I’m at one of the legendary establishments of Northwest Indiana. My buddy is quickly becoming a rising star in local political circles & we’re celebrating primary victories this evening.

The funny thing is the guy footing my drinks is a staunch Republican from Massachusetts. And he’s not a career politician. Just a humble “prostitute” who sells linens. His #1 client just happens to be up the road. No, he doesn’t know a soul in the room.

Another cosmic coincidence. I’ve been beeblebroximg across them lately with frequency.

Anyway, the salesman seems to be a great guy. Reminds me of what conversations with my father could have been like. In political worlds, I wasted a good 30 minutes of glad-handing. But, to me, it was worth it. When the salesman from Massachusetts wakes up early in the AM (now THAT’s when it really all hurts the most) to golf with clients, he won’t think of me. It’s probabaly because at this point he doesn’t remember his embelishments or his other evening’s Willy Loman hamartias (thank you, Wikipedia). The hangover will be the novicaine to get him through the day.

And, for him, I’ll try to be the generation’s Vonnegut. Massachusetts Willy remembers Dresdin as though it were yesterday.

I smile and say a prayer for Massachusetts Willy. And for Dresdin. Hopefully Tat’s right and moments are that flexible. Somehow I find courage within that because that’d mean Massachusetts Willy hasn’t fully escaped reality. Which means there’s hope.

Speaking of hope, I can hear my buddy gregariously working the room from all the way over here on this deck swing. I should go harmonize with his melody. And grab my iced tea.

My grandfather would roll over in his grave if he heard this many Beatles songs at a political event. He’d probabaly quip about the night missing chocolate cake in a bag.

Does the evening sound this bittersweet to you too?

PS-I didn’t bring the iPad to try and blog. This was done from my iPhone. I’ll try again w/ the iPad tomorrow.

thank you, guys, for the support. (photo by Anna Malle via Flickr)

I wrote a post yesterday I felt compelled to write. And I confess that I was nervous about the reception.

But, once again, y’all overwhelmed me.

Thank y’all for the affection and support. Not only was it revitalizing, but the suggestsions really caused me to pause and think.

I don’t dabble in much social commentary. At least not as much as I used to.

If I come across the stories again, I’ll do my best to pass them along.

And, to be honest, that’s the spirit that’s in the Book of Blues. And, “no,” I’m ain’t whistlin’ Dixie.

At this point in time, my thoughts are with several of my friends. If I were more a betting man, I’d fear their days are gonna get worse before they get better.

If y’all get a chance, please drop a prayer off for them.

Prayers on High for The Region

And thank y’all once again,

– Finn

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” – Luke 12:43-44

There have been some recent events that got The Region Business community chattering. Watercoolering.

On more than one occasion I’ve been asked about the situation because of my resourceful insight. So before the events flare up for its upcoming round of speculation, I will give me take on the events:

Last night I went and bought groceries at the local store. Bagels, apples, nothing spectacular.

It was 11:00pm on a Sunday night and the checkout girl Walmart-greeted as I walked in. I thought I was coming in late and she was feigning her happiness. But she was sincere. Smiling, humble, gracious.

Fearing the wrath of the employees – for I’ve been on that side of the time clock - I scrambled to get to the essentials before hustling back so they could get home sometime tonight too.

But as I got slid into her line, she greeted me as soft and penitent as when I first arrived. As did the gentlemen in front of me, looking worn from his fast food gig as he happily scrambled up the change to buy his bag of pretzels.

During the transaction, the gentlemen was raving about a contest in which he just won a car.

“The others, they wanted the Caddys. But I didn’t, you know? I don’t want to pay for those repairs…my uncle has a Caddy…I’m glad I got the Buick.” - was the gist of message.

I said, “No, I hear ya’,” I said as I took my receipt and started bagging my groceries.

The whole time I kept thinking that something was different about this conversation. This wasn’t an ordinary lottery. But before I could sharpen my thought, the gentlemen bagged his bag, apologized for being in the way, and took off before I could chuckle at his absurd politeness.

Then I turned back to the lady.

The checkout girl spoke with almost a sheepish cadence as if she was afraid of getting into trouble. I wanted to apologize.

“I’m sorry for that.”

I finally got my chuckling out when I said there was nothing to be sorry for.

Then it all made sense.

She said, “We used to live together at the (name omitted on purpose) shelter. He just won one of the cars at the donation auction there. Now he can drive to work.”

(I think I get that quote close to correct.)

She went to apologize and I said, “It’s a great story.”

I should have said, “That’s the most beautiful story I’ve heard in a long, long time.”

I would have used more detail but it wasn’t my story to tell. I feel guilty for telling as much of it as I did and I hope their success story continues and they get to tell it in great detail to a great many people many, many times because it’s such the story worth telling.

Being a child whose mother benefited from President Carter’s vision of welfare, I can’t not be touch by that. I can’t not defend that.

These are the stories we need to watercooler about.

These stories of people getting back up, battered and bruised. And getting their hands back into the dirt. And of the many great charities and churches doing good works to help these people who should never have had to suffer.

These are the people I want to rave about, talk about at length, and support and defend with unrelenting passion and vigor if they fall under the mercy of the positioning of lesser people.

These are the people worth commenting about. These are the stories that should be getting the pages of column inches

instead of the petty puff pieces that pander and placate to the public’s prayers to parade vicariously through pirates.

“Second star on the right, and straight on till morning.” - J. M. Barrie

With the thousands of people in The Region alone still suffering the ripples of corporate indulgence, that last thing I want is to be reminded of it, again. Or to give it anymore press.

There are too many other pilgrimages to promote.

Who’s with me?

(the sad truth is that if this story gets any traction, it won’t be because of the good souls I met at the grocery story last night)

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?

Since my 99 week pilgrimage started, I’ve had many people ask what my next steps are going to be. I’ve even gotten a couple projects from these conversations. I am grateful for the questions and appreciative of the concern, but I can’t say for certain, yet, as to where I’m going.

Sleepless nights, numerous conversations, and apprehensive afternoons have been fidgeted away because, like Max Power who had having trouble focusing on his last PPC Hero blog post, I’ve been gripping too hard to the question, “What to do next.”

Then something changed, a little.

1) Bless the cursed marketing promotion for John Mayer’s, “Who Says.” I’m not the biggest John Mayer fan. It’s not because of his talent. He’s a craftsmen. It’s because I haven’t been in his target market of 14-year-old girls. But in his song, “Who Says,” not only is it a well crafted, finger-picked song, but I’ll confess I relate to it.

“It’s been a long time since ’22′
I don’t remember you lookin’ any  better
then again I don’t remember you…”

The images in his video also captivate me:  the sharp lines and right angles of his European-styled apartment, latest fashion trends of his city friends, walking the streets at night, great food, good drink… But none of the scenes caught my attention more than the scene with the old wooden chair along a white wall with a Martin acoustic guitar in its lap 13 seconds in.

Most of us who fall in love with our guitars dream of this spot. Many of us work through our days to get back to this spot at night. I used to even turn off the lights so I wouldn’t watch my fingers.

2) After I saw the “Who Says,” video I stopped over at oldold man Finn’s house to check on his place. He’s snowbirding in Ft. Myers. I’ll be down there soon to visit.

I went into his house, checked the rooms, and saw my Martin guitar sitting in his living room. It’s been sitting there almost two years in its black hardtop case. I don’t have the space to store it and I didn’t have time to play it. I sat in the old dining room chair, pulled the guitar out of its case, and placed it in my lap. The first thing that hit me was the fresh smell of Mahogany. The second thing that hit me was how it felt like I was hugging an old friend.

Some people get into careers to feed themselves. Some get into their careers only as far as it takes to feed their family. I dove deep into my career so I could always have a space to play guitar and work on my book of blues. Once I got in there, I found my career, my guitar playing, and my blues books can all help each other. That’s why my topic of my site is:

“Live Music. Blues Books. Inbound Marketing, Social Media, SEO, Blogging…”

All my passions have become family. Now I have to bring my family together.

I still don’t know where the next step will be, but it’ll involve live music, blues books, and inbound marketing.

It has been a long time since 22. And don’t remember her looking any better, but then again I don’t know if I remember her anymore.

(Here’s a live version of John Mayer’s “Who Says”)

(photo credit:  Marite 2007 via flickr)

(Try planning this kind of fun. Go ahead, good luck)

Tweetups, like Meetups and Networking Events, are always nice to plan. It’s also helpful to be able to pick your venue, plan a menu, craft a guest list, and develop a framework for how the evening should flow in advance. It’s especially helpful to the venue owner in case the numbers attending your event are going to need their own space.

But Tweetups, in their essence, are spontaneous and can’t always be planned. Much like any given day, you never know what’s going to happen…

1. When political protesters in Iraq were getting the word out about places to meet, they couldn’t plan the event. They simply couldn’t risk it.
2. Take last night. The home town was having a “Christmas window” viewing down the main street. Families flocked up and down the street to admire the store owners’ creations. While that was going on, a local company was having a networking event. Those events weren’t going to go on all night yet some of the attendees still wanted to enjoy the night out with friends.

TWEETUP!

A few tweets later and a crew of folks were meeting at a local establishment. Dubbed an “afterweetup” after respect for the local company’s event, the new movement later became an “afteraftertweetup,” when the scene moved to a local Mexican diner for a “nightcap.”

How to Spread the Word About an Unplanned Tweetup

You spread the word on an unplanned tweetup much like you do with a planned tweetup. You just do it much more hastily.

• Use familar hastags on twitter to spread the word
• Tweet often
• Don’t be afraid to use Facebook, texts, emails, and that talk feature on the cell phone too.
• Whatever crowd-gathering measures comes to mind
• Repeat with frequency
• Document with photos, videos, tweets, and posts

Then, most importantly, go have some fun.  Before too long, word gets out about the events and people start to get used to the “planned spontaneity.”

TweetUp HashTags in Northwest Indiana

There are a few hashtags those in The Region use to announce Tweetups

• #nwindiana
• #nwitweetup
• #nwi
• #aftertweetup
• #afteraftertweetup
• #nwitwoker

Keep monitoring tweets with these words. You never know when they’re announcing a tweetup.

How Often Do You Plan a TweetUp?

(photo credit:  Svavar Trausti via Flickr)

(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)

A long back-end of 2009 came to a peaceful end. I’ll miss the production crew, but unless something magical happens the synergy in that office we’ll never go back to the way it was. At least not today and probably not tomorrow.

“I’ve seen the needle and the damage done,” - Neil Young.

I’ve been told I could be welcomed back as a contractor soon. I don’t know if they were sincere and I don’t know if I’d accept. I’m afraid I’ll be surrounded by ghosts of memories past and there’ll be too much space in that office for the memories to swirl around. Though I’m told the space is contracting. Watched too many tears shed and life is only supposed to go in one direction. But it was a good-faith gesture and for that I am thankful.

But I hope they turn it around. There are still good folks remaining amongst the survivors. And if the situation arises and bridges are mended, maybe I finish what I started.

Maybe.

As for me, I’m a free agent. My next 99 weeks ought to be an adventure. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll be allowed to sing off-key for awhile as well as find new audiences to perform in front of.

And when I have freedom, people to see, and projects to work on, that only means one thing:

She’s gonna be gettin’ a little work in.

I’ve got two trips planned before Ft. Myers, Margaritaville and I’ll probably start my retreat around Thanksgiving this year. Oldold man Finn is 84 and could use a driving companion. I just hope my car can stay at that slow a’speed .

And who knows what that trip couple bring.

Thank y’all so much for the support. I hadn’t had this much action on my facebook page, well, ever.

And there’s a good chance I’ll be seein’ y’all soon.

Free Webcam Chat at Ustream

Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. If you’re lucky, those things end up working about better than you could have ever imagined.

I came down to Indy for 2009 Halloween to see the sacred, hallowed grounds for Indianapolis New Media Marketers from 96th Street to Greenwood:  The Bean Cup.

Today is the last day for the Bean Cup – at least at this current destination. Rental issues are to blame. Don’t worry, The Bean Cup will be back before the Indy Tweeps can start a blog about it but until then, we’re making sure The Bean Cup stays original by hosting a Bean Cup White Party.

If you’re in Indy and are between Halloween Parties, stop on by.

Sometimes there’s value to channel surfing.

In between innings of Game 1 of the 2009 World Series and I stumbled upon a classic movie I haven’t seen in years:  The Crow. Brandon Lee’s spooky prophetic Coda. After about three seconds I was recognizing what people were saying, sort of. Then I realized it was in Spanish.

(the closest I could find to the Spanish Version of the Crow. Leave me alone)

How Did I Not Initially Realize It Was in Spanish?

I minored in Spanish in college. I even had a couple nights in my Senior year at Denominational University where I dreamt in Spanish. Language as clear as any 7-year-old. Lately I’ve been realizing that I existentially remember my Spanish. I won’t know a phrase if you ask me. I won’t remember the phrase after I’ve said it, but if I’m in a Spanglish conversation, the phase will pop out.

I’m tired of feeling like I have lingual amnesia. I want to be fluent in Spanish. It’s predicted that by 2014 Latin Americans will be the new ethnic majority in the US. I embrace the change. I based a great deal of my Blues Book in the Southwest.

All I want is to be able to speak the language better.

So here’s how I’m going to start getting back my ability to be fluent in Spanish:  I’m going to watch all my favorite movies in Spanish. And when That stops being a challenge I’m going to watch any movie I rent in Spanish before I watch it in English.

Try it. Online translators can only help so much. Like other marketing jobs, Social Media jobs will start exploding for those who are bilingual.

Me gusta este opportunidad!

Anyone ever try this trick before?