Twas The Night Before Christmas

WARNING: What you’re about to read may disturb you. Read at your own risk.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring EXCEPT for my 21 month old daughter. 2:33am – waking, crying, running, seeing, ooh, smelling. It all happened so fast.

Only half awake at the time, my wife and I tried to assess the situation but our brains weren’t processing what lay before us. As relatively new parents, we’d never experienced anything quite like this. And as such we froze, then panicked and then finally rescued our poor little girl from her nightmare before Christmas.

This is where it gets gross.

It looked like the aftermath of a junior high food fight, only worse. Piles of cottage cheese like substance (curdled milk I’m guessing) covered most of the Pack n' Play, blankets, Elmo and my daughter. As we got closer we noticed whole piece of recycled strawberries, pineapple and roast beef. The smell was intolerable. Holding our breaths in-between uncontrollable gags, we managed to grab her and then rush her to the bathtub.

I’m not sure it was our paternal instinct kicking in or the stench of sour milk burning our nostrils that brought us to our senses, but at that point my wife and I kicked it in to high gear. We divided and conquered; my wife rinsing off our daughter and me sanitizing the poor inflicted Elmo, pajammy’s, pillow and blankets.

I guess we weren’t too stealthy in our cleanup process because soon, Grandmas, Grandpa and aunt Tracy meandered from their bedrooms to provide backup assistant. 5 adults skillfully holding our noses while participation in this Christmas Eve celebration of sorts. It's now 3:12am. Ahh yes...Christmas morning around the corner.

Fast forward 30 hours to the morning after Christmas. Our daughter is passionately crying for milk. Weird. Should we give it too her (we’ve been purposefully not because of her sickness)? My wife and I decide it’s probably okay since she seems to be getting better.

7:37am, Dec. 26th. My daughter's cuddling with daddy on the couch. Oh no. Oh no. Yuck! Help, help…someone grab me a towel. Hurry. I need it now. Hurry!

Round 2.

Home Video Hell

I've been a long time PC user but my recent journey into home-video-land has left me feeling pretty bitter toward Windows.

This Christmas, my wife and I decided to take our nearly 10 hours worth of home video, and edit it down into a shorter, more palatable video we could put on DVDs and share with the family. I figured this seemed like a worthy endeavor for a guy who considers himself semi-tech savvy.

After spending 6 hours on it, the project began to seem less like a worthy endeavor and more like a time sucking black hole of format incompatibility and software shortcomings.

When we got our Sony DCR-SR 40 video camera last year, it only made sense to me that if you can record directly to a hard drive (like the Sony DCR-SR 40 does) then surely you can transfer your movies to your computer, edit them, burn them to a DVD, and do it all quickly and easily. While I was right about the transferring, editing, and burning part, I was spectacularly wrong about the quickly and easily part.

The problem is this. My Sony handycam records one format of video, the Windows video editing software I have (which comes with Windows, and is otherwise more than capable of producing a fine home video) only accepts another, and then to get that video on to a playable DVD it has to be "authored" into yet a third format, which the Windows video editor does not do.

Am I missing something? Why does it not make sense for Windows to make a consumer grade video editor that can accept the video coming from my consumer grade video camera, and then output it to a consumer grade DVD? Yes, I know that there are video editing programs out there, like Sony Vegas, that do all of this in one package. But I don't need to drive a Cadillac just to go to the store to pick up milk, which is what that seems like to me.

I was eventually able to get my video edited and burned to a DVD, but there was much cursing, format conversion (and confusion), and downloading of third party applications along the way.

I don't feel like I’m asking for the world here. I'm just saying, Hey Windows, why not make life easier for us amateur home video enthusiasts by giving us a video editor that gets along with video cameras and DVDs alike. You may end up keeping some of us around if you do. If you don't, those other guys with the cooler looking products, the brilliant TV commercials, and the built in applications that do everything easily, are going to look very enticing.

By the way, should you find yourself in my predicament, let me recommend an excellent open source (AKA Free!) application called DVD Flick to help you burn your videos to DVD.

A Russian Taxi Driver Changed My Life

It’s weird how life works. You know? I met a Russian in Texas who change my life. Really. I believe he did.

I travel quite a bit but it’s rare that I take a taxi. In fact, I’ve probably only taken a taxi a dozen times in my life. Well, I’ll tell you what, this taxi ride was like no other.

Michael, my taxi driver is a 56 year old husband and father of 3 who came to America in 1989 with $150 in his pockets, no house, no job, no friends and with no idea what would take place in the days and years to come. He most definitely had no idea that 18 years later he’d be sharing his life story to a stranger from Nashville, TN on a taxi ride to the Dallas airport.

The 30 minute from Plano to DFW airport wasn’t nearly enough time for every detail of his life but those 30 minutes were priceless. I listened intently as he recounted his arrival to America; starting at a refugee camp in Rome, he flew over to New York, had a short layover and then touched down in Dallas. He was greeted by a family of Russian-American Jews who had come to welcome and take care of this new Russian-Jewish immigrant. I don’t have time to tell that part of the story but trust me, the way that community came around Michael and his family was amazing and inspiring.

Michael talked about his first job in the states where from 10pm until 6am he would clean Jack n the Box restaurants for a $4.25/hr (minimum wage at that time). He retold how he landed his first taxi driver job and how he would drive 18 hours a day in order to provide for his family. He painted a vivid picture for me of how life was in Russia (the former Soviet Union) where freedom and choice were not a part of everyday life like here in the states. His love and appreciation for America was apparent, more so than I was used to seeing. He spoke of this country as a husband would about his wife. He loves America.

His attitude was distinctly different than that of the media who make America out to be shameful and sometimes something I’m embarrassed of (and I don't know why). But not in that moment; I was proud to be from a country that promoted freedom and choice. I was proud to be from a country where a Russian Jew could not only survive but thrive. In that moment I was proud to be an American.

But that’s not all I took away from our conversation and by know means the most important nugget. You see, toward the tail end of our chat, I asked him for advice. What would you tell a 30 year old husband and soon-to-be- father of two about life?

“Don’t be afraid to go down,” commanded Michael in his imperfect English and heavy Russian accent. He proceeded to tell me how American men don’t know how to take rejection, failure and loss. He told me a couple stories in particular that illustrated his point; stories of successful business men who wound up nearly homeless simply because they weren’t prepared to handle the hardships that life threw their way.

“Don’t be afraid to go down.” Those words will forever ring in my ears. How will I react when life deals me a real blow? I’m not sure. I’ve never experienced a loss of a close family member, friend, spouse or child. I’ve never gone hungry or jobless for extended period of time. I’ve never had to endure cancer or any serious ailment for that matter. Honestly, I am afraid to go down. All I can do is pray that God will grant me the hope and courage to carry on when life does deal me a blow.

This whole car ride felt surreal, like I was a part of a movie or something. But this was real. Michael’s story was real. And the story got better and better as we approached the airport. I didn’t want to get out of the car.

It’s been 18 years after Michael and his family arrived in Dallas and I haven’t even given you half the stuff he told me. He’s come a long way from cleaning fast food joints in the middle of the night. He now owns his own Taxi/Transportation Company, with 9 taxis and 6 drivers. He grosses $750.000/year and nets $150.000 of that. He has half a million dollars in the bank, a $300,000 house and 3 cars - all paid off. He talks and laughs like a man that can’t be any more joyful and content. And he’s still driving strangers around Dallas. Crazy, huh?

I’ll never forget Michael. If you ever happen to be hailing a cab in Dallas, be on the look out for a short, middle-aged Russian driver with a smile on his face…it will be life changing.
-brian

I love top 10 lists...

I especially love end of the year top 10 lists. So I just wanted to throw out my 10 favorite records of 2007.

The criteria is pretty simple, it had to of had a street date in 2007 (US release). It was tough, there were plenty of records that released in 2006 and didn't get "uncovered" until 2007, but sorry, those will just have to be edited in to last years list.

I'll also try to add some colorful commentary on why these records stuck out to me. I would encourage you to give them a spin, and if you like them, then there, I just helped you decide how to spend those iTunes gift cards that you'll find in your stockings this year! Enjoy.

In no particular order:

Travis – The Boy with No Name: On Travis' last record "12 Memories" they got a little to Anti-War/Bush, and it interfered with the music. Unless your name is Bono, I really don't care about your politics. Just sing. The Boy with No Name is a return back to the sweet melodious early days of Travis

Robbers on High Street – Grand Animals: Somewhat Beatlesque... if the Beatles would have grown up around SoHo, and been indie pop darlings...

Rilo Kiley – Under the Blacklight: I love this band. Jenny Lewis' voice is just "butta", it's so smooth and comfortable. The slight Alt-Country undertones make this record so easy to listen to.

Radiohead – In Rainbows: I thought that since there was no label whatsoever and only 10 days of lead time before this was released, that it was going to be just weird for weird's sake. Radiohead delivers again, an experimental rock record that makes you HAVE to listen to it several times to get it. Thom Yorke's voice is as haunting as it is addictive. Plus, I paid exactly what I wanted to for it.

Griffin House - Flying Upside Down: This is perfect driving and thinking music. Griffin is as modern troubadour as you can get.

Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly – The Chronicles of a Bohemian Teenager: I've heard nothing like this before. It's singer-songwriter/folk/acoustic sounding, but with electronica stylings. I don't know, call it Folktronica... This is a fantastic record.

Fionn Regan – The End of History - If it's a cold, rainy, late autumn afternoon... you NEED to be listening to this. Reminds me of Nick Drake...without the VW commercial.

Fiction Plane – Left Side of the Brain: What if Sting had a son, and what if that son decided to form the Police today? What would it sound like...? Oh wait...

Dustin Kensrue – Please Come Home: Front man for hardcore band Thrice does an alt-country/folk-rock record? Really...? yes really.

Albert Hammond Jr. – Yours to Keep: This is the guitarist for The Strokes. Imagine all of the sweet pop guitar melodies from The Strokes without the "I'm a rock star" attitude.

Part 3: Listen To Your Gut

2 different job ops presented themselves to me over the past month. That in itself is pretty darn flattering. I wasn’t even looking…plop, they just landed on my door step. For the first time in my 30 years, someone pursued me rather than me beating down their door. In fact, this past week I was flown to Dallas, TX to meet the executive team of one of these companies.

Big $, big opportunity, big future AND big reservations.

It was that darn gut feeling again, the same one I had when I bought the speaker from the guys in the child molester van and the time I handed my credit card # to the scam artist selling me a $38,700/year job.

I’m much older now and hopefully much wiser. But for some reason, I was tempted to ignore my gut.


I had been meeting various members of the team all day long, talking the talk, fielding questions, so on and so forth. Around 4pm everyone had a conference call so I hung out in the 4th floor lobby, contemplating my future and why I didn’t feel right about this.

Gut: You’re older now and hopefully wiser.
Me: But wow, I could double or possibly triple my current salary.

Gut: You’re older now and hopefully wiser.
ME: Maybe I’m just being overly cautious.

Gut: You’re older now and hopefully wiser.
Me: Walk away Brian. Just walk away. Walk…

It was 1 week ago today that I was sitting in the 4th floor of a Dallas office complex. I listened to my gut. You see - I’m older now and YES, I’m wiser.

Also read:
Part 1: Listen To Your Gut
Part 2: Listen To Your Gut

America Without The Whopper...

Is like Peanut butter without jelly, Salt without Peppa, Oreos without the milk...I could go on indefinitely.

Lest you take the Whopper for granted, watch would would happen it The King decided to take that flame broiled goodness away from us. MAY IT NEVER BE.

WATCH

Help Wanted: Any Moron Who Will Easily Give Over Their Credit Card Info

Part 2: Listen To Your Gut

Every new college grad dreams of making the big bucks someday. And why shouldn’t we? We’ve just completed 4 years of long grueling days spent sleeping in class, hanging out with friends and long nights spent “educating” ourselves to all the world has to offer. If that doesn’t justify a high paying job straight out of school, then I don’t know what does.

For me, that high paying job meant pursuing an opportunity I saw in the local newspaper that boasted of a $38,700/year sales position. It didn’t matter that the name of the company wasn’t printed on the ad nor any other trustworthy indicators, the $38,700 had my attention, that’s all I needed to know.

When I entered the office for my 2pm interview, it seemed rather odd to be greeted by a 16 year old receptionist. No matter, I was confident that $38,700 was in my immediate future. In fact, it wasn’t until I left that office that I started to put the pieces together.

My thought process:

• 16 year old receptionist…weird.
• Empty office building with only random furniture and nothing on the walls…hmm, must be a start up.
• An 18, maybe 20 year old kid interviewing me? Wow, if he’s the boss, I’ve got a real chance of moving of the latter fast. Duh!
• I’m selling a new type of fire retardant materials, alright, at least I’m making $38,700.
• I have to pay for my own training? Ok, sure, why not
• I have to give my credit card number so I can purchase my resource books? Well, I’ll make it back in my first week. No biggie. :-)

I know what you’re saying…WHAT WAS I THINKING? Well, I obviously wasn’t. And I obviously didn’t learn enough from my “don’t buy one stolen speaker from guys in a child molester van” experience.

I did however react to a gut feeling as I drove away from that interview. I immediately called my credit card and had them cancel the charges for my $300 resource materials and then called the Better Business Bureau to report the incident and even got the local news to investigate the situation (pats on the back, thank you thank you). Sure enough, it was a scam.

Again, the moral of the story. Listen to your gut. I new full well that this didn’t smell right, however, the idea of making money blinded me.

Let my foolishness be a lesson to all y’all.
-brian

Spam. The Other White Meat.

Been wondering what to serve all of those house guests you're expecting for the holidays? Why not revisit an American classic and check out these Spam recipes:

Ginger Spam Salad - mmm, savory, filling, and tasty!

Spam Breakfast Burritos - a Mexican favorite with an othermeat twist!

Spam Vegetable Strudel - what's not to like about the combination of Spam, Vegetables, and Strudel!

Spam Veggie Pita Pockets - a quick and delicious treat for the professional on-the-go!

All of these recipes are courtesy of Gmail's spam folder, which is, apparently, not only a good place to send emails you can't stand, but also an excellent source of recipes you will hopefully never use.

What is the deal with e-bay?

Or maybe what is the deal with people who buy stuff on e-bay? As with any early 30’s male, I’ve bought something off e-bay before. OK, maybe a couple of things. And I’ve sold some things on it too. E-bay is truly the Garage sale of the internet, except it’s one of those “the entire neighborhood” garage sales, and the neighborhood I’m referring to is called Earth…

So what’s my beef with e-bay? I don’t really have a beef with e-bay; it’s more with the mentality that surrounds it. E-bay has turned into this global status symbol/humanitarian/Fandamonium sort of garage sale. This is fine and actually really fine when I’m able to take advantage and display my items on the virtual table in the driveway.

I love music. I especially love how Mr. Jobs has enabled me to have EVERY song that I want in something that will fit in my pocket and also create a user experience that has made music consumption really fun once again. (at least since my beloved Tower Records has closed) However, whenever I run out of hard drive space on my iPod, it’s time to move up to the next one. The one with double the hard drive space for $50 less.

That’s where e-bay comes in; I sell my old iPod on e-bay. And then this is where the “what’s the deal with people on e-bay” comes in. I’ve sold 5 iPods on e-bay now, so I have a little bit of a scientific approach here. THEY SELL FOR 75 to 100 % of what I paid for them… brand new! Almost every time. In fact, it’s never really an issue for my wife to let me drop $300 on a new iPod, because we know that I’ll get around 85% of that from the sell of my old iPod. And these aren’t brand new “I just decided I didn’t want it” iPods. These are year old, 1 or 2 generations ago iPods. IPods that have been on airplanes, work spaces, a 2 year old’s hands, slid across the asphalt, you get the picture.

Don’t these poor e-bayers realize that if you just cut out 2 or 3 six packs or pizzas next week, you could walk right up to Target and get a brand spanking new one? Or even if you weren’t up to doing that, then cruise on over to Apple.com or Amazon, and get one there. You’ve got internet access, remember, you’re on e-bay.

So what is it? Is it that you just want to win a particular item at all costs? You just can’t let OH_NO_HE_DIDN’T274 have that particular item. Is it just that desire to have an iPod that has been test driven with some “character” (i.e. scratches and fingerprints) flaws? Is it the need to help a budget strapped lad get a brand new digital audio player while he sells you his used one? Whatever reason it is, please keep it coming.

I’ll let you know when my next one goes up, but you can almost guarantee that it’ll be a couple of days after that new iPod comes out, you know, the one that holds every song ever recorded EVER… in your pocket.

Buying Speakers From A Child Molester Van

Part 1: Listen To Your Gut

It was the summer after my 6th grade year, no, it was my freshman year of high school, ahh, I mean college. Okay, who am I kidding; I was just out of college and old enough to know better. If hindsight is 20/20 and love is blind, then stupidity is somewhere in the middle.

I had just finished my lunch at a strip mall like shopping center with a McDonalds, Subway, Blockbuster and a bunch of mom & pop shops…oh, and a bank. A bank with one of those dreaded ATM machines. One that you could easily withdraw $100 if you were so inclined.

And $100 is exactly what I took out after my encounter with THEM. You see, I was robbed…well, I was bamboozled anyway.

Two guys in an old white window-less conversion van (you know the ones child molesters use in the movies) pulled up beside my car as I was unlocking my door.

“Hey buddy…do you need any speakers,” yelled one of THEM. I paused, I hesitated, I turned around. The rest is history. In a matter of 10 minutes, these two young hoodlums convinced me to walk 75 long yards across a crowded parking lot over the bank with the ATM machine. It’s there that I proceeded to pull out 5 crisp $20 bills which I then exchanged in return for 1 fine home stereo speaker. Oh yes, you heard me right, ONE speaker. And a stolen speaker at that.

They told me that these speakers were regularly $1,034 but were only $200 because the company these guys “worked” for had a surplus…bla, bla, bla. The lies came out smooth and I bought every last one of them. They were expensive lies at that.

So, here’s the application as best as I can see it:

1) Never ever trust two guys in a child molester van and
2) Trust your instinct, LISTEN TO YOUR GUT

Stay Tuned for “Part 2: Listen To Your Gut”

The Voices In Your Head Are Marketers

Lately, if you've been hearing things that nobody else can, it might be the marketing group for a major corporation. This would be true if you live in New York and have recently taken a stroll down Prince Street in SoHo. This is where A&E has a billboard employing a new technology, developed by Holosonic, which transmits an "audio spotlight" to single out individual passers-by and whisper "Who's there? Who's there?" The whole thing is a promotion for A&E's new series "Paranormal State". This strikes me as fascinating, clever (albeit a bit invasive), and particularly spooky all at the same time.

To read the whole story, check out AdAge.

Don't Get Ground by the Grind

For the last 10 months I've been working with a group of guys to try and start a business. I've been neck deep in the excitement, frustration, and uncertainty that comes with attempting to be an entrepreneur, and it's had me thinking a lot about the notions of occupation and working for a living.

In a recent conversation about our jobs, a friend of mine pointed out that the interesting thing about this is, for most of us, what we do for a living says very little about who we are or what we're passionate about. Yet, when we meet somebody for the first time, the question we ask first is: What do you do for a living? For instance, I used to be a janitorial contract services salesman (I led a thrilling life). When asked about it, that’s exactly how I would describe myself. But you would have learned much more about who I am if I had also told you that I’m a musician, a song writer, a philosophy major, a husband, a mountain biker, and I thrive on being in close relationships.

Earlier this year The Conference Board published a report indicating that less than half of all Americans are satisfied with their jobs, and about 20% of the workforce do not see themselves in the same job a year from now.

I don’t know why all of those people are dissatisfied with their jobs, but I suspect it has something to do with the disconnect between what we spend 40 – 60 hours a week doing, and what we would rather spend 40-60 hours a week doing.

I’m not saying we should all quit our jobs and commit ourselves to the pursuit of the utopian life. That’s ridiculous, and I know it just doesn’t work that way. What I am saying is maybe we should risk being a little more honest about who we are. When somebody asks “What do you do” maybe respond with another question “Do you mean what do I spend a bunch of time doing every week, or did you mean Who am I really, and what am I passionate about?”

Just because you spend 60 hours a week doing a thing, doesn't mean that thing is who you are.

Shane Claiborne says in two sentences what I’ve spent the last 374 words trying to:

"I was convinced that what we do is not nearly important as who we are. The question is not whether you will be a doctor or a lawyer but what kind of doctor or lawyer you will be."

The Beans Are Burning

I walked in to the kitchen a few days ago, and my wife greeted me with this: "Okay, can I tell you something that really concerns me? These green beans spark and flame in the microwave."
This prompted me to do a little bit of investigation on the subject. And yes, if you're wondering, I was putting off doing other more important things in order perform said research.

It appears that some vegetables contain high amounts of certain elements and minerals that, when the conditions are right, will make them spark and even ignite in the microwave. In my opinion, this is awesome news for green beans. Some excitement, unpredictability, and danger would do well for a vegetable whose reputation is otherwise pretty bland.

So, if you're needing a way to spice up dinner time, go on, throw some green beans in the microwave, turn up the power level, nuke 'em for 15 or 20 seconds, and let the good times roll!

"I'll kick your @$$ if you mess with my kid!"

When it comes to defending my kids I lack tact.

So I really shouldn't tell a teacher or soccer coach that I'm going to kick their ass.

If you are tactless too, these resources might just help.

Being Your Child's Best Advocate 1

Being Your Child's Best Advocate 2

Vicki Caruana's Standing up for your child - blog

MC Hammer is back!

MC Hammer is back with dancejam.com

So dig out those baggy pants, get your groove on and start uploading videos.

Need a little inspiration?

Can't Touch This

Evolution of Dance

Listen to the interview here.

The $9,250 MP3

If you could choose between paying either 99 cents or $9,250 for that newly released Flying Burrito Brothers tune, which would you pick?

Unfortunately for Jammie Thomas, she doesn't have that choice. The Department of Justice has ruled that $9,250 per song is a fair price for Thomas to pay for the 24 songs she downloaded from Kazaa. This means she now owes the RIAA a grand total of $222,000 for her infraction. Holy crap!

Let's hope they were 24 really good songs.

A Lucy Guy

I'm not a baby guy. Some guys are, I'm just not. Never have been. If you see me in the grocery store, and we know each other, and you've got your 3 month old with you, I guarantee I'm not going to want to hold it. I'm not going to make silly faces and noises to try to make it laugh either. It's nothing personal man, I'm just not a baby guy.

The irony of it all is that I have a baby. Her name is Lucy and she's 10 months old.

A few nights ago Lucy woke up at 2:40am crying. Not just a little crying, it was pretty much a full out wail. 10 months ago this would have made me curse the earth, pull out my hair, and fake like I was asleep so that my wife would take care of it. But that wasn't my reaction this time. As soon as I heard her I jumped out of bed, ran to her room and scooped her up. Hugging her close to my chest I could feel her face was wet with tears. I didn't know what was wrong. All I knew was that something had hurt or scared her and my instinct was to protect her from it.

Standing in the dark in the middle of her room, holding my daughter as she began to fall back asleep in my arms, I realized something: I desperately wanted for that moment not to end. I, the "not-a-baby-guy" guy, was cherishing this baby. It became clear that this little, warm, squirmy potato of a person has had a profound impact on me in the short 10 months that I've known her.

No, I'm still not a baby guy. But I have become, unequivocally and without hesitation, a Lucy guy.

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture

"I'm sexy, I'm cute, I've got the brains to boot," is what I heard coming from my bathroom a couple weeks ago. Well, maybe I didn't hear those exact words but that was my interpretation of what I saw. You see, my wife has a ritual where by if she's feeling beautiful that day, she'll do a little dance in front of the mirror. It's a combination of shakin' her thing like Shakira and an old school cheerleader move. Pure magic to watch.

It was not too long after that, during my morning back roads drive to work that I started contemplating BEAUTY. I happened to be driving through the hills of Brentwood, TN on a clear, crisp November morning; the trees were radiating bright oranges, yellows and red. It was in the moment that I wished I had a camera.

Let me explain.

You see, it was that morning that I discovered a simple but profound definition of "beauty." I realized that morning that true beauty is when I want to take a picture of it. You know those moments when you're mouth drops open and you wish you had a camera to capture that magnitude of the beauty that is before you.

For me those moments are things like Tennessee in the fall, exploring new parts of the world, my daughter in her Sunday dress or my wife getting read for "date night". It's during those times that I get the urge to reach for the camera, hoping, just hoping to capture some of that beauty.

The problem is that a camera rarely can capture those movements. True beauty entices us to hold on but in reality we can’t…we have to soak it up moment by moment. It doesn't last for ever. It comes and goes and quickly as the autumn leaves. But that's what makes it beautiful.

So next time you find yourself reaching for your camera, just stop, enjoy...you're in the presence of true beauty.

-Brian

Worse Than My High School Breakup

Two weeks ago is when it started, or rather when it ended. Sleep, that is. I’m usually not one who tosses and turns but as of late this has become a nightly ritual. 2:11am, 3:47am, 4:09am…the night creeps on. Dream after dream after dream after dream.

Life dealt me a difficult decision, one of great magnitude. One that I have yet to experience in my short 30 years of life. You see, I happen to manage a small team of people, all of whom I’d consider friends. The problem is that our business is changing. And change, well, isn’t always fun. Especially when friends are involved.


I had to make a business decision. One that was made in the name of “growth” and the “future of the business.” These very words – “business decision” and “future” fell out of my mouth as I let my friend know she would no longer have a job.

It’s not personal, it’s business.

Yet, here I am the day after and I’m not so sure it’s NOT personal. You see, businesses are run be people. Real people with real families and real feelings. It is personal. Life is personal. And sometimes that makes life hard. Real hard.

So did I make a mistake? I don’t think so. I’m convinced that I made the right decision…no matter how tough it was. But it’s okay to take it personally. In fact, I’m certain my friend doesn’t feel very friendly toward me right now. And that’s okay. That make sense. I delivered some of the worst news possible; she has reason to feel that way. And it’s okay for me to hurt for her.

My dad once told me that life is full of things that we don’t want to do. Dad, I’m learning the truth of those words. I’m also learning that it’s those hard decisions, those things that grow us into men who can experience life to its fullest, a life that is hard at times but a REAL life nevertheless.
-Brian

Let the Music Frenzy Begin

So, you're a music connoisseur and you've been looking for a way to download 1 billion songs. Everybody needs to expand their collection from time to time, right? The problem is, you want to do it legally, but you don't have a billion dollars laying around. What do you do?

Well it turns out Pepsi and Amazon just might be teaming up to bring you the solution. It's rumored that the two mega-corporations are planning a 1 billion song giveaway.

Check out the whole story from Digital Music News.

Lyrics to Learn From / Cats In The Cradle by Harry Chapin

My Dad, Thanksgiving, and The Big Green Egg

My Dad is 61. He lives in the Mohave Desert, is a member of a Harley gang called The Goatheads, and eats (almost exclusively) large amounts of meat that he smokes to perfection on his Big Green Egg. I spent Thanksgiving with him this year and I learned a few things:

1. It’s possible for a dude to gain 7 pounds in one day. On Thanksgiving day my weight started at 161 and ended at 168. My wife can vouch for this.

2. Oatman, Arizona (population 200) has wild donkeys that roam the streets, and a restaurant that has real dollar bills for wall paper.

3. It’s a bad idea to watch Ghost Rider with your 86 year old grandma. She will hate almost everything about that movie.

4. It’s a good idea to eat just about anything my Dad cooks on the Big Green Egg except, perhaps, his “Pig Tails” which are so ragingly spicy that I felt like a small portion of Hell had been relocated to the inside of my mouth.

5. I possess the ability to jump across the entire width of my Dad’s pool. (See above photo)

There’s a lot I don’t understand about the desert, and there’s a lot I don’t understand about people who move to the desert. My Dad moved to the desert, and there’s a lot I don’t understand about him. But I do know this, he loves his kids. And he showed us this through selfless hospitality and phenomenal cooking.

Thanks for a great Thanksgiving Dad.

Don't Call Me Tree Hugger

I had a disagreement with a tree yesterday.

During a mountain bike ride in the hills just outside of Nashville I lost control for a split second, or two. In my state of frenzy, I must have unwittingly elected to veer off the trail and attempt to mow down one of the resident trees. The tree however, recognizing the error in my logic, was starkly opposed to this choice and promptly made his disagreement known. Rather than offering a diplomatic request like "Why don't you go around me, instead of trying to to go through me" the tree simply responded with brute force and resilience. As I rapidly moved forward into said tree, I received a sharp thump on the head, many small slaps to the face, a whack to the nose, a gaping tree bark rash on my left arm, Rambo-style cuts across my right bicep and a boatload of minor bruises.

Once the initial shock wore off I stood up, dusted my sell off, and seeing that none of my new wounds appeared particularly life threatening, finished my ride.

My wife was sitting on the couch when I got home. Seeing the dirt on my clothes and my newly acquired cuts and bruises (my right bicep was still bleeding) she offered this semi-scold "You're proud of yourself aren't you?" My wife knows me well. I was proud of myself. She knew it, and I knew it. At least for that moment, I was proud to display my battle scars because I was Mike, bicycle mounted warrior of the trails!

I'm not sure why, it must be a guy thing, but there's just something about getting beat up and living to tell about it, isn't there?

If I Were In A Petting Zoo, I'd Bite You

Don't ask me how or why this analogical anecdote popped in my head – it just did. Blame it on my childhood summers spent at numerous county fairs or my 18 month old daughter's weekly trips to the local zoo.

If you've been neglected the exhilarating experience of a petting zoo and I'm betting there are many of you out there who have, then let me paint the picture. Most kids who grow up in urban or suburban surroundings rarely if ever get to experience the Little House on The Prairie type of lifestyle, so it's up to zoo's and other tourist attractions to create a farm like environment for kids. Usually a small fenced in area half the size of a football field, these kid friendly places house goats, sheep and other domestic, docile animals. If you're lucky you may even see a reindeer (yahoo!). The real magic happens when the animals are released and met by dozens of small children and parents who are eager to share their pre-purchase food pellets with their new furry friends.

Bear with me just a little bit longer. Imagine you're one of these animals...come on, go with me on this. I mean, at first it seems like the good life. You get sweet accommodations, like your own fresh straw bed every night. And your job is to hang out with cute kids that feed you all day. Talk about having it made.

But maybe, just maybe, too much of a good thing can start to take its toll. How many pettings can a guy (I mean a goat) take? Ok, I'm rambling. The point is that if I were one of the animals in one of those petting zoos, I might just snap one day. You know, bite your kids finger off...or at least leave a mark. Enough is enough.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years is that being comfortable in our jobs, our surroundings our community is good...but to a point. It may just be my personality but every once in awhile I want to get away from the normal everyday mundane life, I want to explore, to think, to dream. I'd wager that you can relate with me on this, at some level. As guys, we can't be cooped up all day, every day. We were meant to be free, wild, imaginative and productive.
So if you're feeling like you're in a petting zoo and things seem nice and easy now, heed this warning and get out while you still can.

-brian

Slacker

Ahh...now that's a name that resonates with me - SLACKER. It's actually the name of a company out of San Diego (holla...that's my stomping ground) who just released a handheld radio/mp3 player. So if you're wife thought you were lazy before, well, she best not be hooking you up with one of these for Christmas.

Just in case...the players retail for $199.99 (15 stations, 2GB), $249.99 (25 stations, 4GB) and $299.99 (40 stations, 8GB). The players access surrounding WiFi connections, but they can also play stations when off the network. The team is also planning to expand player connectivity through satellite networks. I read about this in the Digital Music News.

Of Bugs and Babies

Driving through North Carolina on I-40 last weekend I noticed a billboard that read “Why do bugs still fly at car level?” It’s a life or death question for bugs, but it may have some significance for us fathers too.

Unfortunately for most bugs, they really only get one shot at it. By the time they’ve realized it’s not a good idea to fly at car level they’ve become a splat on somebody’s windshield (probably mine – I tend to hit more bugs than most). I suspect the reason most bugs act this way has to do with both instinct and familiarity. It must be instinctual, on some level, for bugs to try and defy death by weaving through raging freeway traffic. It’s just what comes naturally. This tells me that following your instincts may not always be a good thing. It’s also familiar. It’s what all of the other bugs are doing, and this makes it feel safe, even though it’s actually wildly dangerous.

About the same time I developed this new concern for the wellbeing of freeway flying bugs, I met a guy named Ray. Ray’s a few shades older than I am and has three daughters. Ray told me something remarkable. “I try to spend 15 minutes with each daughter, in person, in their world, personally involved, every day” he said. “I make it a point for them to see me love their mother, with affection, by serving her, with words of love, and through meaningful conversation.” I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Ray, and it occurs to me that he is a guy, maybe one of the few, who is “flying above car level”.

I’ve been a father for only 10 months, but it’s already clear to me that the instinctual, familiar thing is to not live the way Ray talked about. You see, car level for us guys, I think, is busyness, work-aholism, and being generally disengaged with our wives and kids. In some ways, it’s just easier… even natural. Living like Ray takes a ton of work, and may even mean that we sacrifice promotions and status at work for the sake of our families.

Ray has been living out those statements for 15 years. Talking with him has given me confidence that the air is clearer and freer up above the traffic where he is, even though it takes a lot more work to get up there.

No, it probably won’t get us plastered to somebody’s windshield if we take the instinctual, familiar route and fly at car level, but there will be casualties. However in our case, we’re not the only ones in danger; it’s our wives and our kids we’re risking.

Going WWE On My Wife

I was told that marriage was a series of ups and downs. Well, 2 days ago would be considered a "down." Now, I wouldn’t necessarily label myself as a hot tempered sort of dude, however, my actions the other night may have spoken otherwise.

Let me provide some context to this crazy episode I'm referring to as "going WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) on my wife." We've had company for about a month straight, I've been traveling a bit with work, spending a ton of time on "curricular activities" (I’ll share later) and at the same time trying to be a dad and husband.

Tell-tell signs of my growing fatigue and over exertion were showing up everywhere this past week, from sailor-like cursing spells in the car (by myself, oh course) to the barrage of annoyances that seemed to keep surfacing throughout the week. I should have heeded these warnings and slowed down. Needless to say, I kept the peddle to the medal and I crashed and burned...BIG TIME!

For all those who may want to learn from my mistakes, LISTEN UP. Yelling obscenities at your wife while smashing her cherished antique chair on the living room floor isn't exactly the way to show your pregnant (5 months), tired (no, exhausted) wife how much you love her. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the WORSE thing you could ever do.

And I’m ashamed to say, I WAS THAT GUY.

I've heard that we should learn from our mistakes, well, I’m learning alright. After a brief moment of unbelief, my wife reacted about how I expected. With a mixture of fear, shock and anger, she lashed out with tears and then an emotive onslaught of colorful words. Knowing immediately how completely out of line I was, I rushed to apologize but understandably, a simple sorry and apology hug weren't enough this time. This time, I’d gone beyond the unthinkable.

Fortunately for me, my wife is a Saint, quick to forgive and willing to move beyond my immaturity. Equally as fortunate, is that she’s committed to me; committed to work through the ups and the downs. After 30 minutes, we were able to engage in a reconciliation process.

We're going on year 7 of our marriage. This was definitely an experience (if I can call it that) that will both disturb and encourage me for years to come. It's disturbing to think that I could let things get so bad that I explode in such a way but it’s encouraging to see how my wife was able to respond in such a dire situation.

In the end, I suppose that a broken chair is better than a broken marriage. But I'd wager that too many broken chairs could lead to the latter. I’d like to encourage you to join me in slowing down. Trust me, the alternative isn't pretty.
-brian

PS. If anyone has tips for fixing broken chairs...I’m all ears.

The (nearly) Naked Truth

I have a 4 year old son. He's awesome. He speaks with a clarity of vision and from such a sincere place in his soul that you'd swear he was 4 and a half or 5.

Bear in mind that this clarity and sincerity is completely unfiltered. He cares not a wit about his surroundings or the company he keeps while making his sincere and honest proclamations. So if, for instance, his dad happens to find himself standing next to Ben Folds at the store-trying to come up with the hippest way of communicating his admiration for the piano rocker-and my son feels the urge to visit the lil' boys room, he'll just shout ,"Daddy! I gotta go poopy!" Roger that. Moment over.

Often, it's possible to read between the lines of what he's saying to find hidden nuggets of truth. For instance, "sissy's crying" could also mean, "sissy's crying because I stole and ate all of her raisins." Or, "I made good decisions" can sometimes be taken as "apart from the 10 minutes + spent in time out for throwing gravel at a bird, things went pretty well today."

It's with this knowledge that my parents report from a recent babysitting stint hit me as particularly noteworthy. They'd walked in to the mall to kill some time and burn off some energy. And my boy excitedly bounds through the sliding double doors exclaiming, "The Mommy Store!!" While pointing directly to...Frederick's of Hollywood.

When my folks relay this story to my wife and me, she turns almost purple with embarrassment. Picturing, no doubt, the concerned looks that must have passed between my parents as they wondered what sordid sexual escapades their precious grandson had been exposed to. Thinking too, that while we aren't head-to-toe flannel jammies, lights off, missionary-position types of people, we aren't exactly Frederick's of Hollywood peeps either. So, while she was mortified at the prospect of the exact nature our love life being announced by a toddler, I allowed my mind to drift to the between-the-lines truth that my son often speaks.

Maybe it's not a bad thing that he equates the lingerie store models with his mother (not something I wanna do mind you, but...). She's attractive, confident, and she's affectionate. It doesn't necessarily mean he's been poking around the wrong side of the closet. And, maybe I'm just the teensiest bit proud that my wife rocks. It might be embarrassing for her, but it's true. And if there's one thing my son knows, it's truth.

Truth. Sincerity. And clarity of vision. That's my boy

- by Tim P