Smaller Pants

Well, it's official: I have dropped two sizes in jeans! I don't mind saying it...I feel sexy in tight jeans! Well, okay let me rephrase that: I feel sexy in jeans that don't look like I could hide a pillow on my backside!

Also got the go-ahead on another magazine article pitch.

Heading to Seattle tomorrow. See ya!

Catching up...

So I began this blog as a way to help me survive my overactive "creatal gland" (it's a lot like and located near the adrenal gland. In fact, sometimes when the creatal gland secretes creataline, it triggers the adrenal gland to secrete adrenaline and you get all fired up with creativity. Sleep tends to suffer.) So what have I done with all this creataline?

—>I pitched 4 magazines with 4 different articles. So far I've received one "yes, send us your manuscript", and one "no, but good luck". I'm waiting for an answer on one of the remaining 2 before I send him yet another query for another article idea I got from their last issue.

—>I've created the first draft of a brochure, letterhead and biz card for my new business idea. The whole packet of marketing tools is in the hands of Good Friend Debbie, a marketing-type person (with an angelic singing voice). I'm awaiting her feedback before I proceed with that end of the new business.

—>What I haven't waited on is creating a website for the new business...at least a rough beginning. A bit premature, perhaps, but I needed to reserve the domain name and it came with a free website. It will be a strictly informational/comtact us website.

—>What I also haven't done is worked much on my novel, which is what I really "want" to do, but instead I do what I often don't want to do (like take 16 hours worth of Hazardous Materials training for work). I have jotted down a few scenes and ideas for the novel.

—>I upgraded 2 pages in my "Remember the Future" mini-scrapbook.

—>I finally bought a moleskine notebook for myself (and one for Andrew). I've tabbed it with colored, labeled tabs. The first page contains a snippet of lyrics from my new favorite song, Renaissance by Mat Kearney, which I also consider my "theme song" for this whole re-awakening I've experienced. (Is this sounding too much like a 16 year-old girl's diary?!?)

—>And last but not least, and certainly not creative but definitely related to my renaissance is the fact that I am 1/2 pound away from my April weight goal of 245. Whoo-Hoo!

Real Writing

"The emergence of web services and service oriented architecture (SOA), combined with powerful business process analysis (BPA) and enterprise architecture (EA) modeling capabilities connects you to a world of opportunities. By aligning strategy, business and technology, your enterprise has the ability to know more, move faster, work more efficiently, and achieve true visibility, flexibility and agility."

What?

That little gem is part of a marketing piece designed to convince you to purchase their product…or service…or technology…or something.

Silly me, I thought writing was all about communication! I just had a conversation with Andrew about just that. He was making a thank you card for a friend who gave him an Easter gift. More and more often he wants to write independently by sounding out words (Yay!!). He conversationally informed me that "Linda" would know that "LD" was her name. I explained, in not so many words, that if you want to communicate you have to use a language that you AND your audience understands. So he added N and A to come up with LNDA. Good enough (for now).
Now Proforma, on the other hand, would like you to know that their "…integrated enterprise modeling solutions enable effective visual collaboration for Business and IT, empowering the agile enterprise."

What? (As my brother-in-law would say, "that’s a buncha $1.50 words in 50 cent sentence"—or something like that!)

Perhaps I’m not the intended audience for this particular piece of business literature, although with my latest business idea I am having a bit of trouble visualizing effective collaboration between customers and invoices. But in business, isn’t the bottom-line the bottom-line? If they desiderate to inveigle the highest aggregation of CWWs (customers with wallets), would it not be propitious to communicate to the largest possible congregation of potential adherents to their proffered divulgence?

Seems to me they’d get more bang for their buck with a fifty-cent sentence.

The Night I Cried Watching Top Gun

My stepdaughter has a blog, wherein she recently wrote a very revealing post about herself. I have known Erin since she was about 11 years-old and she is quite unique. She is an incredibly talented and creative, occasionally confounding, very complex and multi-layered young lady. She's also very pretty, resilient, and damn stubborn about a few things!

Her post inspired me. Inspired me to reveal a recent insight into my psyche. This "event" actually occurred a couple years ago, when we still watched television.

I happened upon a late night showing of the movie "Top Gun" starring Tom Cruise as Maverick, Anthony Edwards as Goose, and the lovely Kelly McGillis as the lovely Charlie, the lovely instructor who captivates Maverick's heart.

I had seen the movie several times over the years. But this night it had a strange effect on me: I started crying. Not like a baby, like a man who has spent decades teaching himself not to cry. (The result of this training, when it fails, is rigor mortis of the facial muscles and a frightening grimace. The grimace may in fact be caused by the unfamiliar burn of tears on the cheek skin. But I digress).

The tears had nothing to do with the death of Goose, who dies when he unsuccessfully ejects from a falling jet fighter. As sad as that scene is, and it is, what broke my tears loose was the realization that I had blown an incredible opportunity in my life.

No, I never had any desire to be a jet fighter pilot. But I wish I had had the desire to do something as honorable as that when I was growing up. I wish I had believed in something honorable, so much so that I would not have allowed ANYTHING to get in my way.

See, Maverick didn't just decide to be a fighter pilot. He wanted to be the best fighter pilot there was. He wanted to live up to his father's memory, the best pilot in his day, bar none.

So Maverick finished high school. I imagine he went through ROTC. Before he could become a pilot, Maverick had to become an officer. So he probably attended the Air Force Academy at Annapolis where he received rigorous military training and obtained a Bachelor of Science degree. Then he could apply for the Top Gun training. Being accepted was not a given! But Maverick was determined, focused, and driven to accomplish his goal. And he did.

In my high school days there was one thing I applied myself to and I was dedicated, committed, organized and single-minded in accomplishing my goal.

But a "speed-junkie" is not as honorable as a fighter pilot with a "need for speed".

I took it seriously, though: I was cautious in my acquisition of sufficient quantities of high-quality crystal methamphetamine. I was never arrested or even came close. I was never robbed or stabbed or shot in a drug deal gone bad. I dealt with top-of-the-line people in the business for the top-of-the-line product in town. I bought in quantities for the best price.

I paid meticulous attention to details: I used only fresh, clean and sharp U-100 insulin syringes purchased at the pharmacy in packages of 10. I accurately mixed the powder with water and then drew the mixture into the syringe through a rolled-up ball of cigarette filter to make sure I was filtering out any impurities. I was careful about tapping out any air bubbles before shooting.

And despite my lack of chemistry training—I had dropped out of high school at the beginning of 10th grade to dedicate myself to my chosen vocation—I always managed to measure out the correct dose, with an inherent talent for precision: just enough to rush like a bullet to Nirvanna but not enough to blow my heart out through my chest. I was even careful to rotate through my injection sites so as to allow the previous bruise and needle mark to heal unmolested.

Most importantly, I was careful to balance my life: the right dose of fun mixed in to the business of living life. At least in the beginning. I managed to hold on to my job and gain the respect of my co-workers. At least in the beginning. My roommates and I only rarely blew the rent in favor of an eighth-of-an-ounce of crystal. At least in the beginning. I always swabbed my arm with alcohol before shooting. At least in the beginning.

Ultimately, I ended up living for 8 weeks in a rent-by-the-week roach-infested motel, rinsing residue from old vials and dull needles for just enough motivation to go flip hamburgers for 8 hours. When I finally escaped the trap and moved back home, it took months for the yellow bruises and needle pricks to heal. It took a couple of years to stop craving the rush. It took a decade to regain my integrity.

See, speed-junkies don't have integrity. They might before that first shot, but not after the second. You still have a choice after the first one: "never again" or, "make mine a double". Take that second one and your life will never be as honorable as it could have been.

So that's why I cried when I watched Top Gun. I made the mistake of comparing myself to Maverick and asking myself, "why couldn't I have done that?" I hated the answer.

I thank God that he protected me from myself long enough for me to realize that He still thinks of me as a beloved son.