I blinked when I left Ft. Myers, Margaritaville in January and now it’s May. The time between posts wasn’t an accident. I swear I went down to Indy n tore up Broadripple with Bling last month but that was back in Feburary. And I also keep thinking I went to Seattle a couple weekends ago to celebrate Oldold Man Finn’s birthday, but that was in March.

I got pretty sick in Feburary after doing the first part of a project – the events were probably related – n spent six weeks recovering. The illness left me feeling shackled up til when sis n I went to my aunts place in Seattle for Oldold Man’s birthday – the events could be related.

The light is finally coming at the end of the project tunnel. SEO projects can be exhausting when you have to restart from the ground up n…rants for another day. Once upon a time I got the job as “plan B” to Book of Blues. Still, I’m blessed to have a “plan B” 4 miles from home.

My copyediting cousin has gone from saying he’d be done with Book of Blues just after the Super Bowl to not returning phone calls. Don’t know the answer. Hope he’s alright. Maybe he’s pissed about my impatience. Either I could keep hunting him down or go on to those I can get ahold of.

Time for plan C: listen to the copyeditors at work n let them go to town on the draft. It’s a lucky plan C to have in the back pocket. For in the end, the goal is to finish the Book of Blues. The work projects n editing delay gave me time to think about the idea of writing to the audience. So, I think I’ll do one more runthrough the draft as I print it out for Max Power. It also made me reconsider the book titles because now I think of all 3 books at once, whereas before I used to just think of the original book.

But, before I get to do the Book of Blues fun, I actually have to get to the end of the project tunnel.

Unless this is all a dream and I’m still in Ft. Myers, Margaritaville.

I can tell my patience is wearing thin regarding my epic wait for the edits to my Book of Blues. The good news is that I talked to my cousin. I talked to him in that Facebook chat-sort-of-way. I don’t blame him. 70-hour work weeks in the blizzardom of Minneapolis has to hurt regardless of whether it’s indoor or outdoor.

To my surprise he said many a good thing about Book of Blues. He says I write very, very well. He doesn’t give out compliments so that was a suprise. Smiles emanate from him when he can get steal time to read. He says that it really goes quick. These are easily better comments than what I was expecting.

He does think there is some fat to trim. I don’t disagree. I just need fresh eyes to determine where the fat needs trimming. He’s also considering my thought of splitting the book in half given it’s girth. He’ll have to consider it. The second job he has a a book store is sadly being given up. But, he’ll have more time to read it.

I’ll have to consider what he thinks about “unnecessary description” because he’s a confessed skimmer when it comes to description. I’ll need a bigger sample size. Let me know if you’re interested.

As for the little things gettin’ to me, I refer to DB and Max Power at the Whoredom. I need to write more for them.

9 days after the Super Bowl and I’m starting to reconsider what my cousin said by “shortly after” he’d have his comments n edits for Book of Blues.

I have no patience anymore. I don’t live for much else and I’m ready to go back to work on it.

My cousin’s like me: he’s much more impatient when he’s the one who has to wait. I am. I’m half tempted to reprint the draft and go through it one more time, but that’s because I’m being impatient.

The old sayings run through my head:

• Patience is a virture
• A watched pot never boils
• Rome wasn’t built in a day
• First things first

Well as I watch the snow melt, the paint dry and the grass grow, I started to get frazzled at the feeling of my hair getting grayer, my wrinkles getting longer and my youth fading away. As I hear the sounds of sand slipping away like sands through an hourglass, I not only live in the present, but I hold on to every day like it was my last.

Need to live a little more…

image can be fond on flicker.com. username: keks.au

This week I got put on the Social Media Team at work. In my case, it was officially putting me in something I already was unofficially doing. A little Social, a little SEO Copywriter Chicago, a little PR, a little analytics…

We talked about how we were going to be transparent. I like the idea. I’m always in favor of the idea. People get mad at me because, unless they tell me to keep something a secret, I’m a proponent to the “freedom of information” act.

It got me thinking about how to ensure protection on the company’s brand. (Bare with me. You might need to Finndex these thoughts.)

There’s a caveat when boldly engaging in social media:  in addition to engaging a dialogue, Social Media is, yes,  supposed to be about transparency and authenticity. And, granted, overt conservatism is starting to fall by the wayside with the election of Obama. But eventually, no matter how far the U.S. political meter shifts to the left, the political correctness of society will collide with the transparency of Social Media. The question will be:  how close do you want to be to the accident?

You can be viral and audacious with your honesty. If you’re starting a career, in the middle of the career, or just trying to brand yourself, the honesty in Social Media will be the fast way to find the bounds of your career’s world. But, eventually, you’ll hit a landmine.  If you’re prepared, you’ll better be able to mitigate the damage.

I speak of someone who’s made blowing up social environments a habit. I’ve set “experiments” in social dynamics with the Man just to see the outcomes. They make for a great Book of Blues (btw – sttil waiting on my cousin who says he’s about done editing said Book of Blues).

Just remember to keep perspective. Social Media authenticity in the U.S. can be such a revolutionary high that you can forget, for most of us, you’re in “free” market America. More importantly, you’re in a capitalist society. I warn against being too engulfed in Social Media Idealism. Eventually, every good idea gets perverted n abused for profit and personal gain. Some call it “capitalizing,” – in the worst sense of the word. Someone will capitalize on your authenticity:  lawsuits, scams, duplication. It will happen. Prepare for it. A new medium still has to obey the existing laws, at least until the laws are updated.

I’m not saying to not engage in social media . Far from that. Embrace it with both arms – n legs if you can. Wrap around it good n tight. 50 years ago a few advertisers had a handful of TV channels and a sprinklin’ of radio stations to get the word out. Advertisers had to be aggressive. Even more ruthless than today. They had to position more. Now, the world is an ocean of information. All you have to do is find the right wave and surf. Enjoy the ride with your clients. You don’t have to try to change the physics of the market to in order to control the tide anymore.

Just remember the Social Media world hasn’t been fully mapped. Venture smart, especially if your dealing with your corporation’s marketing. It’s their livelihood, it’s your livelihood, it’s your friends’ livelihood. For every Lewis n Clark there’s been a Smith n Jones who weren’t as successful.

“Who were Smith n Jones?” Exactly!

My Advice

all great prosecutors think like criminals. All great generals learned how to think like their enemy. All great White Hat SEOs are versed in Black Hat (or they’re getting REALLLY lucky). The best offense is a good defense n vice versa. Insert Sun Tsu s#it here about “all warfare is based on deception”. It’s all accurate.

As Blues god Howlin’ Wolf said: “If you’re thinkin’ evil, you’re thinkin’ ’bout the blues.”

Learn how to think a little evil for your own good.

That’s why I am a Social Media Bluesman.

A fine, rare moment in life: slowly sipping Johnnie Walker Green with a friend you’ve gone through the trenches with.

Its just after 1:30 am. My buddy is having a housewarming party. Bought his first house. Unopened boxes still lie about. The dining room table is still a card table until his girlfriend’s dad drops off the old dining room table. Is there a better backdrop for a nightcap?

I’m in a black buttonup n jeans. I’ve put in 250 miles today attending a funeral, helping the office make a deadline, and now this evening.

I appreciate his recent fortune. It is seen in the basement rooms he just finished mudding n sanding down.

Not that I didn’t get news of good fortune in my filled day. My cousin wrote back. He should have edits n comments done just after the Super Bowl. I’m anxious. Of course I’m gonna have to filter his comments through a couple other editors. Where to find editors? Oh wait, I work with 5 of them. Though, I do wish I had a home of my own to go to. Just a couple years to go.

I’m gonna go home in that “Who’s up for poker?” Kind of way. They know my weaknesses. It’s what happens when you go through the trenches with friends. They’re worth the Green.

I get to keep the bottle to my left. Ambiance.

One of the best New Years I’ve experienced in years. I enjoyed outdoor dining with oldold man Finn, went DVD shopping n watched movies with the oldold man. Then, while we were enjoying Saving Private Ryan – ololdold man Finn’s first DVD purchase – I started something I hadn’t done in two years: wrote new Book of Blues content.

It was invigorating. I felt like I was going back in time, watching the lives of old friends, again. And the most beautiful thing regarding the visit: I get to do it again once this post is done.

The writing was both a homecoming and a scary, uncharted adventure. A mixture of hearth and heartpounding. An orchard of Red Light Oranges.

I did write the Prologue to the Book of Blues Sequel this summer. Overwhelmed in augmented SEO Copywriter Chicago duties that was blowing the ink off the job description in my contract, I needed an escape before I exploded. The only time available was stolen. During a late-night temporal theft, the Prologue popped out like the white sh*t from a squeeed zit. It was a release, something that needed to be done to get myself back to within site of my equilibrium.

Though the experience was enjoyed, there wasn’t an opportunity to savor and reflect upon the newborn content. The quick, early-morning nap I called, “a night’s sleep” blinked in and out and I moreorless lived another two-months in the office before I could take time to remember that the Book of Blues Sequel Prologue was written.

Time to take another visit to the world of Book of Blues Prequel.

I should hear from my cousin in a couple days. I hope to get a status report on the copyediting of the original Book of Blues. Saying I’m “antsy” would be an understatement.

Warm weather New Years is ideal. I’m converted.

Minnehaha Creek meets the mighty Mississippi River

So I looked forward to my trip to Minneapolis. This was going to be a crossroads for Book of Blues. Good and great stuff keeps being said of Book of Blues. I need to hear something harsh. I don’t care how much I put into the book. Someone has to hate it eventually. Those people are out there. I want to find them and find out why they think it sucks. If anyone will hate it, it’ll be my cousin. We have that sort of combatitive nature. The spirited competition keeps us on our toes.

So far, I get a bunch of these sort of comments:

“Wow, there’s a lot going on but I can really follow along.”

“I found I really miss the characters when I haven’t read it.”

“Book of Blues is actually like 3 books in one.”

“I just wish I knew for certain what happened to some of the characters.” – this was the harshest one. This complaint was fixed by assuring the reader that there was a “TBC” (“To Be Continued”). Closer to the truth, “Could Be Continued,” because, in the end, who the hell really knows. As Brainyquote.com just reminded me on my gmail as I await a confirmation email, that old blues god, Søren Kierkegaard, once said:

“Life must be understood backwards; but… it must be lived forward”

Soren Kierkegaard said a lot, but I take him at face value. You get spoonfed him enough in college, with his thinkings put on a pedestal and placed on high only to find this theologian’s biggest practical experience in love (relationship, not metaphysical and all those damned words he had for describing it…) was being engaged to a lady named Regine Olsen and then breaking it off because he felt it was his call in life to suffer a life of solitude to keep him focused on his dutiful, devout, sacred writing, you tend to grain-of-salt his wisdom at times. OK, now granted he’s from 19th century Danish high society and multiple cultures throughout history have had their own unique measurements on age-appropriateness including the sacred bar mitzvahs, but what 27 yr old PH. D. grad really wants to shack up with a 13 yr old? I mean, seriously, Liv Tyler wasn’t even thaaat good looking when she graced her first magazine cover at that age. Not that the poor boy died a virgin. According to the tale, his friends helped him with that by getting him shitfaced one night and taking him to a prostitute. The best sex he can’t be sure he remembers. Is it any wonder that he literally wrote himself to death by age 47.

So, anyway, I didn’t get that brawling debate of Book of Blues like I had hoped because my cousin had started Book of Blues in that not-so-much kind-of-way. He’s a newlywed, working a couple jobs to make ends meet. I let it go. The itch to get the book published still weighs heavy, but I can only be so many kinds of asshole about it.

So, I go back in three weeks, enjoy the drive through the Wisconsin countryside. The trip wasn’t a total loss by any stretch. I got to hang out with my cousins. My cousin’s wife and I walked down Minnehaha creek (yes, everything in Minnesota seems to start with “Minne”. Yes, a “Minne”-joke) and followed it out to the sacred Mississippi River. Great times, great, peaceful days.

And, by the way, if you end up out at the park and take the 46th Street Bridge over to St. Pauls and chill out at The ChatterBox Pub, mix their strawberry lemonade with their specially-brewed IPA. It sounds crazy, but I drank them all night. Tall, leggy waitresses can be that kind of inspiring – and despite what my cousin might have said to his friends in livejournal, I don’t “play a mean game of ‘pick up the waitress’.” I’m only so many kinds of asshole.

Back in the 1990′s, I got my cousin to listen to a abstract, coffee house hip-hip band from New York named Soul Coughing. Back in the early 2000′s, my cousin came to visit me when I lived in a place my world dubbed The Corn Crib. As we were playing Cornhole in The Corn Crib, he asked me a question:

“Hey, do you remember Mike Doughty?”

“Should I?” I asked, unalerted.

“Yeah. He used to be the leader of Soul Coughing.”

Used to be?” I asked, alerted, as I missed the box with my next bag. Mike Doughty is easily my favorite lyricist from the 1990′s. Ahead of Vedder, TuPac…

“What happened to Soul Coughing?” I asked, concerned.

“They broke up,” my cousin said, nonchalantly, “Mike Doughty has since gone solo.”

“No shit?” I bemused.

“Yeah, can I go play a concert he just did in Minneapolis?” my cousin asked just to be polite as he commandeered my stereo.

My cousin and I are fiercely competitive with each other, yet we are always on the lookout for each other. He’s carved a nice niche for himself in Minneapolis. His heart used to be in theater. He’s been apart of some world-renowned productions including the Tony Award-winning Utah Shakespearean Festival. He worked the festival on more than on occasion. He met his wife at the festival. His wife is a sweatheart. Only person I know with a Master’s Degree in Puppetry.

He now dives heartily into the world of games, anywhere from poker and chess to games found at Gen Con.

I have a feeling his theatrical fire mixed with his competitive spirit and he exploded upon Book of Blues when he read it. The paper will be saturated with my cousin’s red ink. He’ll be harsh, he’ll be critical. He’ll hate it and then he’ll give suggestions, direction and then he’ll tell me how to publish a book of blues. I will listen. It will be a battle, but after we exhaust each other, if Book of Blues is still standing, it we’ll be galvanized and ready for anyone.

I hope for nothing less.

Danny Clinch photo of LeRoi Moore's instrument setup published with permission from Danny Clinch

I didn’t know how bad my bad day was until my supervisor told me the news:

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Your boy, LeRoi Moore, died today.”

It was August 19th, 2008. I was groaning over an ex-girlfriend’s birthday and over the thoughts that she was in the city (Chicago). Petty, figuring I haven’t seen her in a while, but I still get competitive over who’s doing better. I do miss those legs. She also always seemed to fumble her away into being a step ahead of me on music, be it a cooler stereo, a more thought-out music collection – her step dad helped quite a bit. Two on one.

“Not always fair,” I graciously bemoan…

I was groaning over the work and wondering if I missed the fine print on my contract that said, “40 hours a week only if the week ends on hump day.” That day, had I been given a copy of my contract, I would have sworn I was seeing double. It sucks having to clean up the messes of the paranoid and reckless.

Anyway, when my supervisor told me the news, I thought he was lying.

I went to the only university that didn’t overplay Dave Matthews Band. Yeah, that school: Denominational University. About 7 of us knew of Dave Matthews Band. I got into Dave Matthews Band because I had a roommate from Virginia Beach who introduced me to their music. DMB always seemed to release a CD, be it studio or live, just as I thought I was going to lose it. My last bit of work at Denominational University was done while pulling an all-nigher, taking a ritalin every three hours to not think about the anxiety, and listening to “Before These Crowded Streets.” I got more of a religious experience from their music than I did from Denominational University. Experience and authenticity: religious necessities for healing.

I thought my big Prometheus college gift for my high school sister would be the Dave Matthews Band studio album “Under the Table and Dreaming.” To my surprise on Christmas morning, her gift for me was the same CD. Our relationship seems to always be this way.

Anyway, after I couldn’t get my supervisor to crack his poker face, I went to cnn.com. I calmly turned to him and said, “I’m going to go home for lunch.”

I don’t know if it was his death that brought upon the tears as I sped home so much as it was Leroi Moore’s death being another reminder that life is going by, as the Allman Brothers once sang, “like hurricanes and faster things.” Leroi Moore isn’t my favorite musician in Dave Matthews Band. I’ve seen Dave Matthews Band live 13 times and there were moments when I’d wish he’d hurry up with his bit so Boyd Tinsley spin some more pixies off his strings. I thought LeRoi’s Death might have simply been a personal life face slap that our Book of Blues still isn’t published, nor finished being edited.

Then I remembered how I wanted to see Dave Matthews Band this past summer at Toyota Park near Chicago. I remember telling a concert-going friend, “It’s okay, I’ve seen them 13 or 14 times. They’ll be around next year. I’ll see them again.” And then we finished buying pit seats to see Jack Johnson at Alpine Valley in East Troy, WI. Not that we couldn’t have done both, but my work was getting crazy. This a clip from the show and this was about our view for the show:

No real knock on Jack Johnson. I really do like listening to him. My appreciating is paradoxical because I’m typically not one for just strumming and a younger me would have been a guitar snob pointing out the simplicity of his style, but an older me appreciates the way it calms me. It was a soothing show. Kenny Chesney and Toby Keith have tried to be in line to take over Jimmy Buffet’s kingdom, but it will be Jack Johnson who wears the crown. He’s mixed Buffet’s beach persona together with Bob Marley’s authenticity (as the clip shows, he puts in bars of Marley and Buffet in throughout the show) to make stories about marrying your college sweetheart and recycling sound peaceful, soothing and enjoyable. His songs seem to give me an indication where my life could had been had I not taken the road less traveled (and all that Frost shit).

I do wish I had my iPhone 3G then to take a picture of the lawn after that Jack Johnson Alpine Valley 2008 concert. I felt bad for the Alpine Valley Resort staff. It sucks having to clean up the messes of the drunk and reckless.

But during that lunch, as I dealt with the pain of finding out about LeRoi by gouging on Diet Coke and peanut butter and jellys, I realized that one of the great treats in my life, one of the refuges I resided in for hours at a time in my life – taking in Dave Matthews Band shows – was never going to be the same. Oh sure, there’s Boyd and Carter and Steffan and that dude with the acoustic guitar tucked under his armpits, but the original lineup will never be on stage again. One of those faster things took it away from me. Not to be selfish, one of those faster things, in this case: an ATV, took somethings special away from everyone in that refreshing world I frequent.

I find myself appreciating his artistry more. I find myself wishing I could hear LeRoi Moore live, again. I might finally buy that Code Magenta CD. Maybe most importantly, I find myself not wanting to have to be the ‘what if’. I’m feeling the panic of not publishing Book of Blues. I don’t want to take anything more for granted ever again.

I need to call my cousin tomorrow. He has my paper draft of Book of Blues. More on him tomorrow, but the fact he didn’t call me a week after he had it is surprising. I know he’s read it by now. He’s usually the kind to call and life face slap withouth much regard. I’ve been waiting for the harshness. I told him to bring the pain because we want Book of Blues done right. We didn’t write it for ourselves. I can’t wait to hear what he says. Yet, he hasn’t called. I don’t have the courage to believe that old saying about what “no news” is.

NOTE: A special thank you goes out to legendary photographer Danny Clinch for granting me permission to publish his LeRoi Moore photo. I emailed him saying that I was an aspiring old blues man-to-be and I wanted to publish the photo. I told him why I wanted to and about Book of Blues and he wrote back saying he was an old blues man, too and I could “go ahead.” Danny, if Book of Blues ever gets published, I will send you a copy, as promised.

– Nat Finn