It’s taken a couple days to get back into the groove back home. I’ve been gone four weeks and the world feels like it’s passed me by. Thus is the tempo of Internet marketing.

Therein it goes

I just finished working on wearing out my running shoes. And I just finished killing some ants at oldold man Finn’s summer place – when saving a jam basket, make sure it’s all cleaned out. Now comes the task of waiting for messages to be returned, compiling the to-do list, and reminding myself that the Book of Blues Prequel won’t write itself.

So long as I can stay busy, I can keep managing my winter blues…so I hope.

And another ant down. It’s a 33-degree day in The Region. Where the hell are they coming from?

While on my cramped flight to Chicago with less then amicable elders, I found my escape in the form of:
1) “Reckoning” by the Grateful Dead & 2) “Twitter Marketing for Dummies” by Kyle Lacy.

I pre-ordered Lacy’s book back in, what was it, October & I had it half-read in a few days. Then life kicked in and I didn’t get back to it so I decided to take it with me to Ft. Myers, Margaritaville. Glad I did because I was able to finish it before we got to the stopover in St. Louis.

And then the less than amicable passengers from up front left. And the positive chi return.

So as the plane refills the 8 of us remaining with 75 new Chicago-bound passengers who brush my shoulder and arms with their bags and backsides, I give, in the classic Twitter style, a 140-character review of “Twitter Marketing for Dummies:”

Definitive read. Ideal for beginners and a refresher for pros. Needs a to-do checklist & link to updated apps for be complete

Yeah, I liked it. And I learned things I isn’t know before, espeially things on Media usuage and resources to print media via Twitter.

The last of the new passengers have finished ceremonially grazing my shoulder, which means it’s time to shut down the airplane-unfriendly iPhone for awhile as we head for sweet home Chicago.

Get Kyle Lacy’s book. & for those who’ve read it, let me know what you think.

Ooh dear, I’m being a rebel. Gots to to so we can leave early…

I’m on Southwest Flight 138 in Fort Myers, headed for Chicago w a stop in St Louis. And my judgment is skewed, subjected to my bittersweetness of leaving oldold man Finn, my love for my second home – Ft. Myers, Margaritaville – and claustrophobic barriers being pummeled by an unusual selection of self-centered passangers not wanting to share seats. my need to escape this eerie chi is only magnified my feeling that this flight is ominous.

I hope my senses are off.

luckily 1) I got the aisle and 2) the nicest person in the cabin is now sitting next to me. He’s a boy, not much older than 12. Already lost in his book, he seems to share my need to simply get this flight moving. he doesn’t hold the same angered expressions the elders in the front held.

time to shut this down. don’t need the iPhone wordpress app to be the predestined reason for my fears.

And once in awhile, the unexpected happens…

Oldold Man Finn and I took off for Clewiston, Florida at about 10:30 am this morning. He wanted to show me a little bit of Florida history during this “bad” weather – bad as in “it hasn’t broken 60 in a few a days.”

Clewiston sits on the southern edge of Lake Okeechobee. It’s the home of US Sugar Company, the company that once owned the historic Clewiston Inn where the oldold Man and I had lunch.

The Clewiston Inn looks like a classic Southern Inn on the outside with a two-story, white marble column entrance. Its inside has decor that pays homage to the Everglades – wildlife, fishing, hunting…

Glorious wooden greeting room, a legendary lounge with a wall-to-wall mural painted by a local artist, Clewiston Inn was indeed a nice little local treasure.

While at lunch, I got a call from a buddy who suggested I write about the Clewiston Inn. I might still do that. I took pictures and I’ll put them in a Flickr gallery when I get back home.

But it was after lunch that stirred the imagination

As we were leaving the parking lot at Clewiston Inn and heading a mile down the road towards “the last light in town” (because our waitress thought we knew where that was) which would take us to a scenic trail for Lake Okeechobee, I pointed out the there are roads that circle the water.

“Yeah, but you really don’t see the lake,” he pointed out.

If the “scenic” trail was any indication, then he was dead on. We shoulda brought the boat we don’t have.

As we were comin’ back from the “scenic” trail, I played around on Google Maps to check our trail back when something surprising caught my eye:

I pointed out to the oldold man that we were actually closer to West Palm Beach (~ 45 miles) then we were to Ft. Myers (~72 miles).

“Oh yeah? You know of West Palm Beach?”

“My once-employer used to have an office there.”

He hemmed and hawed as we started to head back towards Ft. Myers.

A couple miles later he pulled into a gas station.

“You have three-quarters of a tank left,” I noted.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t turn around on the road.”

“We’re actually going to tour Lake Okeechobee?”

“Nope.”

And before I knew it, we were headed for the Atlantic Ocean.

I’ll write more about the trip in the next couple days, but for now I was overwhelmed by the fact he turned around. I knew the oldold man still had it in him.

I think he’s starting to realize the vitality of his age.

I’m older than I care to admit and today I got to take an unplanned, college-style roadtrip from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean and back with my 84-year-old grandfather.

And if you’ve been reading, then yeah, with “six strong hands on the steering wheel.”

I can’t wait to script this into the Book of Blues Prequel. I can’t wait for the family to find out.

And by the way, Google Maps, it didn’t take us 1 day, 16 hours to drive the 46.2 miles. He doesn’t drive that slow.

Does anyone in your life need to re-remember what makes life worth living? Have you done anything with them to remind them?

On my last year’s journey to Ft. Myers, Margaritaville, I stayed 17 days. This year, I get to stay a little longer. At first I was concerned because I had loose ends to tie up, but everything is now under control.

On my last post I talked about how my sister identifies with the Dixie Chick’s Taking the Long Way Around and how she’a learned to live life with six strong hands on the steering wheel:

• Her
• Her Hopes
• Her Dreams

As Dixie Chicks fans could probably guess, the other song I’ve been listening to on my extended stay in Fort Myers, Margaritaville is their anthem Not Ready to Make Nice.

Their anthem is also my sister’s anthem. And I couldn’t be prouder of her choice.

See, my sister has had endure more than people should have to face.

They say God doesn’t give you more than you handle. But they never mention that debtees end up having to pay society for the debt incurred from the damage done by their debtors, even when the debtors wash their hands of the transactions and hide behind the walls of their repackaged Tower of Babel.

And when the debtors want bygones to be bygones, going so far as to ask for forgiveness to the debtees and then telling their own stakeholders they are not responsible, pushing so far as to dive into moral relativeism in hopes of blurring the events of history and long-con their way back into good graces…

As the Brothers Judd Blog said: “Debtees are always pawns.”

When the Dixie Chicks spoke out, you can’t tell me that Toby Keith’s PR agent didn’t smell gold and encouraged him to speak out. He probably scripted TK’s speech. Think I’m crazy? Check Toby Keith’s records scales before and after the 2003 fallout. Check out the awards. Some think the Dixie Chicks / Toby Keith feud was as for show before it got personal.

The Dixie Chicks laid low for three years, then came back and professed they were going to stay strong:

“I’m stil mad as Hell and I don’t have time to do what it is you think I should [do].” – The Chicks

And they still fight.

If a debtor doesn’t mention their debt, is it still a debt?

In my sister’s case, she wasn’t even aware of the debt. If she didn’t uncover it, her debtors would have never said anything. Slid it under the rug, snuck through life without mentioning. Ignored it and hoped it went away.

“They’re no longer those people.”

Spiritual awakenings don’t pay debts

So long as I’m breathing, the debtors will never be within a gas tank hybrid road trip of my sister until the debt is paid. Her debt is my debt.

And they’re gonna pay that debt with interest. If not one way…

‘Cause I ain’t ever gonna be ready to make nice.

And I can’t help but doubt any spiritual awakening that claims you don’t have to give to Caesar what is Caesar. Not a fan of the Bible? Pick a different canonical text or set of rules from a great nation. They all have a similar concept.

That’s why “Not Ready to Make Nice,” is a blues song

And if my sister’s fight doesn’t inspire you, too, then you’re probably a debtor. You better honor that debt.The alternative is far worse.

And That’s why I like the blues.

And if you can’t see the blues in these stories – the debts, the pain, the mountain of obstacles, and the fight for balance that teeters on vengeance, then, oh, to have your life. And, yes, envy is bluesy too.

Speaking of inspiring stories and songs from Texas

Along with my sister finding inspiration to her inspiring story in songs from a Texas band and my new-found love affair with Austin, Texas, I take a moment to shout out to my once-intern, Bailey Holloway.

As of yesterday, Bailey took her VU degree, packed up her son and her life up here in The Region and sought to make a better life in Texas. Regardless of whether she stays or comes back, I couldn’t admire her anymore for the courageous decision.

So long as she realizes that moving to Texas doesn’t get her debt to me: a few lunches I covered as she interned.

Bailey – may you learn how to live, sing, and dance as they do in Texas.

(I’m working towards this scene, but forgetting to rest as I go)

I woke up, got prepared for a meeting in New Buffalo, MI, and called to confirm. They answered, said it would be better if I backed it up a day, and I was none more thankful. Now I’m backing up my trip to Indy.

Heaven bless the nature of the business.

See the night before I went out with my old boss and a few co-workers. My old boss claimed it was my birthday and people flocked out. Imagine my surprise. Not only that, it was my third birthday this year. And a, “thank you,” goes out to all who came.

Sometimes you have to blow off steam. I forget that.

I don’t do it enough. I try to pretend I’m a machine. I think about how I’ve got 16 days before I go to Ft. Myers, Margaritaville for three weeks and then think I can work straight on till I board the plane.

I’m not a machine.

So when I went back to bed and didn’t wake up until 3pm, refreshed, invigorated, and mostly free from Gumballhead hangover, my body was trying to remind me to balance myself.

In sports, they would call my last few weeks, “playing to the level of the competition.” Some teams can give the best in their sport a run for their money on any given night and then turn around and falter to the league doormats.

If I can’t perform at my best every day, then I’ll never get to where I want to go. Right now, I have no real pressure or deadlines except ones I imply on myself. The best realize the only real pressure to worry about is the pressure to be the best “you” you can be. Everything is temporal and fades away with time.

I’m getting too old not to remember that.

And someday, I’ll be a craftsman.

Are you doing your best every day?

(Photo Credit: Pat Kono via Flickr)

enlarged green flash image at Captiva Island Beach - original image at http://www.beggsrealtors.com/

Eight months ago, I was in Ft. Myers, Margaritaville, preparing to write either the Book of Blues Prequel or Sequel.

Today, I’m going to start on the second chapter of the Blues Book Prequel. Still haven’t sketched either books, but I did sketch the outline of the chapter.

The image in my head that starts the chapter is much like the image in this post, except more brilliant.

Either way, the characters are now along that soft sandy shore beneath a vermillion sky. And right now, so am I.

Got some work to do, some other posts to write, but this chapter has been consuming my thoughts since early this summer.It must mean that Fall is right around the corner. We always seem to write in the Fall.

And the pain creeps in a little, again. Them blues

I’m distracted, frazzled. Procrastinating. Afraid of taking the next few necessary steps to get my my publishing career on track.

In three days I get to attend the home Church of Baseball – Wrigley. Some people go to places to laugh and experience. I usually like to go to places to screw my head on straight.

Like the Church of Baseball – Wrigley.

Speaking of places where to screw my head on straight, I bought my tickets for Ft. Myers, Margaritaville. Need to inform the office. I think I’m going to be there a day longer this year. And that’s okay.

Once I’ve finished at the Church of Baseball – Wrigley, I’ll be preparing for my pilgrimage.

And then year starts anew.

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 used to look forward to hanging out in Elkhart, IN. I had family who lived along the St. Joesph river. I’d play around n get in trouble with my cousins while my family finished remodeling the house.

The St. Joseph River used to scare me. My family lived near the damn. The damn had a steep dropoff. The boat could slide right through one of the openings and over the edge. One day, the driver slid around behind a buoy during a turn to go back upstream. The boat struggled. Barely made it out of the current. The current is always strongest at the end of the opening of the edge of a cliff.
I could only suspect the natives of Elkhart, IN are feeling the same way at present. A small manufacturing town 15 miles east of South Bend, IN, Elkhart only had so much which drew the public eye. They used to be able to boast being the home of a famous NBA player, but when that player is Sean Kemp, you tighten your lip back up. Then again, given the sports stories of the day, fathering many children with many mothers amongst other things is bluesy if anything.
I live in a town that sponges off of Chicago more than it depends on Gary. Elkhart’s major industries are mobile home and RV manufacturing. They’re one of the top two centers for their industries. Currently, there’s now 15% unemployment in Elkhart County, IN and 18% in the city of Elkhart, Indiana. I wish Obama’s crew would have been filmed eating at a local dinner along the St. Joseph river while he was in the town, but the fact he showed up there was story enough.
I take another moment from the main concerns of my life and think about Elkhart along with Ft. Myers, Florida. I haven’t been to Elkhart in years. If you’ve read any of my posts then you’ve read about my Christmas n New Years experiences in Ft. Myers. The vacant storefronts and empty domestic car dealer lots have that “remains of a ghost town” feel. I went lookin’ for tumbleweed. The road leading up to the Mucky Duck on Captiva Island was lined with “For Sale” signs. Much like Elkhart, Ft. Myers doesn’t survive on hedged industries. Medicine dependent on the snowbirding elderly as well as tourism. Neither is surviving.
Obama will be in Ft. Myers on Tuesday. I don’t know what it’ll take to restore the economy. What to do with 20th century manufacturing towns in the 21st century is a question in which the answer will come with a Pulitzer Prize. Not that it can’t be done, but that it’s that serious, complex, and detailed of a question. The best answer, at best, is that it will involve a concentrated effort. Change of this magnitude takes a generation. Unfortunately, our nation usually can’t wait past a commercial break. In the case of towns like Elkhart, I can’t blame them.

I’m guessing it will take Will and repeated efforts.