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.
;;
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The Thing About Retail...
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.
,
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.
,
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Assholes Flying Planes Into Buildings.
"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.
.
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.
.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Drunk Ramble About Punktry & Western.
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.
.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Fantastic Combination
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".
.
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".
.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Perfect Gig.
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.
.
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.
.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I'm Goin' Back to Springfield.
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.
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.
.
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