Wednesday, April 26, 2006

I wrote up to long-winded posts but I won't bore you so here's the short and the quick:

With these ridiculous gas prices, why are there waiting lists for hybrid cars when the market is flooded with all those other autos they can't get off the lots? Who's really running this show?

The world is running on Advertising. But who's going to take it to the next level? One day I think we're gonna wake up and realize that even internet targeted advertising isn't touching anyone under 40. The Next wave? The product that's actually worth paying for... or more advertising.

Hey, it's a start.

Thursday, April 20, 2006



As the inevitable fate of sniffing around for job possibilities creeps closer, it's become painfully clear that until my dream of professional vacuum-cord wrapper is realized I will probably end up in media/writing/ journalism or some other form of time wasting. Problem is, this pesky question keeps coming up. No, not the one about whether I've ever been convicted of a crime. Everyone wants to know if I have a blog. They want to know if I'm hip, if I'm connected, if I'm insightful, if I'm foolhardy or if I'm just a fool.

Up to this point I've been absolutely certain that if I'm going to start handing out this web address I might as well crack open Pandora's Box, shoot myself in the foot, have sex with one of my roommates, blow all my cash on a trip through Europe and Asia and all those other things Id do if the world was going to end tomorrow. This site hasn't been about breaking news, or about my experiences as an esteemed professional or about politics or finance or helping people. It' hasn't been about truth. Sometimes it hasn't even been about half truth. And hell if I plan on going back to correct two years worth of spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes.

And wouldn't the worst part about tying you and these words to my hopes of professional success mean that I would embrace seriousness and censorship, because god forbid it be tied to a company that wants to employ me but doesn't want to be associated with who I am. I mean, if I started throwing around this truth blog address people would come here expecting some truth wouldn't they? And the only person I've been true to here is me.

I started to think of all the things I would no longer be able to write about here. That I wouldn't talk about drunken stuppors or drug use or excessive internet porn consumption or personal attacks on my list of people to kill or rant about politics. And then I realized, I haven't done a damn one of these. It's not because I don't care, it's not because I'm scared to tackle tough issues and it's certainly for lack of opinions. I realized that when it comes down to it, this blog isn't really about all of that. It's just about one stupid, simple thing. Me.

I guess it's time to start scribbling www's on applications and business cards... unless you think they're going to object over calling one of their future employees simple and stupid.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

The hardest part of starting something new is saying goodbye to something old. A real pro knows that the best way to walk off that plank is to leave nothing behind unfinished, nothing unread and no one standing idly by. The pro knows because he's done it so many times before. He learns to love what everyone else avoids: The grip of the unknown and the fear of never finding anything better than what's been left behind.

The pro spends his last few weeks reflecting, preparing, recharging, and restarting. He does it alone. "Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world," some dead guy said. Imagine what he would think of all this clutter. In our world the peak of independent thought is to plaster it on pages with fancy banners and advertisements alongside. He'd probably laugh at a world where dialogue has been reduced from argument and compromise to attack and defense.

Every day I'm told that the more connected we all the better off we'll be. Maybe they're right. But the more lines we string between eachother the more we're gonna lose in the bad connections. I like the butterflies in my stomach when someone I don't know looks me in the eyes, smiles and says hi. The hardest part of starting something new is not getting tangled in those lines. Making a few clean cuts and leaving a few things behind. But I'm not worried. After all, I'm a pro.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

THE LETTERS: Volume IV


Dear New Mexico:
You're throwing down for me this week. You've been a gracious host with cold margaritas, an adobe house with heated brick floors, outdoor hot tubs, beautiful sunsets and flirty 30 year olds. Sure, Santa Fe is sleepy right now but so am I and it's perfect timing for spas and massages and wandering streets where I know I'll never bump into familiar face.

Bike trails traverse your brown rolling hills endlessly so I spent yesterday bruising and battering and exhausting myself for today's relaxation session of outdoor spa and massage. I might not be ancient and set in my ways, but my tastes are refined enough to know that good tequilla makes all the difference and that a good massage is like a good dance: speeding and slowing, moving smoothly and flawlessly from one spot to another. After years of the sport and enough physical therapists grinding my muscles into submission, the difference between massages meant to patch me up for the next day and massages meant send me to realxedville are all the more sweet.

Tonight's schedule of flamenco guitar, tapas and more margaritas went swimmingly. In fact, I was pretty sure I was swimming after about 6 or 7 when I found myself on the dance floor with the NY/NJ 30 somethings. I don't know what it is but the older ladies always have their eyes on me... not that I'm complaining.

Thnaks NM, we've still got 2 solid night ahead of us so you best rest up and get ready for me to bring the heat.

Your new Amigo,
The TB

Sunday, April 02, 2006

THE LETTERS: Volume III


Dear Orion:
Thank you. I'm not sure exactly how you manage it, but every time I look up at the night sky you're there looking back down on me, pointing me in the right direction. It might just be my place here in the northern hemisphere. It might be that I always look to the same part of the sky. Or it might be the time of year my eyes wander about the blinking lights of the nighttime horizon. You always manage to remind me that while everything changes, lost in the waves, the words and, fuck it I'll go for the triplet, the wars, it's all just a flicker in your eye.

From here you're just another sparkle of the magic that lies in the unknown. A little future and a little past mixed in something I'll see but I'll never touch except in my mind's eye. Did you know what was happening this whole time? I didn't understand why I couldn't write, why I couldn't blog, why I couldn't sing, why I couldn't pick up a girl or find a reason to pull myself out of bed before noon thirty?

It was like breaking down on Route 66 100 miles from any gas station, the adventure needle resting on E and nothing to do but sit in the sticky seats under the desert sun and wait for something to come along. Then, just as night is falling and I thought that I might as well just settle down and accept my permanent place on the side of the dusty road, you slid in through the black, pointing me on my way.

And I just wanted to say thanks.
Your Pal,
The Truth Blogger