stupid shoes

Every morning my son has to get up and get ready for school. If he was smart about it the night before, he would have his keys, his laptop, his bus pass, his cell phone, his lunch money and his clothes already where he can find them. Then all you gotta' do is brush teeth, shower and you're out the door like 'BAM'.

This of course is NEVER the case.

Yesterday morning I noticed he was uttering profanities under his breath, grumbling about where things were and was overall just surly. 

"Son why are you still here? You're going to miss the bus you need to get going…" 

My son replies; "...stupid shoes–!"

He is 15. 

The Great Escape

So there I was, fighting this zombie horde, summoning my allies and rallying my troops to my Japanese Samurai (see Samurai vs. Zombies) when suddenly, I heard the microwave go 'ding!' I paused my war on the undead and jogged into the kitchen to chastise one of my sons for prepping some hot cheesy snack product so close to dinner. Is he nuts? That's like, a billion extra carbs and stuff, not to mention that there are other predatory teenage consumers in my humble palace who are likely to try the same thing. One must be firm and clear when speaking with teenagers. One must be cautious. 

I then notice one of the other boys was in the living room, controller in hand, laying waste to a whole mob of bad guys in his video game–complete with graphically intense head-shots and stealth kills. Is this happening because all chores have also been conquered? Clearly, homework is done, dishes are spotless and the laundry I'm sure has NEVER smelt better (sniiiiffffff—ahhhh). Nope. 

It is then that I transform from fun Gamer-Dad to the world-destroying Darth Vader in like .0078 seconds (yes I counted).  Like Lucas' infamous intergalactic tyrant, I'm wind-sprinting through the narrow halls of my apartment, force-choking* insolent, lazy teens in every nook and cranny of my home-base as I utter in my best James Earl Jones impersonation "I have you now".

I soon gain the upper hand and the tattered remnants of this little rebel alliance that sprung up in my living room are vanquished. Demoralized. Defeated. 

Crushed.

I smile victoriously, deviously. "Today will be a day long remembered," I say coyly to a room full of sobbing teens, "it has seen the end of cheesy snacking, it will soon see the end of your defiant little alliance." Finally, with the routing of the rebels, I can return to my dark pursuits. Namely the beheading of countless Japanese Zombies and undead warriors. 

Then, just for a moment, I think to myself, 'what are you doing dude?' This gaming... this is greasy kids stuff. Grow the f**k up already and do something constructive and hammer or paint something, go buy some mundane stuff like soap, batteries or Brussel sprouts. Go wash your car or make sure the porch is swept or… something.

Then I come to my senses.  

I work all week long–I help kids do homework, cook, clean, make sure everyone has the food, money, resources and all the help and support they need to succeed. What the hell do I want to do any of that other crap for? Those things will get done. They ALWAYS get done. I then remind myself of all those people who spend their weekends–and their lives–doing stuff even THEY don't want to do. I just can't be that guy. I work hard so I can PLAY hard. Life is hard enough without having an outlet. 

So, satisfied that  an appropriate dinner is on the stove, chores are done and the rebel uprising has been crushed, I again hit the pause button and I return to my game–reassured I am doing EXACTLY what I should be doing. Here comes the next horde. Better bring my 'A' game, too. After all, those Zombies aren't going to kill themselves. 

*This is a dramatization. No children were ACTUALLY harmed during the writing of these events. Though a couple of them did come dangerously close a well-deserved swat. 

When You Wish Upon A Star (Destroyer)...

All my life, I've been that guy. A writer, a designer an artist. It's in the DNA. Over the years, I've come to recognize a few things. First, integrity counts for a lot. Staying true to what drives you is imperative for a clear conscience and a clean vision. To pursue strong, innovative and passionate ideas is what makes for the best creativity–and ultimately–a fulfilling and successful life. 

The Walt Disney company has this down to a science. And it pays off BIG. 

Say what you want about the Disney Empire, this company consistently earns it's rep for delivering a strong creative product, time and time again. Even down to the properties they absorb like PIXAR animation studios, Marvel Comics and of course, the Star Wars franchise. From the Pirates of the Caribbean movies to a slew of story-telling classics including Snow White, The Lion King, Cinderella and Mary Poppins to only scratch the surface. I won't even mention the juggernaut of the new Disney Infinity toy/video game mash-up product that is just raking in the cash right now.

The Disney Empire is ever-expanding too; it also commands every move of a multi-billion dollar media network that includes the likes of ESPN, Disney and ABC. 

These properties live, breathe and thrive because the people in the mouse ears keep their hands off the process–and therein lies the key to creative success. If you are someone who visits this blog often or knows me, you know I have my issues with the any corporate juggernaut, but you gotta' give props where props are due.

It's often been said that it takes a good eye to recognize great talent but it takes a great one to keep it's hands off the work. 

I'm confident that Disney is driven by the bottom-line, like every other major corporation. Honestly, how could that NOT be the case? So many companies, even the ones in the entertainment biz, totally don't get the value of letting creativity breathe and thrive. Perhaps Disney knows (and still embraces!) the concept of letting craftspeople do their craft.* 

How great would it be if we were all required to do our jobs with an expectation for creative innovation? It's all any of us needs to succeed and the world offers so little opportunity for it. Kudos to Disney for getting big things to happen by making the small decision of letting people do their jobs with inspiration.  

The world isn't a perfect place, but we can perfect how we work in it and how we work with others–and you could do a whole lot worse than to have your boss say; "…make sure what you do is great and super creative—or else!"

So let's all wish upon a star (or for Star Wars fans, a Star Destroyer) and hope for a better tomorrow–filled with challenging creative endeavors. That's a better shot than most pursue in their professional lives. I realize the irony behind the  the concept of forced (see what I did there... "forced"? Huh? Huh?) creativity, but it's still better than the alternative. Okay, I've said too much, heading back to the corner...

* I'm sure the countryside is littered with tales of creative and professional horror about Disney's overbearing, heavy-handed and demanding internal practices and policies. My point still stands. 

Atlanta Got Conned

Last week, the city of Atlanta was conned. It was a sight to behold. The city's beleaguered police, first responders and order-keepers did their best but in the end, they were overwhelmed. More than 200 Klingons led the unbelievable array of out-of-this-world invaders. Close to one hundred Cylons, more than 300 members of the infamous 501st legion and scores of super heroes, aliens, ghouls goblins, wizards, elves, robots, Trekkies and Wookies.

And one bewildered single Dad from Phoenix, AZ along with one of his bestest buds from Sarasota, FL.

Go ahead and scoff (the closed-minded always do) but DragonCon 2013 was incredible. The freaks, the cosplay, the devilish costumes and whacked-out geekoids were out in full force and ominously everywhere—and that was just the airport!

DragonCon reported that more than 57,000 tickets were sold to attendees for the event. Last Saturday over 80,000 people came out to watch the DragonCon parade. There just aren't enough Geeks in Georgia to line the streets of Atlanta with that may excited bodies. Which means everyone went. 

No really, everyone?

To quote Gary Oldman in the classic crime thriller Léon (also known as The Professional here in the US); "Evvrrryyyyyoonnneee!"

Families. Grandmas, Moms and Dads pushing strollers, adolescents, teens and tweens. Burly beer swillen' dudes. Jocks. Dweebs. Punks. Chumps. Actors and actresses. Everyone was there and having a great time.

It used to be that if you liked comic books, fantasy, science fiction or anything related, you were a nerd, a geek or a weirdo. You were harassed. Maybe even beat up. I certainly was. But in Atlanta this past weekend, it was crystal clear, the world has taken a turn–and I would argue–for the better.

Share whatever negative opinion you have about geek culture–we have arrived. We now rule movies, TV, Hollywood, the Internet and the imagination of the world at large and of generations to come. And for at least this past weekend... the entire city of Atlanta. Not digging on geek culture? How's it feel to be in the minority? As the song goes; "...welcome to the new age". As for those that had some snarky comments to share about geek culture, we apologize but we simply couldn't hear you last weekend.

After all, a crowd of more than 80,000 of us "weirdos" were too busy having fun to hear your snide, judgmental remarks. Why not join us next time? We'd love to make it 80,001.

Please. Stop. Talking.

If you are under 23 years old, please know, you do have a voice. You have opinions and feelings, and thoughts and critiques and unique perspectives.

And yes, we're ALL kind of sick of hearing about them.

If you were born in the years of (or between) 1964 and 1981you are classified as a card-carrying member of Generation X. Those of us in Gen X remember earlier generations telling us empowering things like "children should be seen and not heard." That was mean and silences the sometimes very real value of a fresh, young perspective.

However, it also holds a certain wisdom.

My very complex social hive is a hodgepodge of media input, gaming, online connectivity, music and endless blathering and opinions concerning things that just don't matter. We cannot sit as a family and watch a movie or TV show without some one commenting, cracking a joke or texting their friends during the show. They talk over each other and talk during songs, discussion, movies, you name it. 

It gets worse, because it isn't just them, its adults as well. When did it become socially acceptable to talk–at full volume–during a movie in a theater? Or text someone during the show? It happens everywhere, during work meetings, corporate events and even church services, everyone's got something to say, and it can't wait. nO wonder our kids are so unfocused. 

To all of  you chatterboxes out there I have just one word for you that I think if you chose to remember it, would help the communication, no matter what form it takes, to be more easily understood. The word is:

"Shhhhhhh–!"

Stop talking. Almost nothing at this particular moment is so important that the person right next to you needs to hear it… right now. So here's the skinny; I suggest five easy things you to can remember when someone is watching a movie, listening to a song on the radio or trying to listen to a teacher, supervisor, pastor or authority figure:

• You are NOT funny. Save your drool comments for later. Shhh.
• If you have something funny to say, see item number one, above. Shhh.
• It is NOT okay to carry on a conversation with or near someone focused on something else. Shhh.
• Remember during a show or movie, your phone has two neat features; airplane mode or off. Pick one!
• This one is a real shocker: we are trying to watch/hear/learn. Be quiet!

Its ok to have 500 thoughts a minute. We just don't need to hear all–or any of them–at this particular moment. 

Half-court Hijinks

My phalanx of teenagers are all presently at various forms of athletic participation. One is vying for a soccer career. The other three are pursuing joining school basketball teams or simply trying to hone their basketball skills. Ironically two of them (two boys) think it is way awesome to spend untold hours practicing half-court shots, while ignoring things like; fundamentals, skills drills, layups and perfecting positioning and jumpsuits. As the Dad and coach-by-default, I have to always call out that practicing this shot is a huge waste of time.

I'm met with disapproving stares, rolled eyes and exaggerated exhales.

Not that I'm not used to any of that (after all I am a Dad to one teenage girl and three teenage boys) but I am floored that this is news. "What does Dad know anyway? Its not like he plays in the NBA or anything…" 

True enough.

Yet, while I don't make a living at putting the ball through the hoop, I have played more street-ball, played in far more city and college intramural leagues and even squared off in a charity game against some pretty darn good ex-NBA players. So what do I know? 

What I DO know is that you don't get very good at something without practice. LOTS of practice. In author Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers: The Story of Success, he promotes the 10,000 hours rule that states it takes roughly that long to become (employable and) proficient at just about anything. 

I know there are no shortcuts to success (ask 80% of all lottery winners how it feels to file for bankruptcy after losing essentially un-earned millions), I know Rome wasn't built in a day (Look at it!) and I know you won't get a spot on the team shooting half-court shots. 

You see children-o'-mine, coaches look for heart, endurance and most importantly, dedication. They want to see you've committed to learning the fundamentals of a five-person TEAM sport, not try and snag all the glory on some lame hail-Mary 30-foot lob that has you looking more like a dork than a b-baller. 

But hey, I'm only Dad. I've only lived through this already and have the answers to these questions. So, ignore me and just keep shooting those half-court shots.

I'm sure it's just as fun watching the game from the bleachers, and hey–even though you won't have any skills worthy of getting you on the team–you'll have a killer half-court shot. 

The summer reading died… and rose again.

If you know me, you know I live in a home fully overrun by teenagers, hormones and inane justifications. In the 21st century world of the modern American teenager, life is… interesting. 

They've grown up in homes that science fiction could only dream of just 50 years ago. Everything in their world, from cars to phones to TVs–all are run by ever powerful computers. The internet is accessible via more than a dozen devices in their home. 

What's more, they couldn't be more clueless... about almost everything. 

This past summer, when asked why he doesn't read more, one of my sons responded; "this is my summer, I read enough over the school year. I don't want to have to do work over the summer as well." When ON EARTH did reading become "work?" 

It happened because movies, the internet and those deliciously sinful video games have eroded our children's ability to use their imagination. I have watched this same boy sit and stare blankly at the floor or ceiling–for 20 minutes or more–because he can't possibly fathom an afternoon where the television isn't on.

I've watched as jittery fingers shred papers, clothes and even furniture due to idle fidgeting because mental and visceral stimulation has been removed from their world. But when I didn't give in to the complaining and sulking, a very funny thing happened.

The kids started to read, play board games and interact with each other. Yes, reading was resurrected. Maybe there is hope for the world after all. Not much–but it's a start. 

On Building A Better You

I've been lately working with all my kids on helping them build a stronger, positive mental constitution. We work out together, we discuss the events of our days and we discuss current events. I HIGHLY discourage negativity, teasing and self-loathing. There is no use comparing ourselves to someone else or to calling out each others flaws and weaknesses. We accept shortcomings. They are there. We know it. We move on. 

When we work out, we commonly play basketball together. One of the little nuggets I was taught when I was coached earlier in life was that when shooting around, you never leave the court on a miss. 

In other words. always leave on a make.

Its sort of Zen thing. Leave the basketball court on a swish (a made shot for those that are not familiar this thought). Don't leave on a missed shot. Always leave on a positive—on a win. It helps make the workout and the experience a positive one.

It goes hand-in-hand with some of these other favorites of mine: 

• Always say I love you to at least one person you care about every night

• Do at least one thing everyday that makes you feel good

• Have a Hobby or life passion… then add another one. Repeat.

• Do at least one thing, every year, you've never done before

• Reject bad habits, embrace good ones

• Surround yourself with people that bring you up–release the rest

• Learn the rules before breaking them

• Create something 

… and of course, always leave on a make. 

Always.

Discourteous Courtesy

Recently, I have committed–albeit only partially–to living a healthier lifestyle and getting into better shape. Occasionally though, I will 'back-pedal' and in a moment of weakness/food lust/craving, I will make some not-so-healthy food choices. In short, I resort to junk food. Nothing as vile as hot-fudge sundaes or an entire 1500 calories breakfast burrito (though, that sounds pretty darn good right now), but a guilty little pleasure of a breakfast sandwich can often do the trick nicely. 

Enter: the Jack-In-The-Box drive through

Now for those blissfully unaware, especially any of my east-coast cronies, Jack-In-The-Box is a lot like Hardee's on the East Coast. Sort of a Breakfast and lunch fast food hub open pretty much always. 

Recently, when grabbing a totally sinful breakfast 'sangwhich' on my way to work, I was asked a very serious question by the cashier/junk food pimp lady with the paper hat on:

"How was your visit with us today?"

What? The question left me stunned. I had no response as I sat dumbfounded–frozen–by this ridiculous question. How was my "visit"? You mean my shamefully indulgent, semi-guilt-ridden effort to exchange hard-earned cash for this gooey, cheesy, bacon-smothered awesomeness? If I were to answer truthfully, my visit was:

• Hopelessly indulgent

• Nirvana-esque

• Emotionally polarizing 

• Regretfully ecstatic

• Embarrassingly euphoric 

All of these hover dangerously close to an unpleasant truth, though I believe all I could muster at the moment was an emphatic; "uh.. good." 

In the future, if this is indeed how the mood engineers at the Jack-In-The-Box corporate experiential refinement division are planning to mold my "visits" from here on, I will be better prepared to respond to their false, yet strangely gratifying attempts at 'feel-good' perkiness as I grab my bag of grease.

I wonder what Wendy's morning pleasantries are like? 

Good Thing There's No One Else Around. Right?

Ever notice how many of us are 'all alone' here on planet Earth? Over seven billion of us at last count. So many souls and yet… EVERY. SINGLE. ONE of us is all alone.  

You can tell by the way people talk on their phones in public that they are all alone. You can tell in movie theaters and even during church. You can see it in how people drive as they give no turn signal to other drivers, when walking through stores, malls and crowded streets, there's no chance of bumping into someone. It's not because you are too captivated by the important cell phone chat or text by your family/friend/co-worker. 

We are all alone, there is no one else on Earth with each of us.

Its a good thing, too. Because imagine the sheer dismay of others would go through on a daily basis if you spoke at full volume on your phone during a movie. If you drove down busy streets without the courtesy of turn signals to other drivers. Imagine the unspeakable horror from people driving while texting or even talking endlessly on cell phones while they drove around, putting the safety and lives of others at risk. 

Since the whole world belongs to you, you toss garbage out the window of your moving car... you can stick gum under the tables and counters of bars and restaurants because, well it's just you. Nope, no one else around because those behaviors would be rude—even disgusting. 

But thankfully there's just you.

Your parents taught you manners, taught you to be considerate of others. They taught you humility and that you should be compassionate for the needs of others. You'd never turn your vehicle without using a turn signal, right? You wouldn't let a small child talk or scream endlessly during a movie that others are trying to enjoy and had spent their hard-earned money paying for would you? Of course not. That would be downright disgraceful. Your parents didn't raise a heathen. 

Whew, all I can say is thank God that isn't you… nope, no sir–ee… we are all safe. Because, after all… we are, each of us, all alone in the world.