.

But let's say that I want to open my own business. I don't know exactly what it is that I want to do, but I've got a great business sense, fantastic ideas, funding for start up, and the intelligence and ambition to succeed. So I think about opening my own store. I dig into it deeply and find out that the cons are starting to outweigh the pros, and that this idea probably isn't the right move for me. So I back away from it and re-evaluate. I don't really consider that a failure.

In the same vein, let's say I start up said store, run it for a couple years and eventually go belly-up. I tried, but it just didn't work. I made some mistakes, misread the market, didn't advertise myself well, whatever. That, I suppose could be classified as a failure. Or, you could just refer to it as a "learning experience", because essentially that's what it is. Yea, your business failed, but it could be the precursor to an enormously successful store on down the road. All the "bad" things that happened with your first store you apply to your new one--just do them the right way this time.

So, each "failure" is actually fuel. It's education. It's experience. It's balls. And it all gives you fuel for your next endeavor; fuel to succeed.

But what's success? Fuck, I don't know.

For the longest time, I wanted to be a fly fishing guide. I grew up fishing, became pretty good at it, and with my constant over thinking about doing what I love for a living, it made sense to be a fly fishing guide. So I cleared out a little path in my life that eventually led to becoming a fly fishing guide. Once I decided that was the direction I wanted to go, it took me about two years to finally get a taste of what it's like to get paid to take people fly fishing. I quickly learned that I didn't really care for it. So obviously, I didn't pursue it much farther.

I guess that I succeeded--or did I fail? I did what I had always talked about. Just because I don't live in a log cabin alongside the Henry's Fork, spending 300-plus days on the water with strangers doesn't mean I have failed at becoming a fly fishing guide, does it? I didn't try to do it, I did it. But after I did it, I realized that I didn't like it. I guess you could say that I "tried it", or maybe more accurately; tried it out. It depends on your definition of "try".

Now, if I were to set a personal goal of writing up a business plan to open my own shop instead of just opening my own shop, that would be a much more realistic goal. Setting short-term goals and achieving them...at least until you realize you've "tried" enough to know you if you're going to like it or not. But have you tried it long enough, or have you just quit?

Well? What is it, Yoda?

Bottom line is, do more shit. Don't be afraid of failing, or not trying hard enough. If you want to do something, do it. If you decide you don't want to do something, don't do it. Just don't do it based on fear. "Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

So, in a nutshell, that's not my New Year's resolution...it's my birthday promise. To do more shit. And not be scared.

"Try there is...sometimes. Always do, unless one does not like do. Then don't. If try, succeed you will, unless quit you do."

WTF, Yoda. WTF.

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Deletion followed by Cancer Rant

2010-01-06T16:32:00.000-08:00

I decided to delete my last post about how I felt over the New Year.

One: It's boring. Who cares how I felt or what I did? If I were a new reader, and that was the first post that I read, I would judge the entire blog page based on that one post and would not continue to read any of the other posts. And that would be a shame, seeing as how I have so many other interesting thoughts........(insert sideways smiley face...perhaps winking).

Two: No offense to any other bloggers or writers or whatever you call yourselves, but if I wanted to know what you were doing or how you spent your NYE or if you are sick or well, I'd be on Twitter. I already ignore the Facebook as much as I can, due to the fact that I don't care about the above-mentioned. Basically, if I want to know how someone's doing, I'll ask them. But it doesn't entertain me, nor is it the type of thing I like writing about.

On to a much more serious thought.

I don't like cancer. It makes me angry. It makes me angry because it has fucked with way too many people that I know. Some beat it, some didn't, some are trying.

The most recent victim to be exposed to this horrid creature is a great friend of mine's mother. It's found her lungs somehow, even though she is not a smoker. The realistic part of this is, that another great friend of mine's mother just lost her battle with it a couple months ago. It just doesn't stop.

Everyone that I know has been affected by it in one way or another. Me personally, I lost an uncle and a cousin. Now my Granny has it. If she could, she'd kick that cancer in the ribs because she's very mad at it.

I have friends and relatives who are currently fighting it, refusing to give in. But it's got to take it's toll on you. You've got to just keep living through it and not let it take control.

Hmph. I'm talking like I know what it's like to have it. I have no idea. I don't know the mental anguish you must go through, the physical torment, what's it's like to face death, or what it's like after supposedly beating it. All I know is that it sucks.

My brother-in-law, Pat, lost his brother to cancer a year ago. It was difficult for me, and I didn't even know his brother. I can't fathom what Pat and his family went through.

My cousin, Robert, lost his wife to cancer a couple years before Pat's loss. I can fathom perhaps a fraction of what Robert went through.

But you know what? And maybe I'm overstepping my boundaries here because I have not gone through what many of you have gone through...but with the battles lost, maybe there is some good. Believe me, I'm not saying that cancer deaths are good--or that heartache, mental rollercoasters, seeing a dear one confined to a hospital bed, or someone you love being victimized by a mysterious, deadly disease that is gradually draining them is good. But if...and that's a big if...if everything happens for a reason, then maybe, just maybe it is a good thing to savor life after a loss. Or before, for that matter.

Maybe we should realize more often that life is fragile, but it is filled with infinite possibilities. I'm not talking about living it up "extreme" style or a "bucket list" or anything. No skinny skiing or going to bull fights on acid, just enjoying and appreciating things more; trying to get the most out of your time here; focusing on things that are important. I realize that's an awful large loss just to make one understand the joys of life; it doesn't really even out. But I still believe it's good. If one of my parents or wife or sister were suddenly gone because of cancer, I'm sure that I wouldn't immediately see the good in everything. But I know that after the smoke cleared, I would be trying to make the most of my time here. We should all probably be doing that regardless.

Cancer is weird. Obviously, I don't know much about it. But you'd think that with all the scientific advancements that we would be able to cure it. We can clone. We can go to Mars. We can send robots seven miles into the deepest canyons of the ocean. We can make electronics that are smarter than humans and smaller than your thumbnail. But we can't cure cancer.

Maybe cancer is more mysterious than we think. Maybe it happens for a reason. That's hard to imagine, but maybe it does. And if it doesn't, we need to find a reason within ourselves. A good reason. Because that's the only way you and I are going to be able to deal with the battles and the the losses, by trying as hard as we can to find some sort of good to come out of it.

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Mountain Dan.

2009-12-26T18:11:00.001-08:00

Well, it's the day after Christmas and I've been doing a lot of thinking. That's what I do. I've seen more negativity this year than I can remember seeing in years past, which is unfortunate. In my last post I described a little about how I view and appreciate the holidays, and there has been so much this year that has tried to take that away from me, in a spiritual sense, because that is what makes Christmas so special...the spirit.

Yes, I work in retail. I have for some time now, but not necessarily in an environment like the one I'm currently in. Up until the job I'm at now, I worked in an outdoor atmosphere. Sure, we sold nice apparel and had to deal with some of the craziness that accompanies the holidays in the retail world. But the joint I'm at now is very similar to working in a mall store. Yes, we do carry some outdoor gear, but it gets completely ignored at Christmas and the coats with the gigantic logos are what put people in a buying frenzy.

And needless to say, working in the type of place that I'm at now is souring my taste for the holidays. Because I witness just how bad people can be. I live with the consumption, the selfishness, the excess, the impatience, the loudness, the rudeness, the crowds...all on a daily basis.

And yes, that is what I signed up for. By working in the retail industry, I have forfeited my Christmases for the most part.

I have colleagues that it doesn't affect as much. They power through it. They are able to keep a smile and accept it as part of their job. I can, to a point, mainly because I understand that it's my job and how I pay my bills. But it still chips away at me about as much as hearing "Little Drummer Boy" 27 times a day. So I've decided to change it.

I understand that throughout life we have to do things that we don't like. That's part of it. But the way I see it, if you can change those things that you don't like, why not change them then?

So I have decided that I am going to change my Christmas traditions. It may not happen next year or the year after that, but it will happen. You see, changing my holiday traditions immediately just to satisfy myself is quite selfish, and thus one of the characteristics that I'm wanting to avoid. So it is going to take cooperation and compromises.

What I would like:

First and foremost, I am going to need a minimum of three days off; the 24th, 25th, and 26th of December.

Secondly, Christmas needs to be big. It's a festival, so we should treat it like one. Music, lights, fantastic food and drink, comradary, and fun. It seems to me like by the time Christmas day finally rolls around, everyone's too worn out to really enjoy it the way it should be enjoyed. Surely due to all the scrambling to buy-buy-buy, dealing with the ridiculous crowds of fair amounts of mean people, and the mental breakdown of finding that "perfect" gift for that special someone (which is probably just a fucking jacket from The North Face anyway). So early preparation is of the essence.

As far as a location goes, I think that in my case I would prefer renting a large cabin in the mountains away from humans. That way, everyone is sharing the cooking, the preparation, decoration, and the clean up. The ones that end up hosting Christmas at their house are always the ones that become exhausted first. A neutral location helps divvy out the responsibilities.

I also like the options of activities surrounding a mountain cabin that do not include watching television. I'm sure tv will be available, and that's cool. But activities such as snowshoeing, sledding, hot tubbing, innertubing...they offer different options, especially for the kids.

Presents are a part of Christmas, like it or not. But from witnessing the madness that goes along with buying that perfect piece of crap for someone, I'd like to reevaluate how presents are exchanged. There need to be parameters. I don't know exactly what those parameters are at the moment, but it needs to include the number of gifts, lack of returnability, creativity, and thoughtfulness.

I remember getting Star Wars action figures, He-Man, G.I. Joe's, Hot Wheels, and Super Heros when I was a young'n, and it was utopia. Kids need that, along with fishing poles, binoculars, and bee-bee guns. It accelerates the imagination. But we don't need overkill. We need to relax on the excess.

Lastly, I would like the adult's presents to include helping out with transporting the other adults to said mountain location in as hassle free of a manner possible. Other presents should include pitching in on renting the cabin, food, drink...and if we insist on exchanging presents between adults, see above parameters that need to be established.

I'm not bitching--I got some cool shit this year. Ate some great food. But it was crammed into one day, and during that one day I was exhausted, as I'm sure some of my other co-Christmasers were. Early preparation, avoiding the madness, and getting away together is how I'd like to outline my holiday.

And once again, from an earlier post, church is fine. It makes me feel good, but it's not necessary for me. But it is to some. The compromise could be finding a cabin within short driving distance to a small church in the mountains. That would be nice. And there would be no swerving to avoid car crashes with Christmas Eve Denver drunks.

It would be like a Smokey Mountain Christmas starring Dolly Parton and Lee Majors. Lee Majors plays the role of "Mountain Dan". I don't want to ruin it for you, but "Mountain Dan" turns out to be a nice guy. And I think he gets on Dolly.

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time for joy.

2009-12-25T09:25:00.000-08:00

I like Christmas.

To me, Christmas should be celebrated close to family and friends and far away from everyone else. I do not like people, and the farther away from the majority of them that I am, the better.

Christmas needs to include food and drink. Lots of good food and drink. I'm not talking about a keg party or body shots, but some nog and spiced rum over ice cubes; popping a bottle of cab; or a couple-three fingers of good Scotch, all being enjoyed by the fireplace. In my family, we've bypassed the traditional meal of ham with the usual accompaniments. We cook the good stuff. This year it's ribeye and king crab legs. We don't have time to fuck around.

Jesus, God, and the whole "reason for the season" is not crammed down anyone's throat, yet we all still feel the closeness and warmth surrounding it. I personally don't need church to feel spiritually connected to the holiday. It's basically for the same reasons that I don't need church every Sunday to reinforce by faith and beliefs. I can do without the stories. To me, it cuts into my time with the people that I love, doing the things that we love to, thus creating warmth, spirituality, appreciation, and togetherness.

I just looked out my back window and saw two flocks of geese flying in perfect "v" formations over my backyard. Their shadows cast on the untouched snow in the park behind my house. To me, that is feeling closer to God than listening to someone I don't know tell me stories that they've read about. To each their own, though.

Have a good December 25th, kids.

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Freedom 'Stache: Revisited

2009-12-23T10:52:00.000-08:00

This is from an email I sent out to a couple friends of mine a few years back. It's called "Freedom 'Stache". I wrote it when I was being consumed by a desk job and all that it entails.

I grew a mustache.

I call it my "freedom 'stache". It is the best thing I've done for myself in quite a while. It makes me laugh, it gives me confidence, and it coaxes me to live free. Whether it be driving from Georgia to Texas and back in a 1977 Trans Am, blocking for 400 cases of illegal Coors beer; around the crime-laden streets of Hawaii in a Ferrari; or coast to coast in a recreational vehicle, hitting every fish-filled stream, every ripped barstool, every cup of coffee and plate of biscuits & gravy that I can find along the way. It boasts freedom.

The freedom 'stache does not approve of sitting at a desk. Nor does it approve of time clocks, businessman catch phrases, or production meetings. It prefers an empty highway over a computer screen. And it would rather warm up to hot cup of coffee in a tin cup after a chilly morning waist deep in trout water than filling up in the break room in between conference calls just to keep going.

While other mustaches adhere to general rules of society, office politics, and in-box thinking, the freedom 'stache opens up a window of free thinking, vision, and confidence. It makes a bad day into a good day. It is also sympathetic towards other mustaches, who see only what is directly in front of them.

I highly recommend the mustache. For freedom's sake.

It's time, once again, for the mustache. The Freedom 'Stache.

Please join me, if you feel so inclined. It's liberating.

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gong post.

2009-12-18T10:11:00.000-08:00

I just watched the Van Halen video that I posted a few days ago, and it made me realize something. It made me realize that I want a giant, flaming gong. One that would make Chuck Barris jealous. I imagine gongs are pretty pricey, though. Especially ones that you can light on fire.

One day, when I become disgustingly rich, I will purchase a giant, fiery gong. Maybe put it above my bed, because that seems like the obvious place to display it. After I get done masturbating I would light it on fire and strike it with my flame-retardant mallet before crying myself to sleep. That might be dangerous, though. Of course, I do live for danger...

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So Far, So Good.

2009-12-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

With all this talk lately of living and experiencing what this world has to offer, I actually took a moment today to reflect on all the experiences that I have had, good or bad, because that is what makes you who you are. Whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger...or someshit.

All the "bad" experiences can actually be considered good, because those are just part of life. How can you experience what the world has offer if you don't encounter a little bad? You learn from it, and you also appreciate it more when the good comes along.

I've experienced heartbreak. I've lost my temper a few times - and taken it out on inanimate objects. Luckily, I haven't experienced "extreme" tragedy, but I have lost loved ones before their time, sometimes tragically. I've been punched in the face. I've been kicked in the face - after I fell down from the punch. I have been completely and utterly lost in the wilderness. I have inhaled gallons of river water and had a giant rock fall on me. I have broken bones. I have broken my nose...three times (see above punch and kick). I've been fired. I've gotten an "F". I have been arrested. I have been suspended from school. I've been in car wrecks. I have been evicted. I have committed adultery. I have visited an emergency room more times than I would like. I haven't made a lot of money. I've been dumped. I've had hemorrhoids. I've had over 60 jobs.

But, I have also...

I have loved; I have married; I currently have true love. I have an incredible relationship with my family. I have punched someone in the face. I have travelled to exotic places (Costa Rica); some not so exotic (Joplin, MO). I have made amazing friends over the years, some of which I've known for 30 years or longer. I've up and split. I have lived on the beach. I have lived in the mountains. I have lived in between. I have great stories. I have blurry memories. I've caught a lot of fish. I have played music in front of an appreciative audience until my fingers bled and my voice was hoarse. I have not yet beat my wife at chugging Irish Car Bombs on St. Patrick's Day. I have participated in some of the largest Spring Break festivities known to upright man. I have seen the Ramones, four times. I have meandered, traipsed, wandered, and especially rambled. I've been to Monster Truck Jam and the Joey Chitwood Stunt and Thrill Show. I've been diving. I've hiked across mountains. I've seen 21 Cardinals vs. Cubs games. I've met Mike Shannon. I have fished in bass tournaments. I have guided fly fishing trips. I've drank incredible Scotch, wine, and beer. I've eaten over 100 lbs of rare steak, not at once. I have thought about uncontrollable, random shit until my eyeballs ached. I've seen sharks, bears, moose, elk, and chipmunks in the wild; all with different pitched voices, but all still with Mexican accents ( I realize 'Mexican' accent is not proper, but it is funnier). I've attempted entrepreneurialism...still a work in progress. I have career-leaped. I went to college. I've gotten a raise. I have listened to, acknowledged, and appreciated incredible music. I have bought a house. I've had great dogs, including the one who is sleeping under my feet right now, Cliff, and the one probably curled up on my sister's couch, Mike. I have been a part of some fantastic man-trips...there needs to be many more. I met all four members of Stryper. I lost my virginity in an odd place. I loved Johnny Cash before he died. I saw Mark McGwire's first home run as a Cardinal (went back-to-back with Ray Langford). I saw Willie McGee's last game at Busch Stadium. I've been to the very last game at Busch II, and the first game at Busch III. I've been to Wrigley when the Cubs lost. I have had quite possibly the best meal know to man, which consisted of walleye and morel mushrooms...both caught and picked that day and fried in a cast iron skillet on top of a rusty Coleman stove. I have laughed with my friends until my side hurt. I have projectile vomited, on purpose. I know who Django Reinhardt is. My mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies in life. I've seen a shooting star. I've seen a mountain lion. I intercepted the football during the Pleasant View Blue Jays big game against the Cherokee Indians in 1988. I've hit home runs in little league. I can do a backwards dive. My cholesterol is okay...considering. I've breakdanced on un-airbrushed cardboard. I've slept under the stars.

My life has been full of good things. Like I said, even the bad are good.

On the list...

The Testy Festy (fried cow testicle festival). Yellowstone, Yosemite, Glacier, Adirondacks. Europe. To meet Tom Selleck (I think I'd get along with him better than Burt Reynolds nowadays). Kiddo(s). Alaska. To write a book of random crap. Montana and Idaho. Rocklahoma. Kayak with orcas. To pay my folks back for bail money, college, moving back in six times, etc. To own my own business. Backpack New Zealand and Australia. Fly fish South America. To grow old with my wife.

This list wasn't written out of any sort of ego-trip. It was just something that I needed to do to make myself appreciate what I have and what I've done. Those who have helped out along the way - thanks.

Life's pretty cool, kids. Don't fuck it up.

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Ain't Wasting Time No More...

2009-12-15T21:37:00.000-08:00

I realize that I'm a smart enough and ambitious enough fellow to do whatever my heart desires. And I also realize that you have to be patient. Dreaming, plus careful planning, plus networking, plus an educated execution is probably a good formula for doing whatever it is that you want to do, but it takes time.

I don't like being patient, though. When it comes to my dreams and how I'd like to spend my time on this planet, in this body, during this life, I don't want to procrastinate. Realistically, I could die tonight. Sure, that may be a little morbid, but it's the truth. Who knows, other than the big guy? I could live 60 more years, or I could live 60 more days.

With those sobering thoughts in mind, I'd like to get started on experiencing more things.

There is so much that interests me, though, that it's going to be tough to squeeze it all in. So much music, culture, nature, food, drink. It's too bad that working takes up the majority of my (and most everyone else's) time. It's too bad that I can't get paid to do exactly what I want...

I'm working on it.

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Retail vs. Christmas

2009-12-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

"Is there anything we can help you out with today?"

"You guys finding everything alright?"

"If you have any questions on anything, just let me know!"

These phrases I say in my sleep.

I actually had a customer argue the other day, not only with me, but me and three other employees at different times whether the coat he was interested in was black or not.

DIPSHIT: "This coat isn't black, it's gray!"
ME: "Yea, I realize that some of our jackets may have different tones of black. It's just different dyes used by different manufacturing plants."
DIPSHIT: "There's no way this is black!"
ME: "I assure you, that jacket is black. If you would like one darker, maybe you'd like this jacket instead?"
DIPSHIT: "No. I want this jacket, but in black!"
ME: "Bud, that's as black as you're going to find that jacket. Here, I'll even show you the tag: 'Black'."
DIPSHIT: "It's not black."
ME: "It is. Trust me."
DIPSHIT: "I still don't think it's black..." as he walks away from me to argue the same pointless topic with another one of my employees.

Ahhh, the holidays! It brings out a lot of good in people, but it also brings out a lot of bad in people.

Bad, as in...

DIPSHIT: "What is your warmest jacket???" A question I get on a daily basis - sometimes the only question I seem to get all day. Fair enough, I guess. But enough with the debates.
ME: "Well, there are no temperature ratings on jackets like there are on sleeping bags - which are still fairly arbitrary - but with the knowledge that I have on the technology, I can most certainly make an educated assumption on this jacket as the warmest."
DIPSHIT: "No way. This one's gotta be warmer than this one."
ME: "Okay, fuck me." Then I walk away.

I hate people, yet I am in the service industry. Retail, to be exact. What is wrong with me? Why did I pick this profession? It sours my taste for the human race.

It has especially thrown a wrench in my Christmas spirit. I love Christmas...I truly do. Yet every year when Christmas approaches, as I'm trying so desperately hard to enjoy the spirit of the season, I automatically get avalanched by people trying to destroy my spirit with stupidity and rudeness.

DIPSHIT: "I'm looking for (describes the most popular coat manufactured by my company-and this is four days before Christmas)."
ME: "I'm sorry sir, we've completely sold out of that jacket."
DIPSHIT: "Well then order it for me."
ME: "I'm afraid it's sold out company-wide. Sorry."
DIPSHIT: "How am I supposed to get this coat then?"
ME: "You can try REI or Sports Authority."
DIPSHIT: "So you're not going to do anything for me..."
ME: "There's nothing I can do. The North Face makes a certain amount of coats based on their annual projections-it's not an endless supply. They distribute these coats to REI's, Sports Authorities, Dick's, Nordstroms, and thousands of other stores, including their own retail stores like this one. Unfortunately, since this is the most popular coat this season, all corporately owned TNF stores and outlets, as well as our Distribution Center and Ecomm Center are completely out."
DIPSHIT: "I just need you to find this coat for me."
ME: "If you give me just a minute, I can try and shit one out for you."
DIPSHIT: "That highly offends me! I'm never shopping here again!" Customer storms out as I pull my pants back up and wave at him.

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The Halen.

2009-12-10T19:51:00.000-08:00

This band created the formula for your quintessential hair band. "Classically trained" quiet guitarist who can still rock out; Flamboyant front man, who is a bit gay-but a bit manly. Girls want him, guys want to be him; Your bass player and drummer are always in the background, but everyone knows who they are and how good they are.

Sure, they stole some of their bit from Led Zeppelin, incorporated a little glam (ie: Sweet, New York Dolls), along with coutless other influences. I'm not getting paid money to promote them, I'm just sayin'. If you dig rock and roll, you can't deny Van Halen.

Without the Halen, there would be no 80s Metal. Yea, yea...I know. But c'mon, how much fun is that??

I'm going to represent my "Weekly 80's Metal Video" with this fantastic song. It's called "Unchained" and it is a top notch song. In my eyes, it's actually not a campy, goofy 80's video because VH actually paved the way for the less talented that followed. The Halen need the respect, because care or not, they created a brand new niche in rock and roll.

If you do not like this video, I am sure that I do not want to be associated with you ever.

Enjoy, friends with taste.

ps: I'm really drunk.

Hello??

2009-12-09T22:16:00.000-08:00

Hey, could you guys do me a favor? Can you let me know if you actually read this? If you do, just put a comment below this entry.

I'm just curious. Thanks everybody. Or thanks no one.

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Alive Inside.

2009-12-09T08:17:00.000-08:00

A few years back I recall sitting at work in Kansas City with the worst case of cabin fever imaginable.

Cabin Fever is basically a built up and bottled desire to get outside. The feeling is comparable to longing for a certain someone. Like a girl named Jennifer or Stephanie from seventh grade that was "dating" Mark or Chad, and you wanted her badly but she was not to be had (Hello, Dr. Seuss). Not at this time, at least. That's a similar feeling to cabin fever. You want something now, but you just can't have it. You're kind of trapped...at least for the time being.

In Kansas City, there aren't very many places to escape to cure your cabin fever. So even during the peak outdoor months, I found myself going a little crazy. It didn't help that I worked at a gear store, either. Day after day of selling backpacks and hiking boots to people that were going on adventures. Giving advice to these people while gritting my teeth, trying not to expose my jealousy. So, granted, one of these days I was either going to snap, or figure out a way to feed this beast that is cabin fever.

Lucky for me, while I was managing this gear store in K.C. I was also asked to guide fly fishing trips in Colorado. I've been fly fishing for quite some time now, which the powers that be knew, so they offered to pay me to caravan out to Buena Vista for seven days at a time to teach rich people how to catch trout.

During my first guide trip to Colorado, I quickly learned two things. That I was 93% certain that I did not want to guide for a living. And that I wanted to live in Colorado. Guiding was fun, but I enjoy fishing over guiding. And Kansas sucks, especially when coming from the West.

Each time that I would come back from Colorado it wouldn't take long for the cabin fever to set back in. It was like giving a starving child a taste of macaroni & cheese every five months. I realized that I needed more than just a taste.

As my fever grew to painful proportions, I started devising a plan. This plan involved a lengthy adventure followed by a relocation. The lengthy adventure included road tripping, campfires, a glass or two of Scotch, sleeping under the stars, and exploring new rivers with my fly rod. The relocation was Colorado, a place where cabin fever is a seldom sight.

As the plan of adventure began to unfold, I immediately realized that the planning proved to be invigorating. My job suddenly became to plan for this adventure. I made contacts to potential sponsors that provided me with necessary provisions in exchange for the possibility of exposure. I recruited a close friend to join me on the trip to document this adventure on film. I was offered use of a camper to live in from an acquaintance that is now a great friend. This jaunt had turned into an epic adventure, at least in my mind. My cabin fever had subsided and I was starting to feel more alive than ever. The thought of a day job seemed mundane. I wanted for this feeling of freedom and life to continue.

It did continue. The excursion started the day that I kissed my now-wife goodbye, and headed for the mountains in my beat up pick-up truck.

I made it to Buena Vista, Colorado in one day without any breakdowns or issues of that sort. For the next week, I would teach rich people how to catch trout one last time before driving off into uncertainty. And that I did.

I remember the morning after our clients had gone back to the Midwest. The other guides and I had enjoyed a day of fishing without the annoyance of holding rich people's hands. That morning we awoke at 4am so my fellow guides could get a jump on the long ride back to Kansas and Oklahoma. We said our goodbyes, they headed East, and I took a nap at an abandoned kayak access in my truck.

After I woke up from my nap, it was time to shift this adventure into second gear. No more guide cabin. No more familiar cities. No more home base. Just my rickety truck packed with everything I owned, three fly rods, and a Rand McNally Atlas.

For the next three weeks I embarked on a trip that brought new towns, new rivers, new faces, new topography, new wildlife, new taverns, a good friend, a camper, and a jug of Scotch. We drove unknown roads. We fished unknown waters. We explored unknown mountains. Unknown to us.

Afterwards, the relocation took place. The relocation was exciting, but real. It involved real life adult decisions which I sometimes made correctly and sometimes did not. There were moving vans, packing, house hunting, leases, jobs, commuting, and so on. Oh yea, and my soon-to-be wife that, luckily for me, did not leave me during any of this.

It's been over two years since I've moved out West. The cabin fever is generally a thing of the past, seeing as how I've got hundreds of choices for curing it at my disposal. I feel as though I've just finished my relocation part of the plan. In addition to living in a pop-up camper and in the back of my pick-up, I've made my residence in my inlaws' basement and two rental houses since becoming a Colorado resident. Eight months ago I bought a house, and three months after that I married April. The plan is complete...two and a half years later, it's complete.

Which brings me to the whole reason that I started writing this blurb in the first place. I am ready for another adventure.

A good friend of mine once told me that within this short life of ours, you have to do what makes you feel alive inside.

With that said - and I can assure you that is fantastic advice to live by - I am in the process of devising yet another life-giving adventure.

Sure, small excursions are necessary. April and I just spent the weekend up in Estes in an outasight little cabin. Before that, we stayed three days up in Snowmass Village - checked out a great concert, hiked up around Independence Pass, and fly fished the Frying Pan. And currently me and my buddies have a rugged man-trip in the works. Like I said, necessary.

But for me, the thought of planning and executing an epic adventure that few people I know would even think of appeals to me greatly. Not because of ego, but because it makes me feel alive inside. The excitement, the adventure, the possibilities, the enjoyment...it all flows through me like a river. Like a raging, rushing river, overflowing it's banks with passion - bountiful with beautiful, colorful, but dangerously emotional fish.........a'hem.

I have cohorts involved in this plan. Three cohorts who are excited about an adventure. Three cohorts who share my ambition. Three cohorts who want to live and not regret.

The planning is in the works, because planning is necessary when you're in your 30's. It is much more difficult to wing it when you have a mortgage. So careful, adult-style planning is currently on the agenda. Along with finances, other things to consider are time and...well, more finances. So, while keeping money in mind, one must dream big and have a strong vision of what one wants to accomplish. But if it's not exactly what you envisioned, that's okay. Plan big, expect not-as big. That's a safe formula. But there's always a chance of your dream becoming as big, or bigger than you had expected. That is what we call a real nice surprise.

I will keep this blog updated on the general outline of this adventure plan. I will not get into details because certain things change, and certain things do not necessarily need to be planned out to begin with.

Sleep well, my friends. And please dream of adventure. Because like a glass of good Scotch, it will make you grit your teeth and feel keen.

.

DD Update.

2009-12-07T16:47:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to let the cat out of bag. I'm just sayin'...there is going to be live music at Dokken Day 2010. That's as much info as I can release right now.

Obviously, the music will be classified as "80's Metal", otherwise it would not be accepted.

One other update to Dokken Day: It has already been run by the judges...Billy Squier is acceptable. Especially his masterpiece, "Don't Say You Love Me".

That is all for now.

.

stupid elk.

2009-12-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

I took this picture two days ago while Ape and I were up in Estes staying at this little cabin. Nothing artsy about the pic...just a big-ass elk walking around our cabin. He refused to have cocktails and get in the hot tub with us. Jerk.

picture time

2009-12-07T15:34:00.000-08:00

The same aspen tree in my backyard. This branch reminds me of scrotums. Several little barky scrotums. I like the background and the lighting also, though.

picture time

2009-12-07T14:40:00.000-08:00

This here is a picture of a ladybug. It was taken in my backyard on my aspen tree...by me. When I look at this picture, it relaxes me. It has some really soft light and I dig the contrast of the red and green.

Good Show.

2009-11-28T22:28:00.000-08:00

I'm in the mood for a show. I can't remember the last show I've been to...Kings of Leon maybe? Jesus, that was forever ago. No, it was Citizen Cope and Michael Franti at Jazz Aspen Snowmass. Still, forever ago.

The thing about living in a big city is, almost every band comes through. When I lived in a smaller town, you took what you could get. So far since I've lived in Denver, I've missed a million shows. But when I lived in Springfield, I went to whatever show we could get into our town. Now, I take it for granted. And I'm older, too.

And plus, the majority of the shows that I'm interested in I've already seen before. When I check band sites and venue sites I'm always looking for a band I know I dig.

Night before last I missed Less Than Jake. I've seen them two or three times already, but it's been years. And about a month ago I missed Bouncing Souls, which I'm a little pissed about. I've seen them once before, but it was at the Warped Tour and not a dark, intimate club. Huge difference.

One band I'm dieing to see is the Black Keys. Everything I hear from them I like more and more. No scheduled tour dates in my area though, I'm afraid. They are my new favorite band. Two dudes playing fantastic roots rock and blues influenced by Creedence, Hendrix, and John Lee Hooker to name a few. Now, I generally don't like blues much, but I dig these guys the most.

Not sure why I don't go to more shows. Well, I suppose I've already kind of answered that. I'm older, so driving downtown and watching the headliner start at midnight...and then driving home drunk as shit at 3am isn't too appealing anymore. Plus, I have seen a ton of bands. Most of the one's I dig I've seen. So even though I'd dig seeing them again, it's much easier to just blow it off. That way, I save money and I don't risk getting into trouble.

But it's time. I need to see a good show. Just missed LTJ, the Souls, Fogerty, AC/DC, Supersuckers, and Motorhead with the Rev HH just cancelled. Good news is I've seen them all, but it's time to check them out again.

Either that, or 40 Horse Johnson needs to start back up...

Kev? Bryan?

As Far As Heros Go...

2009-11-21T07:47:00.000-08:00

Maybe it has something to do with Saturday morning. Waking up and immediately turning the TV on to watch Batman, Tarzan, Superfriends, or Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends.

I find myself this morning trying to decide who the coolest superhero is.

First, you have to decide if by "coolest", you mean a superhero that you think is wicked by themselves or a superhero you would like to be. For instance, Batman. I think he is very cool, but no way would I want to be him. He has unmatched detective skills, the physical abilities of a ninja, and perhaps the coolest toys ever imagined. But a superhero? Boring. No super powers at all, just advanced regular capabilities.

Let's compare Batman to, let's say...Superman. Superman has the most super powers out of any superhero on the planet...or any other planet. The Earth's yellow sun gives him super-human strength, x-ray vision, blinding speed, heat-rays from his eyes, and powerful breath. He's like a tricked-out Bentley, and Batman is like a '68 Camaro.

Honestly, Superman is so "super", that he bores me. He's kind of like one of those guys that's good at everything, so you immediately root against him.

That's DC, though. Their superhero's always kind of bored me. I'm much more of a Marvel guy. There were so many more "realistic" superheros. They were almost like real people.

Take Bruce Banner for instance. He was this quiet, nerdy type of guy who kept to himself until he got pushed around by the mean ole' general (and father of the girl he was obsessed with). All he wanted to do was his science projects and court Betty Ross. Then, a mishap with some gamma rays mutated him into a Frankenstein-ish monster when he got angry, which happened to be quite a bit. It's a classic Jeckyll & Hyde type of storyline, with a "bully that learns his leason" type of twist and a love story thrown in.

I am much more of an Incredible Hulk guy. I'm not sure if I necessarily consider him a superhero, though. We can all relate to the Hulk (at least I can), and we're all pulling for the Hulk. But there's this King Kong type of thing going on there, too. He loves the girl, but has to try and overcome all these obstacles, including his beastly, primal exterior and mentality, in order to get her.

Any guy has had Hulk moments. If you are dating a girl, and some douche bag starts hitting on her, you wish you could turn into the Hulk and smash him. I've actually tried and it doesn't work like in the comics.

Comic-wise, I could always relate to Spider-Man. There was sort of the same thing going on with Peter Parker that there was Bruce Banner, with the bullies and all. But Spider-Man was much more of a hero. Maybe not on a global scale like Superman, but he kept New York in check. Spider-Man was always smart, in addition to his super-human physical abilities. And there was always a deep, human element to his story. Spider-Man was always my favorite comic to read growing up, but unfortunately Toby and Kirsten have kind of ruined the story for me. Not that the movies were bad, but they took away a portion of the imagination that goes into reading a comic book. Most movies that are based on books, be it comic or otherwise, do that whether we realize it or not.

I'd say on a hero basis, it's probably between Superman and Spider-Man. I know I bad-mouthed Superman earlier, but I've been reconsidering during my writing.

It's got to be tough to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I mean, even the President looks to Superman for advice. Yea, he can pretty much do it all, but one little piece of green kryptonite and he's fucked. Spider-Man doesn't have that problem. Although there's no chance Spider-Man would be called upon to protect the Earth. He can't fly, therefore time is a serious issue when trying to protect the world. And it doesn't make much sense to book a charter flight for a superhero. Spider-Man is better off sticking to NYC.

So I suppose Superman is your quintessential hero. Everyone knows he's a badass. But the cool thing about Superman is that when he's Clark Kent, he's a fucking nerd. I dig that. There aren't too many superheros that are cool as shit when in their alter-ego state. Except for Bruce Wayne. That's another reason Batman doesn't appeal to me all that much. He's a spoiled rich kid. Although so was Tony Stark, but he earned it. Bruce did not, he just had everything given to him whereas Tony built the shit.

So yes, alter-ego's play a significant role in which superhero is the coolest.

And I can't believe I'm saying this, but as I pick it apart, I'm starting to lean towards Superman. He's a nerd, he's got a crush on a girl (Lois Lane), he is a badass when he needs to be, yet he is vulnerable (see: kryptonite), he has a lot of pressure on him in both egos (reporting on important happenings in Metropolis as C. Kent and saving the world as Superman), and to top it off, he's just a good guy. I still tend to root for the good guy. I believe he's got a good heart, which probably stems from his humble upbringing by his down-to-earth step-parents that raised him in Smallville. You have to appreciate good, honest morals.

Jesus, I guess Superman wins. I had no idea this would be the outcome when I started this post. How generic. How vanilla. How ho-hum. I was hoping I would talk myself into someone like Thor or Green Lantern. It's all there, though. You've just read the argument, and although I really don't consider myself a Superman guy, as far as hero's go, he is the big winner.

I guess when you're good at what you do, people just can't argue that. Superman is the best at what he does. I usually root for the underdog, but in this case you just can't deny that he does a fine job of not only protecting Metropolis, but the rest of the world too. Who else does that? Batman? The Hulk? Spider-Man? Nope. Superman doesn't require a private jet to travel to the ends of the Earth to fight evil. He is not bipolar. He's not a rich jerk. He doesn't require a team like the Fantastic Four, X-Men, or Avengers. He puts others ahead of himself. And he's genuine.

As far as "Heros" go, he's a real hero. Not just some 'roided out mutant like Wolverine or The Thing.

I feel safe having Superman around. I can't say that about anyone else.

.

Workin' For a Livin'

2009-11-19T20:39:00.000-08:00

For a very long time now, I've been wanting to start my own business. I've always dreamt about a job where I can call my own shots and, of course while we're dreaming, I would obviously make a lot of money.

My dream business has always revolved around the outdoors. Whether it be a gear store, guide service, or publication. And I've looked into each one far enough to realize that I don't have enough money to properly start and sustain one of these.

I consider myself...or at least used to consider myself an artist. More accurately put, a "fair weather artist". I have always needed a creative outlet, and for the majority of my life it has been drawing. Then it switched to music, then it switched to painting, and has since switched to writing. The combination of my necessary creative time and my desire for entreprenurialism have come together a few times before, but all have suffered the same above-mentioned financial road block-consequence, with the exception of one thing...

...designing and selling t-shirts.

The idea came to me a few years back when I had just started in the outdoor industry. Brands like Patagonia and Life is Good sold, among other things, t-shirts with these clever, sometimes inspiring, outdoor oriented designs and messages. The biographies of the owners of these companies were humble, simple and smart. And they prompted me to start thinking that this might be something that would be fun, and hopefully profitable. So I started designing designs.

It's gotten to the point where I now have a fairly extensive portfolio, have decided on the name and personality of this company, I have the necessary financial aspects in line, and am ready to start producing, selling, and profiting.

And funny enough, this stupid blog has helped me with the personality of my company and design direction.

I'll get into all the specifics a little later on in another post. Seeing as how I tend to change my on a 15 minute basis, I'd better not commit to anything publicly.

So with that said, I can tell you that the designs that you will see one of these days will be outdoor oriented, clever, simple, and cool. Like Fonzie. The profits that I end up making on this venture will be shared with outdoor and environmental organizations. The material of the shirts will be ecologically superior to traditional cotton, and manufacturing and printing will be done as close to home as possible.

Ideally, one day I would like to design and sell shirts that not just your environmentally conscious consumer would buy, but those who have no clue or don't care about our carbon footprint. (wow, you can tell I'm 10 minutes from Boulder, huh?) That way, when they do purchase one of my incredibly cool (like Fonzie) shirts, little do they know, that by buying this shirt they are donating to a grass roots organization dedicated to helping the earf. And maybe, just maybe it will help them realize that being eco conscious isn't just for greenies and granolas, but for truck drivers, farmers, politicians, steel workers, bass fishermen, and movie stars.

Back to the shirts.

They aren't going to advertise a preachy, artsy, "better than you" message. Not that there's anything wrong with that. They are going to be simple, sometimes clever (if I'm in a clever mood), always interesting, and appealing. There may or may not be a message in them, but there will always be a donation. The designs are all going to be mine (maybe not the art specifically, but the design), and they are going to be designs that I would wear on my t-shirt even if it were not my design. Get it? So they are going to be quite Earlish. But that's okay.

Like I said earlier, I tend to change my mind a lot. But generally, once I actually set my mind to something I usually follow through with it. It might take a while, but it'll get done.

A good friend of mine, Andy, also has a t-shirt company. Also? Oddly enough, we both had similar business ideas long before we actually met each other. His company is already up and running, and it is fantastic. http://www.interwoventhreads.com/ is where you need to go to check out Andy's company, Interwoven Threads. You should buy a shirt from him. He's getting married soon, he could use the money.

I'll keep you posted on the evolution of my company. It is definitely a work in progress, but I'm confident that I'll find some time one day to get it off the ground. Who knows, after my company becomes world renown, maybe you will be the proud owner of one of Earl's originally designed t-shirts. And then you could sell it on Ebay for eight dollars.

Gotta dream, man.

.

Another Example...

2009-11-16T20:05:00.000-08:00

And this is an example of a picture that I did not take, but it is of me so it's acceptable. Cousin Robert gets credit for this one.

This is on the Goat Trail overlooking the Buffalo River in Arkansas a few years back.

Master of Photography

2009-11-16T19:24:00.000-08:00

Pretty, huh?

I dig taking pictures, and since this is my blog page, I'm going to post a bunch of pictures that I took. Or in some cases, that somebody I know took...as long as I'm in them.

This is in Northern Colorado, in the Never Summer Wilderness.

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"80's" Metal Video

2009-11-11T20:50:00.000-08:00

Man, I've really been slacking. You know, with the Dokken Day planning and all it's been pretty hectic lately. But it's all gonna be worth it once you check out my 80's Metal Video.

It's by Steel Panther, who rule. They're actually a parody band that does a lot of covers...but they do them really well. The singer and guitarist used to be in a Van Halen cover band called The Atomic Punks, and you couldn't tell them from the actual Roth-era VH if you were to do the Pepsi Challenge with the head phones. And if you remember the commercial (I think for Master Card or someshit) that documented (facetiously) the rise and fall the 80's Metal band, Danger Kitty, that was them too. So they're actually excellent musicians and performers. Lucky for us, they don't take themselves too seriously.

This video contains element from Twisted Sister, Dokken, and Van Halen among others. And I fell in love with the song as soon as I heard the first line..."Fuck the Goo Goo Dolls! They can suck my balls!"

It honestly does not get any more poetic than that. You're going to laugh your asses off.

Enjoy, my friends.

Steel Panther-Death To All But Metal - watch more funny videos

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME BLOGGING??!!

2009-11-09T22:30:00.000-08:00

Nothing too mindblowingly deep or thoughtful tonight. Just wanting to let everyone know that I'm happy.

Just got back from the Monday Night Football contest between the Broncos and the Steelers, and as I write this am happy on beer. Sure, I spent $80 on seven beers, but it was worth it. Got to see Pittsburgh beat up on the Donkeys a bit, so all is well.

"Why the hell are you a Steelers fan, Matt?" you might ask. "Why not a Chiefs, Broncos, or Rams fan?"

Let me answer the last question first...because they suck. And now the first question...

Growing up in Missouri with deep St. Louis roots, the St. Louis Cardinals football team was my most favorite growing up. My mos favorito. With O.J. Anderson, Jim Hart, Dan Dierdorf, and a whole slew of forgettable names on my team, it didn't matter because the Cardinals were St. Louis.

Well, right when I actually started to understand the game of football, the Cards' owner Bill Bidwell, up and moved his team to Arizona where there are no cardinals...just gila monsters and big spiders. So I was left with no football team.

Normally if you're a fan of a St. Louis sports team, you cannot be a fan of a Kansas City sports team...especially after 1985. So I never really allowed myself to root for the Chiefs.

My dad though, he worked for a stainless steel tank manufacturing company in Springfield and would always bring home the stainless steel stickers that they put on every tank. I put them on my toolbox, my closet doors, and my bed. They look exactly like the Steelers' emblem...except they say "STEEL" instead of "STEELERS". That, along with the Steelers' cool colors (which were like the Missouri Tigers) prompted me to start rooting for Pittsburgh.

Since Bidwell stole the Cardinals from us, I've been a Steelers fan ever since. Not to the point of Cardinals Baseball, but as much as I get into NFL. I follow them, root for them...but don't freak out if they suck. And I love it when they beat the Broncos! Never liked Elway or Shanahan.

I'm still a Rams fan, because they're a St. Louis team and I have to. But if they played the Steelers in the Super Bowl, I'd probably root for Pittsburgh.

Anyway, It was a swell game and I'm happy. Now it's time to go eat seven Tums and go to bed. I have to get up in the morning and go to the mountains to go fishing. I hope you're jealous. If you're not, you should be.

Good things...

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The Incredible Hulk or Superman?

2009-11-05T18:53:00.000-08:00

First off, big thanks to Anonymous (or Frank) for commenting on my latest entry about Dokken Day. Frank's been rocking out since he been to a Metallica concert back in 1986. Frank, I don't know you, but we have been connected through the power of rock and that cannot be ignored. Unfortunately, I can't invite strangers to my friend's house...but I will most certainly keep you updated on the planning of the festivities and perhaps you and your crew can celebrate Dokken Day up in Westerville, South Dakota! Dokken Day should be celebrated everywhere by everyone! Keep rockin', Frank.

Along with the preparation of Dokken Day, I have been doing quite a bit of thinking. So much so, that I sometimes wonder if I suffer from ADD or some other made up mental disorder that keeps me from focusing on single thoughts. Sure, I can concentrate on one thought at a time, but it immediately jumps to another thought, then another, and so on. I've been self medicating as much as possible to try and get a handle on this annoyance. It's helped. And surprisingly, writing helps. It keeps me focused...which is nice.

Random thoughts have included, but are not limited to...

Entreprenuerialism, global warming, the passing of a good friend, future large purchases, playing music, who my favorite super hero is, Thanksgiving dinner, my hatred of running, my hatred of the Beatles, discovering new music (that does not sound like the Beatles), different moods, individualism, marketing, washing my car, why people suck so bad, trout behavior, my desire to revisit past outdoor activities, and starting a cult.

Now I will randomly talk about one of the above-mentioned thoughts.

Different moods. Sounds boring, and maybe it is, but it intrigues me and I want to talk about it.

Different moods bring out different thoughts and different feelings, thus creating different tastes and likes at that time. For instance, I love to chill the fuck out with a glass of Scotch while listening to good jazz and tying flies. But I also love to go downtown to a punk show, jump up & down, push people into the pit, get drunk on Irish Car Bombs and then go have breakfast. Two different things, right? Moods create thoughts, which then help create tastes. Having different tastes allows for more diverse experiences. My tastes (which are created with the help of moods) revolve heavily around music and drink. The two go hand in hand. The two also heavily influence your mood.

I guess I just appreciate the fact that I enjoy so many completely different things. I not only enjoy different things, but different personalities, subcultures, or common ground. I don't really know what to call it.

Example: I like to go into a coffee shop, where there is classical music playing, order a hot coffee and sit down at a table with my laptop. It clears my head, allows me to relax, and helps me think. I'm not 'that guy', but I do enjoy it from time to time and I typically get along with 'those guys'. I also like to fillet 15 to 20 freshly caught crappie in a white t-shirt with crappie blood all over the front, on a makeshift "gut table" made from 5-gallon buckets and plywood, with a wind-burnt face, sore upper back, and painful hat-hair while listening to BR5-49. I'm not necessarily 'that guy' either, but I can relate. It's just things I dig that have evolved due to my different moods at one time or another.

It actually took quite a while for me to realize that it's okay to like more than one thing. I grew up listening to punk and would not even give hippie-shit the time of day. But my maturity overruled whatever category I had put myself in, and now hippie-shit is some of my favorite music. Joey Ramone just rolled over in his grave...

So whenever you're in a certain mood, and different things are starting to sound interesting to you, whether it's riding motorcycles, hanging out at a coffee shop, participating in a triathlon, getting high to Pink Floyd, rollerblading, turkey hunting, volunteering at a soup kitchen, sail boating, or attending a monster truck rally...don't think of being 'that person', think of just you...doing something. If you're in that particular mood, then do it.

Good things, man. Good things.

.

Dokken Day 2010

2009-10-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

Last month on the 11th of September, I posted a hilarious commercial entitled, "Dokken vs. Chicken" in my entry, "Don.". Along with that commercial I wrote a bit about the rebirth of a celebration in January called "Dokken Day". I was confident that this festival of 80's Metal would rise from the dead like fiery, flaming phoenix carrying a double-necked Gibson Flying-V guitar in it's talons.

Well, my friends...it has.

Dokken Day 2010 is in the works. There is a place. There is a time. There is a drink menu. There are activities. And there is music.

Listen up. Dokken Day is officially held on January 27-the same day that Los Angeles mayor Tom Bradley gave the 80's Metal band the key to the city back in 1988. Unfortunately, that falls on a Wednesday, so we're going to have it the Saturday before (pending). Location: Foster's house, Springbilly, MO.

There'll be full kegs of cheap beer, Jack Daniels, Boone's Farm, an array of wine coolers including Bartles & Jaymes and Seagram's, Amaretto Sour's...all being consumed while playing Speed Quarters, Indian, Asshole, Chandeleir's, and Do It.

Activities will include drinking, rocking out, hot tubbing, RockBand/Guitar Hero, and lots of high-fives.

Nothing but 80's Metal will be played. And everyone will dress up like an 80's Metal Rocker.

My wife and I are flying all the way from Denver to Springfield to attend this Celebration of Rock. I plan on vomiting, dislocating my knee due to excessive heavy metal kicks, losing my voice, planning to start up a metal band with my buddies while in a drunken stuper, hitting my head on something hard while demonstrating the proper way to "bang your head", pulling my groin, losing conciousness during a keg stand, spitting beer on someone inside Foster's house, my body completely rejecting a SoCo shot, and spraying beer out my nose in the middle of a beer bong.

It will be phenomenal.

If you are lucky enough to attend this party, I assure you, it will be the 2nd best time you'll have all year, maybe the first. Could it overtake St. Pat's???

If you're cool, I'll see you there.

.

Warm and Fuzzy

2009-10-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

There aren't too many things that give me warm fuzzies.

You know, warm fuzzies. When a smell, a sound, an image, a feeling, a taste, or a memory gives your body that short, but satisfying shutter. Sometimes your closed eyes kind of role up into your head, there is usually a deep breath that accompanies it, and there is always a smile included. Yea, I guess it is somewhat orgasmic.

For me, it normally happens when something triggers a memory. A good memory. I don't get warm fuzzies when I remember shitty times. When I recall the tsunami disaster, I don't get all happy and reminiscent. I get warm fuzzies when I hear the first three notes of "Highway To Hell", like I did just a second ago. Not because it's good song (which it most certainly is), but because it takes me back to driving to the lake cabin in Vinnie's 64, The Tank O' Love.

The reason that's a special memory is, well...it was the place we could go and do whatever the fuck we wanted to do. It was like having your own place, but you were 17. We drank whatever we could get...we drank it all and we drank it fast. We smoked marijuana on the porch (for medical reasons only) and listened to AC/DC, debating over who was better, Bon or Brian.

And The Tank was our means of transportation when visiting the cabin. She was an original, red, 4-door 1964 Chevy Impala. She was beautiful. And she and the cabin both represented freedom to us.

Looking back on that time, I guess "Highway to Hell" was our unofficial anthem. It too, screamed freedom.

The cool thing about the warm fuzzy is, that when you get one, for a split second it takes you back to that exact moment. It's hard to absorb it because it happens so fast. But for one nanosecond, you are experiencing the same passion, elation, love, or excitement that particular memory triggered.

.

jump.

2009-10-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

My brain has been going a million miles an hour lately. A million.

I've got so many things going on in my head, it's hard to sort them all out and get them taken care of.

I think what's triggering the coagulation of thoughts...what the nucleus is...is the thought of making not only a good living, but an exciting living.

Yes, my fun career choice of being in the outdoor industry is starting to lose its luster. Having to handle different types of personalities from different types of people on a constant basis is chipping away at my brain and at my soul.

In some way, shape or form, for the last 16 years I have had to deal with people in a sales or service format...with the exception of working in a steel factory for two years, blue collar style. When you are in sales, or in my case, retail, anyone can walk through those doors. It's a public place. Crazy people, pretentious people, hateful people, socially inept people, and brainless people. But also delightful people, friendly people, courteous people, and likable people. It's the former batch that chips away at me. It's the people who have no business going out in public at all. The people with no common sense, no tact, no manners, and no reason to like them or want to assist them. Not a day goes by that I don't run into at least one of these worthless beings. Except for when I have a day off.

And I've heard the pep talks, the "it's not as bad as you're letting it be, Matt" talks. I've definitely looked into this rather deeply, thinking that it might be me...that I might be letting little things get to me. But it's not me, it's them.

Back when I started sales, I was young and didn't care about assholes or morons. They made me laugh and were easy to shrug off. But part of it was because I really didn't take my job that seriously either. I was young, people were idiots, and I said what I wanted to them or laughed at them and that was it. But I'm much older now. I take offense to people that have no idea how to act in public or don't know how to treat another person. It no longer is easy to laugh at on a regular basis...because it happens so often. And also, it is no longer my job to put up with douche bags, it's my career choice. That chips away at me as well.

So, what to do? What to do?

I think when you get to a point like this in your life, you have to do some soul searching. You have to ask yourself a lot of very important questions. And if those answers do not relate to where you are currently in your life, you have to then make a very important decision. You may have to jump. Not "suicide" jump, "Van Halen" jump. If you think it's time for a change, you are going to have to plan things out the best you can...and then jump. It's scary as hell. I've done it a couple times. But the older you get, the more difficult it gets. So, with each jump, each consisting of different degrees of difficulty within themselves, they still become progressively harder. Mainly because over the years, you accumulate things like stability, family, roots, and each one of these "grown up" things is affected by bold moves.

It can be tricky, too. Because the older you get, the more value you have...to a point. Sure, at age 40 you probably have a hell of a resume. Lots of experience. But to a potential employer, you are going to cost them more money than a fresh out-of-school applicant with unlimited potential and service. It's like a baseball player's career lifeline. And also, if you are going to do a 180 in the real world, there's a good chance you are going to have to educate yourself. Going back to school at age 30 or 40 can't be a picnic. And then finding a job afterwards? Kudos to those that can pull it off.

Then there's starting your own business. That appeals to me. My beef with my current situation has to do with corporate guidelines, and being "on" constantly...whether it be with the customer or my corporate superiors. With your own gig, some of that can be eliminated depending on what the new gig is. But starting your own business is no cake walk either. Once again, you really have to educate yourself. But I've got more drive to go that direction than to start completely over with school, followed by fresh job hunting.

I'm extremely entrepreneurial minded. I am constantly thinking of ways that I can make that aforementioned exciting living. Sometimes they're realistic ways, other times not. And I have no doubt that I could form a successful business, as long as I had someone to help out with the whole money part of it.

So, with all the above said, that's kind of where I'm at right now. I may stay right where I'm at, or I may decide to jump one of these days. I'm just trying to answer those important questions right now. I'm weighing certain things, thinking about opportunity and consequence, and including "grown up" things in those thoughts.

I'm glad I wrote this down, because I think that it would be a lot healthier, and more fun to shrug people off a little more. That's what they deserve, and I don't deserve high blood pressure just because they don't know how to act. So if you plan on coming into my store, don't be stupid, because you're gonna get laughed at and made fun of from now on. You deserve it.

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Buzzes and Takes

2009-10-11T21:14:00.000-07:00

On my way home from work today (my commute is when I do most of my thinking) I started thinking about subtle differences in certain things close to my heart.

Buzzes and takes.

I'm not sure why these two things came up in the ole' bean side by side, because they really have nothing to do with each other...at least not for me. They're just things I dig.

Buzzes, that being how drinking alcohol makes you feel after having a bit. And takes, which is how it feels and looks when certain fish bite what you've cast to them.

Buzzes entered my mind because I had several different kinds while my good friend Vincent visited me last week. There were buzzes created by beer, Scotch, vodka, and wine...all being different animals.

The beer buzz is the sloppy buzz. It isn't a particularly comfortable buzz, due to the amount it takes to fill you up. But given a baseball game Bud or Coors, an after-river Micro, or a snowy day Porter, I'll take a beer buzz anytime. The hangovers can be miserable, though. Long, arduous, and flu-like. It's a fair trade off.

Vodka is an "all of a sudden buzz". I can drink seemingly gallons of vodka without feeling so much as a warm fuzzy (probably not a good thing), and then without warning, it all catches up with me at once ("That's called liver failure, Matt.") I choose to mix my vodka with tonic water, so they are very easy for me to drink quickly. This is most likely part of the reason this happens to me. Hangovers are not as "gross" feeling as beer hangovers, but can be just as severe due to the amount that one can drink in such a short time.

Scotch is delicious. But I rarely get into it enough at one sitting to produce a hangover. The buzzes though...sublime. Not saying I haven't had my fair share of over indulgences in the ways of Scotch, though. Just ask Preacher Tom and Jeffrey. If you happen to put a noticeable dent in a nice bottle of Scotch with a good friend, you will both be immobile the next morning.

While wine is not my first beverage of choice generally, I prefer their buzzes to just about anything. They tend to be potent, clean, sharp, and not "gross". There is really no "to excess" feeling and it does not fill you up. The way wine makes me feel is different than any other drink that I can think of. And I like it.

Shortly after my pondering buzzes, I quickly transitioned to takes. I actully think about that quite a bit. It's the best part about fishing (other than the buzz you aquire afterwards).

Each method, each fish, and each body of water produces a different take. Whether it's a visual take or all feeling.

As soon as a bluegill bites my lure, I know it's a bluegill. It "tap, tap, taps", and after he takes it, he swims side to side, gyrating. Yes, gyrating.

A crappie take is a subtle take that is generally one, maybe two blunt pops, and then you feel an inhalation. That's when you set your hook.

The fish that I get the majority of my takes on nowadays is the trout. I fly fish for them, so it's usually a visual take. With the dry fly, the take can be a ridiculously gentle, slow motion sip, or it can be a voracious attack. Sometimes the trout will nose the fly and decide not to take it at all.

While nymphing pocket water, more times than not you will not feel or see any sort of take. You just have a feeling that he's there. And he usually is.

Other notable trout takes generally happen while stripping a streamer. One, two, or three slams and that's when your 4x tippet breaks.

I love fishing. And I love drinking. That's why I appreciate the intricate details of both.

Goodnight fishing. Goodnight drinking.

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You're the Best...Around!

2009-09-29T09:34:00.001-07:00

I was watching a baseball game the other day and the announcers were debating if whether or not Albert Pujols is the best baseball player ever to play the game. Better than Mays, Aaron, DiMaggio, Musial, and Ruth. Better than A-Rod, Bonds, Jeter, and Pete LeCock. Sure, that's a very strong argument. He is without a doubt, one of the best.

It got me to thinking...what it would take to be the absolute best at what you do.

First, you have to have an amazing amount of natural ability. And second, you have to be driven well beyond the likes of your average joe. You have to eat, sleep and breathe whatever it is you are trying to be the best at.

But also, you have to have proven statistical results, or else it's way too subjective.

Albert Pujols, Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretzky, they all are considered arguably the best at what they did or what they currently do. But it's easy to gauge just how good they are with the relentless statistical nature of these games. It's easy to compare Albert to Ruth...statistically.

The only way that I (or anyone) can come close to comprehending how it would feel and what it would take to become the absolute best at something, is to first figure out what it is that you are best at. Or in other words, you're strongest trait, activity, or whatever. Now, that's a pretty broad task to begin with. I, for example, immediately think of fly fishing. But others may think of accounting, lighting a fire without petroleum, pull ups, planting rose gardens, designing cell phones, or yodeling. Let's get back to fly fishing.

Fly fishing is a sport, or at least "part" sport. I consider it an art, a science, a pastime, a hobby, and a subculture as well. But it is the type of sport that is not ruled by stats. So, how is one to know who is the best fly fisherman in the world? Well, there are fly fishing contests and tournaments, but not many. And the majority of the more well known fly fishermen do not compete in these. Would you gauge the best on how much money one has made from the sport? How much knowledge of the history, entomology and technique of the sport? The places traveled and water covered? How many fish you catch? Is it the guy who first broke ground in fly fishing or the guy who carried it to the next level? I'm really not sure.

I consider myself a pretty good fly fisherman. As non-competitive as I consider myself also, I definitely am competitive on the river (not vocally, mentally). There are times when I am not catching many fish and some guy 20 feet away is slaying them, but I may not agree the technique he is using...so which angler is better? If I were to "dumb down" my technique, so to speak, and start catching fish like this guy, am I instantly better? Or am I better by sticking to perhaps a more traditional method?

I think that being the best at something is an impossibility. It's too debatable. It will always be a matter of opinion. It doesn't matter who has the best stats, there will always be arguable variables. Someone today doesn't have much of a leg to stand on when comparing Albert to Ruth, or Albert to Mays. Their positions were different, their eras were different, their competition was different, the fitness science and technology is different, and so forth and so on. Figuring out who the best is at anything is impossible, simply because no one knows who else might be out there that is better. Lance Armstrong is great, but there are a thousand Lance Armstrong's out there that are better cyclists.

"How do you know, butthole?" you ask. I don't know, I suspect. But not all great cyclists enter the Tour de France. Lance did, though, and he won it a bunch of times. Therefore he is considered the best based on his competitive accomplishments. But I guarantee that there are better cyclists, they just choose not to enter races.

So, what is better? Someone who chooses one "activity" and attempts to become better at it than anyone else? Or someone who chooses a handful of "activities" and strives to be pretty good at all of them?

Yvonne Chouinard, founder of the outdoor apparel company, Patagonia, and avid mountaineer, climber, fly fisherman, surfer, and kayaker (at some point in his life), stated in his book, "Let My People Go Surfing" that he strives for 80% perfection when he takes on a new sport. Don't know if those were his exact words, but they're close enough. He says that any more than 80% dedication is too much, and one must focus solely on that one sport if one chooses to push beyond 80%. I'm assuming that he considers 100% expert...the best. So 80%'s gotta be pretty damn good.

But without knowing what 100% is...ie, the best...how do I get to 80%? How do I know when to pull back or to push forward?

I guess I kind of understand. I think of people who have embraced an activity to the fullest...they've made a living out of this activity, they've been a trailblazer in the industry, they eat, sleep, and breathe this activity. And then there are people like Mr. Chouinard who are really good at a lot of things, but not considered the best (although he may be the best at building and running a sustainable company).

I can equally admire both. I don't necessarily own any characteristics of either type, though. I'm good at a few things, like fly fishing and being wicked, but not great at anything. And I'm not sure I've got it in me to strive to the best at something. At this point in my life, that would just be trying to prove something. I am what I am. If someone were to ever consider me the best, it would be by accident on my part. If I become considered the best fly fisherman by others, it will not be because I'm hellbent on being that person, it will be because I genuinely love what I'm doing and as result, have become pretty damn good at it. Unconscious success.

Hell, to people that don't know any better, I may be considered the best fly fisherman to them. I may already be there. I may be just like Albert. Pujols, Jordan, Gretzky, Armstrong, and Todd. I can live with that.

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80's Video of the Week

2009-09-27T21:14:00.000-07:00

Alright kids, it's that time again. Time for your weekly dosage of spandex, leather, squealing guitars, and aerosol cans of Aquanet.

I've picked a good one for you this week. It's Winger with "Seventeen".

Kip Winger is a god walking among mortals. His glorious mane rivals Jon Bon Jovi's, and his five o' clock shadow makes George Micheal and Don Johnson both look like hobos. His teeth are as white as the first snow of the season. He is the only rock star that can captivate you with his handsome smile while rocking his bass at the same time. And to top it off, he sings about getting on 17 year old girls. That's top notch.

If I were to put money on it, I'd say that Winger is a friendly rock band. They're always smiling while rocking, which leads me to believe that they get their fair share of seventeen year old strange. What is Kip, 42? And not many rockers can get away with the name "Kip". Even Alice Cooper has a manlier name than Kip Winger. That doesn't stop him from rocking though.

Please watch this video, "Seventeen", by Winger. Allow it to rock your face off...and then rock it back on again.

Rock on, my friends. And rock on, Kip.

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Month of Balance.

2009-09-22T09:03:00.001-07:00

I went back to St. Louis last weekend to see my friends and family. Most of them asked how my "month of health" was going. I found that my most frequent answer was, "not bad".

And it's not bad. Different than I expected...but not bad.

During this experiment, I've learned a lot about myself and am still learning. I've grown to appreciate and incorporate a healthy balance. Have I been vigorously training for nothing? No, not at all. Why, you ask? I think it's a combination of things.

I believe that you either have to have a passion for health, or must be unhappy with your current state of being in order to focus 100% on getting in tremendous shape. Although I appreciate tremendous health, I do not have a deep passion for achieving it. I am just curious. Also, I am quite content with my state of being.

Sure, washboard abs would be nice to have. But for what price? Giving up so many other things that make me much happier than abs and concentrating the majority of my spare time on stomach exercises? No thanks. But I can balance eating tasty food that's good for you and doing crunches and sit-ups several times a week along with my usual routine of enjoying a cold beer and a cheeseburger on occasion. That keeps Matt looking and feeling pretty good and staying happy.

I've realized that I have no desire to give up so-called things that are unhealthy. Steak, beer, cocktails, cheeseburgers, lasagna, burritos...I love 'em, and will never give them up. But I've also realized that you have to balance those things out with a healthy lifestyle and moderation. At least I do. And for the record, I've had one cheeseburger, no steak, no burritos, no lasagna, and have cut my beer intake in half.

Each person is different. If someone enjoys throwing on the spandex and having a protein shake before riding 100 miles of mountain road, that's cool. In fact, that's awesome. A part of me is jealous. But the majority of me has absolutely no desire to do that. I am more than content jogging on my treadmill and doing my basement exercises. Then hitting the river and fly fishing for the rest of the day. We both have healthy days, enjoyable days, and more times than not, we both reward ourselves at the end of the day with a frosty cold beer. Everyone wins.

I have also realized that achieving good health is much more difficult than maintaining good health. But you have to have determination and discipline for both. That's why I plan on continuing less eating, healthier eating, and being active everyday even after September is over with. Going from lethargic to very active virtually overnight is no picnic. So now that I have become fairly active, it will be easier to plane out than to go from one extreme to the other.

So, I suppose in a sense I have failed. I have not accomplished everything that I have set out to do in a month's time. I have slipped more than once in the past three weeks. But I have also made some very positive steps. I have lost weight. I have woken up my sleepy lats and abs. I have learned to be conscious of my calorie intake. I have been eating much better. But the most important thing I've learned during these past three weeks and something I have thought very deeply about...Balance.

It not just applies to my experiment, it applies to everything. Everything.

For me, it keeps my body and my mind healthy. A balance of healthy food, greasy food, cocktails, water, juice, milk, country music, rock and roll, jazz, reggae, city, country, mountain, river, staying home, road tripping, patio, couch, cooking, restaurant, campfire, tv, running, lounging, work, days off, certain friends, certain other friends...everything.

Call it well rounded or whatever. I think that balance is the most healthy conclusion that one can come to. My month of health has transformed into a month of balance.

Although my month was not a complete accomplishment, it was still positive and still a success. And it's not over yet.

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Monday Night

2009-09-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

So, I'm sitting here with my face in this computer while April watches the previously recorded MTV Video Music Awards. I don't know who anyone is on this show anymore. Well, yea I know who Beyonce' and Kanye' and the JLo and all those kids are. But I don't know who anyone else is.

I suppose that is a good thing.

Also, Monday Night Football is on. I just checked, it's tied in the 3rd.

Please don't be concerned with the status of my manhood, though. If you haven't seen Beyonce's performance on the VMA's yet, let me tell you...it is much better than a bunch of dudes in tights running around groping each other.

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