Mary thinks this is the scariest picture ever. I think it is hilarious.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
My First Arrest
Charlie made me do it. I was a good boy. Really. I was.
I was six and Charlie was seven. We were next door neighbors so we were, by default, friends. I have no idea where he is today. We had a fight and I bit him once. We stopped playing together and then eventually our family moved far away... ten blocks.
But before that we were friends and played together all the time. It was 1976 and I wore a yellow baseball hat, a red, white and blue wrist band, cut off jeans and a mesh tank top with the number 76 on it - all the time. I was stylin'. I have no idea what Charlie wore, though I am sure it was equally as cool. It was '76 after all. We played all the time. We played with each other and with the neighborhood kids. Our street even had it's own baseball team. We were organized by one of the older kids on the block. He and a friend from the north part of town arranged a baseball league. We lived on Maple Avenue and went by the moniker of the Maple Maulers. I can only recall one other team and they were the Forest Firemen. They lived on Forest Avenue.
We had shirts with numbers. I got one too even though I was six at the time and didn't really play. I was essentially the team mascot. Still, having a t-shirt with a number and being part of the Maulers gave me a sense of belonging. It was like we had our own gang. Nobody messes with the Maple Maulers... or their kid mascot.
Maybe it was the gang influence. Maybe it was age. Maybe it Charlie or maybe, just maybe, it was just a lack of impulse control that got me into trouble with the law.
I regret to this day that it happened. I wish I could have taken back my actions, but I cannot. I cannot take back the forward motion of my little arm that launched a wooden scrub brush at Bobby D'Andre and his bicycle. I cannot take back the fact that it hit him and made him cry. For that I feel bad.
But he was a punk. He was a seven year old punk.
The day of the incident he kept riding his bike down our street. The street that belonged to the Maulers. He taunted us. He said things that pushed our buttons. He wouldn't leave me and Charlie alone. So we plotted how to take him out. How could we let this punk know that he was on our turf. He had to learn. He had to be driven away. We were going to make an example out of him. No one messes with the Maulers. No one.
So we found a wooden scrub brush. It was probably one Charlie's dad used to keep his white walls clean. Charlie handed me the brush and told me that I should throw it at Bobby. It didn't feel right, but Charlie convinced me to do it. I thought I'd give it a try the next time he drove by. So I did. I did not really think I would hit him. I did not really think I would even come close. But I nailed him. I nailed good and hard with that brush. So hard that he started to cry immediately and raced home. There was no doubt he was going to tell his dad about this. He said so as he peddled off in tears.
So we hid. We went to our back yard and laid low. All was good until later that evening when my father got home. I do not know what was said. I do not know who he spoke with. All I know is that I was in serious trouble. Mom and Dad wore scowls. That was never good.
They told me in a very calm, yet stern manner that the Wilmette Police had called them and that I was in trouble. They had to take me to the station for an investigation into "the incident". I was mortified. The police? How could this have happened? I was only six years old! I didn't think six year olds could go to jail. What was happening to me? How could I have ruined my life so easily. My life was clearly never going to be the same. How could I get out of this? Could I blame Charlie? Was he in trouble too? Did the police call his family? I needed to talk to him immediately to get our story straight, but my parents prevented me from talking to him. There were no stops along the way. It was straight from the house to the car to the station. I was going down. Big time.
I remember the drive to the station. It was dead quiet. I remember the walk from the car to the station as dead quiet too. I swear there wasn't a cicada chirping, the wind stopped blowing and everyone, EVERYONE on the street stopped what they were doing and stared. There he goes. The foolish boy who could not control his impulses. Too bad. So young. I was a dead six year old walking.
As we walked into the station I stared at the ground. I could not bear to meet anyone eye to eye, lest that be all it took for them to pronounce me guilty and send me straight off to jail. They could do that couldn't they? Look you straight in the eye and immediately decide that your case was hopeless? They could do that couldn't they? Eyes down. Don't speak unless spoken too. Use your very best, most polite manners and no matter what do not give them an excuse to lock you away.
We sat in the hallway for an eternity before an officer finally came out from a back room and asked Dad if he could speak with me about the incident. Alone. Dad said yes. I followed the officer to his desk and he directed me to a chair to sit in. He then asked me about the incident. He knew what happened and let me know that he had already spoken with Bobby and his parents about the incident. Crud. He also told me that Charlie was there too. He was in another part of the station being interrogated about the incident by another officer. Double crud. He let me know that he had already heard Charlie's version and now wanted to hear from me what happened. So I told him.
I told him that we went to the same school as Bobby. I told him that Bobby lived on another street. I told him that Bobby was teasing us and not saying nice things to us. I told him that Bobby was bugging us.
And then he asked about throwing the scrub brush at Bobby.
"Who threw the scrub brush at Bobby?"
"I did"
"Why did you do it?"
"Charlie told me to do it."
"Did you think that was a nice thing to do?"
"No sir."
"You knew it was a bad thing, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you know you could have seriously injured Bobby?"
"No, sir. I mean, I guess so. I mean, I didn't think about that."
"What do you think the police should do about this now?"
Holy crud. This wasn't really a question. It was a set up for him to tell me what my punishment was going to be.
"I don't know, sir." I said
The rest of the interrogation was a blur. I couldn't think. Here I was about to be told that my life as I knew it was over. Should I cry? Would that get me sympathy? What about running? Maybe I could make a break for it and live life on the lam. Sure, I could do that. I had plenty of friends. I bet Stutz would figure out a way to help me. Maybe he could leave a window open and I could slip into their basement to sleep at night. No, wait... I could be found out. I'd have to keep running. The cops found out about the scrub brush incident pretty quickly. They would find out even quicker that Stutz and I were good friends. Running wasn't an option. I was going to have to take my lumps.
And then, somehow they let me go home. I was a free man. I was not going to jail. I was going home!
Wait. Mom and Dad couldn't send me to jail but they could also make my life miserable if they chose. And they did. They told me that this was not over and that I had to apologize to Bobby... with his dad there... and Charlie and I were not to play with each other any more.
Crud.
----------------------
Title for this post suggested by Jenne.
I was six and Charlie was seven. We were next door neighbors so we were, by default, friends. I have no idea where he is today. We had a fight and I bit him once. We stopped playing together and then eventually our family moved far away... ten blocks.
But before that we were friends and played together all the time. It was 1976 and I wore a yellow baseball hat, a red, white and blue wrist band, cut off jeans and a mesh tank top with the number 76 on it - all the time. I was stylin'. I have no idea what Charlie wore, though I am sure it was equally as cool. It was '76 after all. We played all the time. We played with each other and with the neighborhood kids. Our street even had it's own baseball team. We were organized by one of the older kids on the block. He and a friend from the north part of town arranged a baseball league. We lived on Maple Avenue and went by the moniker of the Maple Maulers. I can only recall one other team and they were the Forest Firemen. They lived on Forest Avenue.
We had shirts with numbers. I got one too even though I was six at the time and didn't really play. I was essentially the team mascot. Still, having a t-shirt with a number and being part of the Maulers gave me a sense of belonging. It was like we had our own gang. Nobody messes with the Maple Maulers... or their kid mascot.
Maybe it was the gang influence. Maybe it was age. Maybe it Charlie or maybe, just maybe, it was just a lack of impulse control that got me into trouble with the law.
I regret to this day that it happened. I wish I could have taken back my actions, but I cannot. I cannot take back the forward motion of my little arm that launched a wooden scrub brush at Bobby D'Andre and his bicycle. I cannot take back the fact that it hit him and made him cry. For that I feel bad.
But he was a punk. He was a seven year old punk.
The day of the incident he kept riding his bike down our street. The street that belonged to the Maulers. He taunted us. He said things that pushed our buttons. He wouldn't leave me and Charlie alone. So we plotted how to take him out. How could we let this punk know that he was on our turf. He had to learn. He had to be driven away. We were going to make an example out of him. No one messes with the Maulers. No one.
So we found a wooden scrub brush. It was probably one Charlie's dad used to keep his white walls clean. Charlie handed me the brush and told me that I should throw it at Bobby. It didn't feel right, but Charlie convinced me to do it. I thought I'd give it a try the next time he drove by. So I did. I did not really think I would hit him. I did not really think I would even come close. But I nailed him. I nailed good and hard with that brush. So hard that he started to cry immediately and raced home. There was no doubt he was going to tell his dad about this. He said so as he peddled off in tears.
So we hid. We went to our back yard and laid low. All was good until later that evening when my father got home. I do not know what was said. I do not know who he spoke with. All I know is that I was in serious trouble. Mom and Dad wore scowls. That was never good.
They told me in a very calm, yet stern manner that the Wilmette Police had called them and that I was in trouble. They had to take me to the station for an investigation into "the incident". I was mortified. The police? How could this have happened? I was only six years old! I didn't think six year olds could go to jail. What was happening to me? How could I have ruined my life so easily. My life was clearly never going to be the same. How could I get out of this? Could I blame Charlie? Was he in trouble too? Did the police call his family? I needed to talk to him immediately to get our story straight, but my parents prevented me from talking to him. There were no stops along the way. It was straight from the house to the car to the station. I was going down. Big time.
I remember the drive to the station. It was dead quiet. I remember the walk from the car to the station as dead quiet too. I swear there wasn't a cicada chirping, the wind stopped blowing and everyone, EVERYONE on the street stopped what they were doing and stared. There he goes. The foolish boy who could not control his impulses. Too bad. So young. I was a dead six year old walking.
As we walked into the station I stared at the ground. I could not bear to meet anyone eye to eye, lest that be all it took for them to pronounce me guilty and send me straight off to jail. They could do that couldn't they? Look you straight in the eye and immediately decide that your case was hopeless? They could do that couldn't they? Eyes down. Don't speak unless spoken too. Use your very best, most polite manners and no matter what do not give them an excuse to lock you away.
We sat in the hallway for an eternity before an officer finally came out from a back room and asked Dad if he could speak with me about the incident. Alone. Dad said yes. I followed the officer to his desk and he directed me to a chair to sit in. He then asked me about the incident. He knew what happened and let me know that he had already spoken with Bobby and his parents about the incident. Crud. He also told me that Charlie was there too. He was in another part of the station being interrogated about the incident by another officer. Double crud. He let me know that he had already heard Charlie's version and now wanted to hear from me what happened. So I told him.
I told him that we went to the same school as Bobby. I told him that Bobby lived on another street. I told him that Bobby was teasing us and not saying nice things to us. I told him that Bobby was bugging us.
And then he asked about throwing the scrub brush at Bobby.
"Who threw the scrub brush at Bobby?"
"I did"
"Why did you do it?"
"Charlie told me to do it."
"Did you think that was a nice thing to do?"
"No sir."
"You knew it was a bad thing, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you know you could have seriously injured Bobby?"
"No, sir. I mean, I guess so. I mean, I didn't think about that."
"What do you think the police should do about this now?"
Holy crud. This wasn't really a question. It was a set up for him to tell me what my punishment was going to be.
"I don't know, sir." I said
The rest of the interrogation was a blur. I couldn't think. Here I was about to be told that my life as I knew it was over. Should I cry? Would that get me sympathy? What about running? Maybe I could make a break for it and live life on the lam. Sure, I could do that. I had plenty of friends. I bet Stutz would figure out a way to help me. Maybe he could leave a window open and I could slip into their basement to sleep at night. No, wait... I could be found out. I'd have to keep running. The cops found out about the scrub brush incident pretty quickly. They would find out even quicker that Stutz and I were good friends. Running wasn't an option. I was going to have to take my lumps.
And then, somehow they let me go home. I was a free man. I was not going to jail. I was going home!
Wait. Mom and Dad couldn't send me to jail but they could also make my life miserable if they chose. And they did. They told me that this was not over and that I had to apologize to Bobby... with his dad there... and Charlie and I were not to play with each other any more.
Crud.
----------------------
Title for this post suggested by Jenne.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Take Your Finger Out Of There!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Now Taking Requests
Okay. Experiment time. You give me a title for a post. Any title. Just make one up, and I will write the post to go with it. Let's try to keep it clean and only three or four words to the title. Make it short and sweet and give me some room to be creative enough to make the post fit the title.
Any takers? I know there are a couple regular readers out there. C'mon, let's try it out.
Any takers? I know there are a couple regular readers out there. C'mon, let's try it out.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
R.E.S.P.E.C.T. For A Five Year Old
Mary took the girls to a Fourth of July Festival down by the village center today. While there the girls each got a balloon from a magician. Grace got a pretty flower (a daffodil she says) and Hannah got a yellow bunny rabbit (with "floppy moppy ears").
The girls took their balloon creations to the party at Uncle Bill and Aunt Terry's house later in the day. On the way to the party Hannah expressed great concern that her balloon would blow away if we had all the windows rolled down. Grace likes to control her own window on nice days and wanted hers down. We agreed that it would be better for the balloons if we went with a/c.
We made the girls leave the balloons in the car while we were at the party. I had no desire to deal with a fit of screams if someone at the party were to accidentally pop a balloon. We survived the party without a balloon incident. Grace did try to pick up a sparkler with her hands, but she's okay and will heal fine.
So it was about 10:15 PM when the fireworks had ended and we finally got the girls wrangled and buckled into their seats. Hannah requested to listen to "the monkey song" aka Another Postcard by Barenaked Ladies. Soon we were jammin.
And then we heard the squeaky twists of balloon on balloon. Hannah was playing with the bunny. Then... Pop! Quicker than you could say "don't play too hard with your balloon bunny or you will likely pop the lower torso and be only left with the floppy moppy ears" the lower torso of the bunny disappeared. Hannah was left holding a still inflated pair of floppy moppy ears. The rest of the bunny lay dangling, deflated, in shreds.
And then came the tears. It was well past bedtime so over all we thought she had held out well for the majority of the evening. We anticipated a melt down at some point. But then Grace stepped in. And what she said to her sister made our hearts get warm and fuzzy. You know, the way you feel after seeing a really good Hallmark Cards commercial?
Grace said to Hannah "That's okay sissie. I'll share my balloon with you. Part of mine popped earlier, but I'll trade with you if you want." And the tears started to dry up instantly.
"Okay...sniff, sniff... I'll trade with you. Thanks. Here you go." Said Hannah
But then upon being handed a the remnants of the bunny and realizing that she was getting just the ears Grace took back her flower and tossed back the bunny to Hannah. She said quite simply "I don't want to trade for that."
And the tears started flowing. Hannah was really upset now. How dare Grace take back her offer. A deal was a deal. And then like a mob boss who just found out that his right hand man had turned state's evidence against him, Hannah said sternly... "So this is how you treat me? Where is the respect!?!? You are not giving me respect!?!!!"
Wow. I thought this was about a balloon. Apparently Hannah and Grace have some baggage between them that I am not aware of yet.
The girls took their balloon creations to the party at Uncle Bill and Aunt Terry's house later in the day. On the way to the party Hannah expressed great concern that her balloon would blow away if we had all the windows rolled down. Grace likes to control her own window on nice days and wanted hers down. We agreed that it would be better for the balloons if we went with a/c.
We made the girls leave the balloons in the car while we were at the party. I had no desire to deal with a fit of screams if someone at the party were to accidentally pop a balloon. We survived the party without a balloon incident. Grace did try to pick up a sparkler with her hands, but she's okay and will heal fine.
So it was about 10:15 PM when the fireworks had ended and we finally got the girls wrangled and buckled into their seats. Hannah requested to listen to "the monkey song" aka Another Postcard by Barenaked Ladies. Soon we were jammin.
And then we heard the squeaky twists of balloon on balloon. Hannah was playing with the bunny. Then... Pop! Quicker than you could say "don't play too hard with your balloon bunny or you will likely pop the lower torso and be only left with the floppy moppy ears" the lower torso of the bunny disappeared. Hannah was left holding a still inflated pair of floppy moppy ears. The rest of the bunny lay dangling, deflated, in shreds.
And then came the tears. It was well past bedtime so over all we thought she had held out well for the majority of the evening. We anticipated a melt down at some point. But then Grace stepped in. And what she said to her sister made our hearts get warm and fuzzy. You know, the way you feel after seeing a really good Hallmark Cards commercial?
Grace said to Hannah "That's okay sissie. I'll share my balloon with you. Part of mine popped earlier, but I'll trade with you if you want." And the tears started to dry up instantly.
"Okay...sniff, sniff... I'll trade with you. Thanks. Here you go." Said Hannah
But then upon being handed a the remnants of the bunny and realizing that she was getting just the ears Grace took back her flower and tossed back the bunny to Hannah. She said quite simply "I don't want to trade for that."
And the tears started flowing. Hannah was really upset now. How dare Grace take back her offer. A deal was a deal. And then like a mob boss who just found out that his right hand man had turned state's evidence against him, Hannah said sternly... "So this is how you treat me? Where is the respect!?!? You are not giving me respect!?!!!"
Wow. I thought this was about a balloon. Apparently Hannah and Grace have some baggage between them that I am not aware of yet.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Why Even Bother?
Lazy Advertising = No Deal
I've been at home sick for the past three days. I hate summer colds. But what I hate more is lazy advertising. You know, the kind of ad you see where you just think to yourself "Did they really think that was the best thing to do?" or "Man, they really didn't spend anytime thinking about that did they?".
Today I received two pieces of direct mail that caused me to pause and ask "What were they thinking?"
One was from a local Nissan dealer. We used to have a Maxima so we had taken our car there in the past. We've bought cars from their Honda dealership in the past too. We have been pleased with both the sales and service relationship at the dealership so it was not surprising to get a direct mail piece from them. We've gotten them in the past. It wasn't even surprising to see the caliber of the creative. It is what you would expect. Not good.
The second piece was from Time Warner Cable. We do not have cable. In fact Time Warner Cable is on my list of companies that if given no other choice I still would not do business with them. Long story, but let's just say that they wanted to charge us $10,000 to cut down trees so they could get a line to the house. All of our neighbors have cable and didn't have to go through that. Okay... feeling a rant coming that is going to get me off topic... so back to the ads.
So we got an ad from a car dealer and an ad from a cable company. And what message did they choose to use? They both stole/borrowed/used with creative license from the TV show Deal Or No Deal. Here are the ads for each:
I expect a car dealership to add to the messaging clutter that's out there. I even expect them to rip off their message from a game show like Deal Or No Deal. I do, for some reason even though I won't do business with them, expect more from Time Warner Cable. Maybe it's because I know they can hire a big time agency to do the work. Maybe it's because I've seen some of their communication efforts that have been of a higher quality in the past. Maybe it's because when I see a car dealership do the same thing I think that Time Warner Cable has really hit rock bottom.
Now, that's slamming Time Warner Cable a lot, but perhaps I should say a thing something about O'Neill Nissan contributing to the clutter too. C'mon guys! You can do a whole lot better. In fact if you want to really stand out do not take an idea that anyone can think of and slap your name on it. Think about your customers. You must have reams of data on us. There has to be something there that you can use to develop an insightful communication. What about your sales people? Did you talk to them? They surely have some insight you could have used. Instead you were lazy and added to the clutter.
So the message here? It does not matter what size your company is, what industry you are in, what your advertising budget is... you too can produce bad advertising. All you have to do is... not think.
Today I received two pieces of direct mail that caused me to pause and ask "What were they thinking?"
One was from a local Nissan dealer. We used to have a Maxima so we had taken our car there in the past. We've bought cars from their Honda dealership in the past too. We have been pleased with both the sales and service relationship at the dealership so it was not surprising to get a direct mail piece from them. We've gotten them in the past. It wasn't even surprising to see the caliber of the creative. It is what you would expect. Not good.
The second piece was from Time Warner Cable. We do not have cable. In fact Time Warner Cable is on my list of companies that if given no other choice I still would not do business with them. Long story, but let's just say that they wanted to charge us $10,000 to cut down trees so they could get a line to the house. All of our neighbors have cable and didn't have to go through that. Okay... feeling a rant coming that is going to get me off topic... so back to the ads.
So we got an ad from a car dealer and an ad from a cable company. And what message did they choose to use? They both stole/borrowed/used with creative license from the TV show Deal Or No Deal. Here are the ads for each:
I expect a car dealership to add to the messaging clutter that's out there. I even expect them to rip off their message from a game show like Deal Or No Deal. I do, for some reason even though I won't do business with them, expect more from Time Warner Cable. Maybe it's because I know they can hire a big time agency to do the work. Maybe it's because I've seen some of their communication efforts that have been of a higher quality in the past. Maybe it's because when I see a car dealership do the same thing I think that Time Warner Cable has really hit rock bottom.
Now, that's slamming Time Warner Cable a lot, but perhaps I should say a thing something about O'Neill Nissan contributing to the clutter too. C'mon guys! You can do a whole lot better. In fact if you want to really stand out do not take an idea that anyone can think of and slap your name on it. Think about your customers. You must have reams of data on us. There has to be something there that you can use to develop an insightful communication. What about your sales people? Did you talk to them? They surely have some insight you could have used. Instead you were lazy and added to the clutter.
So the message here? It does not matter what size your company is, what industry you are in, what your advertising budget is... you too can produce bad advertising. All you have to do is... not think.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Scarred For Life
I have a scar on my head. Two actually, but only one I can see. I also have a scar on my elbow, on my left foot between my big toe and its neighbor, on my stomach, three on my shoulder, one on the middle finger of my right hand and one on my left wrist. Those are the ones that have not faded. I can still see these. Some are from surgeries. Some are from accidents.
There is a story to go with each scar. Life lessons that I am reminded of every day. Here is what I've learned from each:
Scar on middle finger of right hand: Let sleeping dogs lie. Especially if they are hung over.
Scar on left wrist: Only a licensed physician should remove a ganglion cyst. There isn't a bible big enough, nor is Gram strong enough to smash it to smithereens - though she really wanted to.
Scar on foot by big toe: Some people are inconsiderate and won't stop to help even though the damage caused was because of their actions.
Scar on elbow: recycling can be dangerous and a some politicians can be real and nice.
Scar on stomach: people who love you will make sure you are taken care of when you cannot do it yourself
Scars on shoulder: not everything can be fixed.
Scar on head: Gram, at times, has a very disturbed sense of humor.
There is a story to go with each scar. Life lessons that I am reminded of every day. Here is what I've learned from each:
Scar on middle finger of right hand: Let sleeping dogs lie. Especially if they are hung over.
Scar on left wrist: Only a licensed physician should remove a ganglion cyst. There isn't a bible big enough, nor is Gram strong enough to smash it to smithereens - though she really wanted to.
Scar on foot by big toe: Some people are inconsiderate and won't stop to help even though the damage caused was because of their actions.
Scar on elbow: recycling can be dangerous and a some politicians can be real and nice.
Scar on stomach: people who love you will make sure you are taken care of when you cannot do it yourself
Scars on shoulder: not everything can be fixed.
Scar on head: Gram, at times, has a very disturbed sense of humor.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Lindsey Mulligan Where Are You Now?
Tonight I was looking through some of my old notes and letters I received back in my Wienermobile days and came across one of my favorites. I never met the person who wrote it, but I imagine now that she had a personality somewhat like my eldest daughter. Here is the note she left on the windshield of the Wienermobile while Jeanne and I were eating dinner at a nearby restaurant:
When we returned to the Wienermobile and read the note we immediately packed up two wiener whistles, a watch and a hot wheels Wienermobile and left them in the mailbox for Lindsey. It was the least we could do for a fan.
I remember people asking me why we smiled all the time when we drove the big dog around. Letters like this are the reason.
When we returned to the Wienermobile and read the note we immediately packed up two wiener whistles, a watch and a hot wheels Wienermobile and left them in the mailbox for Lindsey. It was the least we could do for a fan.
I remember people asking me why we smiled all the time when we drove the big dog around. Letters like this are the reason.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
From Normandy to Kentucky
I've been on vacation for the past two weeks. Some of the things I've done while away:
Now to catch up on some sleep. Good night!
- took three guided tours
- visited one cemetary
- visited one abbey
- swam in one lake impounded (built) by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers
- fell off a jet ski eight times (six times on purpose)
- went fishing with my daughters (they caught six fish - three each)
- attended a family reunion
- spent sixteen hours in the Odyssey driving with the family
- got sunburned twice (two different continents)
- took four rolls of film, filled one compact flash card with photos
- played one game of checkers
- went swimming in both an indoor and outdoor pool
- ate at McDonald's twice (two different continents)
- listened to the girls watch 102 Dalmations three times; Barbie Swan Lake twice; The Worst Witch once
- saw the world's longest tapestry
- played sixteen holes of golf
- walked on beaches in two different continents & found seashells at both
- spent twenty six hours in airplanes, airports and on tarmacs
- visited the home of Monet
- played Trivial Pursuit
- fixed a flat tire
- called into the office once... officially (calling Sam's cell phone twice doesn't count does it?)
- went to the top of the Arch in St. Louis
- went two weeks without watching tv or reading a newspaper
- played Sodoku and got addicted
- read The World Is Flat by Thomas L. Friedman
- came up with three new business opportunities, ideas for two new paintings and a video to make for the girls
- attended a going away party for a former colleague
- made plans to buy a kitten for the girls
- shared a chocolate bag with Mary and Gram
- thought up reasons to explain why I haven't posted in over three weeks and then decided to get the point across with this list
Now to catch up on some sleep. Good night!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Heaven Left Me Feeling Slimy
This past weekend was spent at a Westin Hotel in Las Vegas. Aside from getting some really great work done, the best part of the weekend was experiencing the Westin "Heavenly Bed". It was by far the best hotel bed that I have splept in. I was on board with the experience being "heavenly".
The concept of delivering a heavenly experience extended beyond the bed to other parts of the room. They had provided heavenly towels, heavenly pillows, heavenly shower curtains (which were curved to give extra room in the shower - how heavenly).
When I woke up the first morning of our stay at the hotel I felt refreshed. I did indeed have a heavenly night's sleep. I was buying into this brand experience 100%. I was "all in" as they say in Vegas.
Leaving the comfort of my heavenly bed I strolled merrily to the bathroom to take what I anticipated to be a heavenly shower. I may have even been whistling a tune. Something perky I'm sure. I turned on the water to just the right temperature - not scalding hot, but not luke warm- somewhere in between.
I stepped into the shower and put shampoo in my hair and grabbed a bar of heavenly white soap. And this is where I got mad at the Westin. What I discovered in the shower made me temporarily forget the heavenly night's sleep I just woke from. The hotel had not delivered a 360 degree heavenly experience. In fact there was just one element that I experienced that almost ruined it all for me. The water that came out of the shower head was soft. And I hate soft water.
Now, I know I shouldn't necessarily blame the hotel for the soft water. It was probably out of their control. But I did spend quite a long time in the shower trying to get the slimy soft water feeling off my body, face and hands. I felt like Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughes in the Aviator. I just could not get my hands clean. I scrubbed and scrubbed them to the point where they were starting to feel raw.
Later on in the day I shared my frustration with Sam, Mike, Ky and Julie about the soft water. Julie actually prefers soft water. For her the experience very well may have been 100% heavenly. But for me and the rest of us who prefer hard water to soft, the Westin was running a risk of failing to deliver as strong a brand experience as they could.
I know this may be asking a lot of a hotel to be able to control the water, but wouldn't that be something if they asked upon check-in to the hotel "Welcome to the Westin Mr. Duff. Would you prefer hard or soft water for your stay with us?"
Now that would be delivering a heavenly experience.
The concept of delivering a heavenly experience extended beyond the bed to other parts of the room. They had provided heavenly towels, heavenly pillows, heavenly shower curtains (which were curved to give extra room in the shower - how heavenly).
When I woke up the first morning of our stay at the hotel I felt refreshed. I did indeed have a heavenly night's sleep. I was buying into this brand experience 100%. I was "all in" as they say in Vegas.
Leaving the comfort of my heavenly bed I strolled merrily to the bathroom to take what I anticipated to be a heavenly shower. I may have even been whistling a tune. Something perky I'm sure. I turned on the water to just the right temperature - not scalding hot, but not luke warm- somewhere in between.
I stepped into the shower and put shampoo in my hair and grabbed a bar of heavenly white soap. And this is where I got mad at the Westin. What I discovered in the shower made me temporarily forget the heavenly night's sleep I just woke from. The hotel had not delivered a 360 degree heavenly experience. In fact there was just one element that I experienced that almost ruined it all for me. The water that came out of the shower head was soft. And I hate soft water.
Now, I know I shouldn't necessarily blame the hotel for the soft water. It was probably out of their control. But I did spend quite a long time in the shower trying to get the slimy soft water feeling off my body, face and hands. I felt like Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughes in the Aviator. I just could not get my hands clean. I scrubbed and scrubbed them to the point where they were starting to feel raw.
Later on in the day I shared my frustration with Sam, Mike, Ky and Julie about the soft water. Julie actually prefers soft water. For her the experience very well may have been 100% heavenly. But for me and the rest of us who prefer hard water to soft, the Westin was running a risk of failing to deliver as strong a brand experience as they could.
I know this may be asking a lot of a hotel to be able to control the water, but wouldn't that be something if they asked upon check-in to the hotel "Welcome to the Westin Mr. Duff. Would you prefer hard or soft water for your stay with us?"
Now that would be delivering a heavenly experience.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Not Quite The "Big Orange Head" But Close
Sunday, May 21, 2006
A Celebration of Cake
I had delicious piece of cake today and I was reminded that I had written a post about cake back in January, but never uploaded it. Here it is... a few months later, yet still relevant I think....
This past week we celebrated my wife's birthday, were with our friends as their baby girl was baptized and attended the funeral of my brother-in-laws mother. Each event was a celebration of life.
One was a celebration of a life just beginning. One was a celebration of a life in progress. And one was a celebration of a life completed. The common link with these three celebrations? Aside from me and Mary? Cake. Cake was served at each function.
That isn't really surprising. Cake is often served at birthdays, baptisms and funerals. It got me thinking though... a serving of cake is really a symbolic way of celebrating life. We don't have cake every day, so does that mean we aren't celebrating life everyday? That seems wrong. I think we should celebrate life everyday. Life is too short to miss an opportunity to eat cake.
I've spent, oh, just about three minutes thinking of some suggestions for opportunities to serve cake and to celebrate life. There are really lots of opportunities. Here are a few:
At the Olympics. The Olympics are all about celebrating the world coming together right? And great athletic performances? Cake could be served at the medals ceremony. Two pieces of cake for each reason to celebrate.
After the Royals win a game. If they ever win again we'd all be celebrating wouldn't we? How about after they win everyone in attendance gets a piece of cake? I'd be more likely to attend and I think the players would play harder if they knew cake was on the line.
After completing taxes. No one likes the pain of filling out all that paperwork. Why not celebrate getting it done with a nice piece of cake.
There are lot's of everyday events we can celebrate and have cake:
I'm off to bed now to get some sleep, think about simple everyday events that I can celebrate and the next time I'm going to Costco to get one of their incredible sheet cakes.
So my point? Simple. Eat cake and celebrate life.
What are you going to celebrate?
This past week we celebrated my wife's birthday, were with our friends as their baby girl was baptized and attended the funeral of my brother-in-laws mother. Each event was a celebration of life.
One was a celebration of a life just beginning. One was a celebration of a life in progress. And one was a celebration of a life completed. The common link with these three celebrations? Aside from me and Mary? Cake. Cake was served at each function.
That isn't really surprising. Cake is often served at birthdays, baptisms and funerals. It got me thinking though... a serving of cake is really a symbolic way of celebrating life. We don't have cake every day, so does that mean we aren't celebrating life everyday? That seems wrong. I think we should celebrate life everyday. Life is too short to miss an opportunity to eat cake.
I've spent, oh, just about three minutes thinking of some suggestions for opportunities to serve cake and to celebrate life. There are really lots of opportunities. Here are a few:
At the Olympics. The Olympics are all about celebrating the world coming together right? And great athletic performances? Cake could be served at the medals ceremony. Two pieces of cake for each reason to celebrate.
After the Royals win a game. If they ever win again we'd all be celebrating wouldn't we? How about after they win everyone in attendance gets a piece of cake? I'd be more likely to attend and I think the players would play harder if they knew cake was on the line.
After completing taxes. No one likes the pain of filling out all that paperwork. Why not celebrate getting it done with a nice piece of cake.
There are lot's of everyday events we can celebrate and have cake:
- When you get the car washed.
- Getting a good report card.
- Getting out of a speeding ticket.
- Spring cleaning.
- Finishing a long book.
- Finishing a bad book.
- Writing a book.
- Getting hired.
- Getting fired.
- Giving birth to a child.
- Not having to be the one who gives birth.
- Finishing a post you started three months ago.
- Not having to do laundry.
I'm off to bed now to get some sleep, think about simple everyday events that I can celebrate and the next time I'm going to Costco to get one of their incredible sheet cakes.
So my point? Simple. Eat cake and celebrate life.
What are you going to celebrate?
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Why I Love PBS
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways... in no particular order here are the reasons why our family remains "cable free":
1. PBS Kids (CyberChase, Clifford, Arthur... and on and on...)
2. Frontline
3. Keeping Up Appearances
4. Antiques Roadshow
5. As Time Goes By
6. Austin City Limits
7. Independent Lens
8. Nightly Business Report
9. Monty Python's Flying Circus
10. Red Green
11. Rare Visions and Roadside Revelations
12. Nature
13. Mystery!
14. BBC World News
15. Nova
16. Charlie Rose (for his guests)
17. American Masters
18. Rick Steves
19. Ken Burns
20. American Experience
21. Globe Trekkers
22. This Old House
1. PBS Kids (CyberChase, Clifford, Arthur... and on and on...)
2. Frontline
3. Keeping Up Appearances
4. Antiques Roadshow
5. As Time Goes By
6. Austin City Limits
7. Independent Lens
8. Nightly Business Report
9. Monty Python's Flying Circus
10. Red Green
11. Rare Visions and Roadside Revelations
12. Nature
13. Mystery!
14. BBC World News
15. Nova
16. Charlie Rose (for his guests)
17. American Masters
18. Rick Steves
19. Ken Burns
20. American Experience
21. Globe Trekkers
22. This Old House
Sunday, May 07, 2006
What's In A Name?
The girls have been suggesting names for the baby. Let's just say that the names they've come up with would certainly make family history.
At first Hannah wanted a baby sister she could call Patsy. This is directly influenced by a book we gave her prior to Grace's arrival on the scene. In that book a girl named Hannah was told that a she was going to be a big sister again. She decided that since she already had a little brother named Sam that this one would be a girl. She would name it Patsy. Patsy would have red hair, like chocolate swirl ice cream and her first word would be "Hannah".
So... Hannah's first choice for a girls name is Patsy. Grace on the other hand wants to name the baby Orange Juice. Orange Juice? Yes. Orange Juice.
When asked what a good name would be if we had a boy Hannah suggested Benjamin. That is the name the parents gave the baby in the book (it was a boy of course). Grace wants to name the baby Orange Juice.
Then Hannah thought it would be a good idea for mommy to have twins. Twin boys in fact. She would name them Hank and Frank. We tried to tell her that we knew there was only one baby on the way, but that did not sway her away from telling mommy that she needed to have twins. Grace didn't get the idea of twins, so no input from her on naming them.
Then today Hannah started talking about baby Benjamin again. Grace heard this and interrupted by saying "We are going to name the baby Orange Juice!"
This time Hannah took note of Grace's suggestion. I guess hearing it for the fifteenth time set her off. The dialogue that followed went something like this:
"Orange Juice? We can't name the baby Orange Juice."
"Yes we can" said Grace
"No we can't. What would happen if you asked for a glass of Orange Juice in the morning and daddy put the baby on the table instead? You can't drink a baby."
"Then we'll call the baby Milky"
"But you might ask daddy for some milky and then he'd put the baby on the table again. And you might try to drink it!"
"Then we'll call the baby Hudengakepdapoo!"
That just made Hannah and Grace break out in an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. Mary and I giggled too.
At first Hannah wanted a baby sister she could call Patsy. This is directly influenced by a book we gave her prior to Grace's arrival on the scene. In that book a girl named Hannah was told that a she was going to be a big sister again. She decided that since she already had a little brother named Sam that this one would be a girl. She would name it Patsy. Patsy would have red hair, like chocolate swirl ice cream and her first word would be "Hannah".
So... Hannah's first choice for a girls name is Patsy. Grace on the other hand wants to name the baby Orange Juice. Orange Juice? Yes. Orange Juice.
When asked what a good name would be if we had a boy Hannah suggested Benjamin. That is the name the parents gave the baby in the book (it was a boy of course). Grace wants to name the baby Orange Juice.
Then Hannah thought it would be a good idea for mommy to have twins. Twin boys in fact. She would name them Hank and Frank. We tried to tell her that we knew there was only one baby on the way, but that did not sway her away from telling mommy that she needed to have twins. Grace didn't get the idea of twins, so no input from her on naming them.
Then today Hannah started talking about baby Benjamin again. Grace heard this and interrupted by saying "We are going to name the baby Orange Juice!"
This time Hannah took note of Grace's suggestion. I guess hearing it for the fifteenth time set her off. The dialogue that followed went something like this:
"Orange Juice? We can't name the baby Orange Juice."
"Yes we can" said Grace
"No we can't. What would happen if you asked for a glass of Orange Juice in the morning and daddy put the baby on the table instead? You can't drink a baby."
"Then we'll call the baby Milky"
"But you might ask daddy for some milky and then he'd put the baby on the table again. And you might try to drink it!"
"Then we'll call the baby Hudengakepdapoo!"
That just made Hannah and Grace break out in an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. Mary and I giggled too.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Helmets & Goggles
On Thursday I received a phone call from a person who we had hired. She was calling to let me know that she would not be starting on Monday. In fact she was not going to be coming to work at all. Her current employer made a counter offer and she decided that it was too good an offer/opportunity to pass up. It was a surprise to hear, not for the counter offer, but for the fact that she shared with us that one of the reasons she was looking to come to work for us was because her fiancee was here in town. She is currently in another city. It seemed to be a good fit all around.
I'm disappointed. Not for the fact that she is not coming to join us. Not for the fact that her company counter offered. I cannot blame anyone for making a decision based on facts that I do not fully understand. She has to do what she feels is best for her. You have to respect that.
I am disappointed because we had waited four weeks for her to start at our agency. I wish she had made this decision sooner and let us know so we could move on. Instead we were in limbo for four weeks and now have to start the interview process again.
Sam pointed out that it is better to have this information now before she started, than to have her make a decision a day, week or month into the job. Okay. I can see that. He's been through this far more often than I. I often wonder how an owner of a business does it. I think I have an idea.
At a former job there was a saying for the pace of work. We didn't have a lot of internal help, yet had a huge workload to tackle. The VP of Marketing told me that they way to survive was all about "helmets and goggles". Just put them on and keep on truckin'.
So, with that I am mentally putting on my helmet and goggles and getting ready to keep moving forward. Onward and upward.
I'm disappointed. Not for the fact that she is not coming to join us. Not for the fact that her company counter offered. I cannot blame anyone for making a decision based on facts that I do not fully understand. She has to do what she feels is best for her. You have to respect that.
I am disappointed because we had waited four weeks for her to start at our agency. I wish she had made this decision sooner and let us know so we could move on. Instead we were in limbo for four weeks and now have to start the interview process again.
Sam pointed out that it is better to have this information now before she started, than to have her make a decision a day, week or month into the job. Okay. I can see that. He's been through this far more often than I. I often wonder how an owner of a business does it. I think I have an idea.
At a former job there was a saying for the pace of work. We didn't have a lot of internal help, yet had a huge workload to tackle. The VP of Marketing told me that they way to survive was all about "helmets and goggles". Just put them on and keep on truckin'.
So, with that I am mentally putting on my helmet and goggles and getting ready to keep moving forward. Onward and upward.
Friday, April 21, 2006
I Cheated. I Feel Shame.
I thought there was no way I would go back. I was wrong.
The relationship I had been working on over the past three and half months was the right one. I knew it. I wanted it to work out. I really did. I knew cheating was bad. Cheating meant that I was weak. I'd had a long standing affair for many years. Who was I to think that I would be able to move on?
There was no pressure from the other party to get back together. There was no reason to abandon my new relationship. Sure it was new and new sometimes wears off, but it was healthy. No doubt about that. It was healthy.
I caved on Monday. Tax day.
I've tried to justify this in my head. After all when I cheated it wasn't with the one I'd been having an affair with for the past three years. I went back to the one I knew first.
Unlike Odysseus the journey I was on was self imposed. And no one nor anything was out to stop me from going back for another taste of that sweet, sweet nectar. No Scylla. No Charybdis. The only thing preventing me from going back was my own will power.
I feel I must admit my guilt publicly and ask for forgiveness from my recent partner and my previous drinking buddy. I've cheated on you both.
So I'm sorry bottled water. I owe you an apology. You were good, still are, but I could not resist the siren call of cola.
And to you Diet Dr. Pepper. I thought my affair with you was the right thing to do. After all you were diet cola. For a while I thought that was a healthy alternative.
But my first love. My drinking partner from my youth. The beverage I loved so much that I could and would drink it warm. I have come home. I missed you Classic Coca Cola. It was good to be with you again.
But if I gain back the ten pounds I lost while living with only water I will drop you like a rock. I am that fickle.
The relationship I had been working on over the past three and half months was the right one. I knew it. I wanted it to work out. I really did. I knew cheating was bad. Cheating meant that I was weak. I'd had a long standing affair for many years. Who was I to think that I would be able to move on?
There was no pressure from the other party to get back together. There was no reason to abandon my new relationship. Sure it was new and new sometimes wears off, but it was healthy. No doubt about that. It was healthy.
I caved on Monday. Tax day.
I've tried to justify this in my head. After all when I cheated it wasn't with the one I'd been having an affair with for the past three years. I went back to the one I knew first.
Unlike Odysseus the journey I was on was self imposed. And no one nor anything was out to stop me from going back for another taste of that sweet, sweet nectar. No Scylla. No Charybdis. The only thing preventing me from going back was my own will power.
I feel I must admit my guilt publicly and ask for forgiveness from my recent partner and my previous drinking buddy. I've cheated on you both.
So I'm sorry bottled water. I owe you an apology. You were good, still are, but I could not resist the siren call of cola.
And to you Diet Dr. Pepper. I thought my affair with you was the right thing to do. After all you were diet cola. For a while I thought that was a healthy alternative.
But my first love. My drinking partner from my youth. The beverage I loved so much that I could and would drink it warm. I have come home. I missed you Classic Coca Cola. It was good to be with you again.
But if I gain back the ten pounds I lost while living with only water I will drop you like a rock. I am that fickle.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Bedside Book List
I'm trying a little experiment tonight. I've got a stack of books on my bedside table. I haven't thought about doing this experiment until just now, so you'll have to excuse me if this doesn't work out.
What I am going to do is to try to make a sentence out of the titles of the books on my bedside table. Now, keep in mind that I usually have a pretty big stack there all the time. The books switch in and out, but I can usually count on five or six there each day. I don't know if this will work but here goes a few attempts with the books I have here tonight:
Sentence #1:
You will Never Be Lied To Again if you First, Break All The Rules, indulge in Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, learn The Five Love Languages of Children and find work at a Creative Company that has gone from Good To Great... that is The Future of Advertising. What Did I Just Say!?!?
Sentence #2:
A Creative Company that desires to establish The Future Of Advertising must not only understand the Five Love Languages of Children, but evolve from a Good To Great company that embraces the idea that you must First, Break All The Rules, limit the amount of Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs and never Never Be Lied To Again. What Did I Just Say!?!?
Sentence #3:
The Future of Advertising involves Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. What Did I Just Say!?!? Going from Good To Great requires that you First, Break All The Rules and learn The Five Love Languages of Children. You'll find that if you do this you will not only Never Be Lied To Again, but also discover that you work at a Creative Company.
Okay... #3 contains more than one sentence, but this is really hard to do as just one! Try it yourself. It's tough.
If you want to try this at home follow these steps:
1) Don't plan in advance. Quick - look over a the bedside table... these are the only books you are allowed to use and you must use all of them!
2) Try to use as few words as possible to link the titles together. You'll likely need to create some copy to connect the titles, otherwise it might not make sense at all and will merely be a list of books. And this is boring.
3) Try a writing the sentence a few different ways. Change the order around.
4) Link the titles to Amazon so we can check out the books in more detail.
5) Let me know if you've done this. I'd love to see what others come up with
What I am going to do is to try to make a sentence out of the titles of the books on my bedside table. Now, keep in mind that I usually have a pretty big stack there all the time. The books switch in and out, but I can usually count on five or six there each day. I don't know if this will work but here goes a few attempts with the books I have here tonight:
Sentence #1:
You will Never Be Lied To Again if you First, Break All The Rules, indulge in Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, learn The Five Love Languages of Children and find work at a Creative Company that has gone from Good To Great... that is The Future of Advertising. What Did I Just Say!?!?
Sentence #2:
A Creative Company that desires to establish The Future Of Advertising must not only understand the Five Love Languages of Children, but evolve from a Good To Great company that embraces the idea that you must First, Break All The Rules, limit the amount of Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs and never Never Be Lied To Again. What Did I Just Say!?!?
Sentence #3:
The Future of Advertising involves Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. What Did I Just Say!?!? Going from Good To Great requires that you First, Break All The Rules and learn The Five Love Languages of Children. You'll find that if you do this you will not only Never Be Lied To Again, but also discover that you work at a Creative Company.
Okay... #3 contains more than one sentence, but this is really hard to do as just one! Try it yourself. It's tough.
If you want to try this at home follow these steps:
1) Don't plan in advance. Quick - look over a the bedside table... these are the only books you are allowed to use and you must use all of them!
2) Try to use as few words as possible to link the titles together. You'll likely need to create some copy to connect the titles, otherwise it might not make sense at all and will merely be a list of books. And this is boring.
3) Try a writing the sentence a few different ways. Change the order around.
4) Link the titles to Amazon so we can check out the books in more detail.
5) Let me know if you've done this. I'd love to see what others come up with
Grey Hair Where?
Okay... Let's get this out of the way... I have thinning hair. Okay... really thinning hair. I'm waiting for the day when I go for it and shave it down just to get rid of it. No comb overs for me.
Thinning hair is usually a good indicator that a guy is getting older. The emergence of a bald spot is definitely a key life marker. If a guy has older brothers he can pretty well watch their hairlines and gauge when his will reach the same points. Not for me though. My thin spot appeared around the same time as my eldest brother. So I was never really able to gauge when my hairline would reach certain stages.
So I cannot gauge my age by where the hairline is. I know, I should really know how old I am right? The thing is I like to keep track of things and be able to manage my own expectations. Stages of hair loss as a marker of age makes sense right? Right.
The good news is that I've found another way to gauge my age. Grey hairs.
Now it's not uncommon for guys in their twenties to get random grey hair here and there. And it's not uncommon for some guys to go prematurely grey. The key again, I think, is to keep track of what is going on with the older siblings.
I've got three older brothers so I've also got great research resources. All I have to do is to find out from them how much grey they have, when they went grey and plot it out on a calendar. An added twist to this is not to ask them how many grey hairs they have, but to find out when they first saw it on different parts of their bodies. You see, last week I found a single grey hair on my leg. I wonder when Kevin first found a grey hair on his calf?
I'll have to call each now and ask. This might be a weird conversation.
Thinning hair is usually a good indicator that a guy is getting older. The emergence of a bald spot is definitely a key life marker. If a guy has older brothers he can pretty well watch their hairlines and gauge when his will reach the same points. Not for me though. My thin spot appeared around the same time as my eldest brother. So I was never really able to gauge when my hairline would reach certain stages.
So I cannot gauge my age by where the hairline is. I know, I should really know how old I am right? The thing is I like to keep track of things and be able to manage my own expectations. Stages of hair loss as a marker of age makes sense right? Right.
The good news is that I've found another way to gauge my age. Grey hairs.
Now it's not uncommon for guys in their twenties to get random grey hair here and there. And it's not uncommon for some guys to go prematurely grey. The key again, I think, is to keep track of what is going on with the older siblings.
I've got three older brothers so I've also got great research resources. All I have to do is to find out from them how much grey they have, when they went grey and plot it out on a calendar. An added twist to this is not to ask them how many grey hairs they have, but to find out when they first saw it on different parts of their bodies. You see, last week I found a single grey hair on my leg. I wonder when Kevin first found a grey hair on his calf?
I'll have to call each now and ask. This might be a weird conversation.
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