Out of the Office

Thank you for visiting.

Living the Dream will be on hiatus from December 24 - January 10, while John is, un-ironically, Living the Dream on the island of Kauai.

Unavailable by cell, email or boat.

If your need is urgent, send a messenger pigeon post-haste.

Plenty of dream fodder when I return.

I hope I meet a pirate.

-Dreamer

Engagement

I've been absent lately. I'm sorry.


"What have you been doing?"


Mostly calling, emailing and responding to the warm outreach from friends and family to share the news that Alyson and I are officially engaged.


I need a new topic for commentary for 2009.


Lots more to come. Delivery via microblog "Minnesota Groom: A Male's Scarcastic Commentary of the Wedding Process"

Guerrillas

According this article, the producer of the shoe "Model 271" tossed at President Bush, projects four times the amount of revenue than seen in previous years on this specific model, due to the shoe throwing incident.

Political guerrilla employing guerrillia marketing? Brilliant.

I want to be on the team that gets to concept television ads for the "Bye-Bye Bush" Turkish-made shoe.

For kicks (wakka, wakka), here it is.

Something Big

As the title suggests, something big happened yesterday.

I'm going to let this simmer with John Q. Public until I've done due diligence reaching out to my key stakeholders - i.e. family, friends and various frat house personnel.

Stay tuned for synopsis, analysis and various other sis-sises.

Creatives Grow Better in the Southwest

This is a fantastic little ditty from Rubber Republic.

The Rooster, The Chick and The Ring

Aly likes to remind me of the non-engagement factor we have brewing in our relationship.

Her heated, animated and dramatic depictions have obscurely described her feelings of a “less than desirable” situation.

My favorite interaction to date, took place last night.

Fueled by red wine and estrogen from her monthly girls-only get together, she returned home to engage (pun intended) in the topic.

“So, why aren’t we?” was the ambiguous kickoff to the conversation.

The half-assed, “what are you talking about?” put us squarely in discussion mode.

Back and forth volleys uncovered reoccurring topics. Top line being one person is more than ready to make the jump and one person is probably close to the edge, but not ready to parachute down into the matrimony abyss.

The pinnacle of the conversation, and motivation for sharing this story, peaked with Aly authoritatively stating:

“What are you waiting for? A chick to hatch?? Well, I have news for you – I am not a rooster!”

While the literal translation is up for discussion, she makes the implied translation crystal clear.

She has a way of doing that.

To her credit, Aly has a perfect demeanor about the whole situation – patient and thoughtful. It’s the times when those brew over that make the most interesting.

I felt compelled to share this, if for no other reason, to show how someone has successfully used a rooster hatching an egg as an analogy for engagement trepidation.


As a post-script to this story, my relationship saga seems to make its way into conversations with co-workers - what I’m attributing to working with 86% women.

Tuesday I showed up to work wearing a sweater, my number 1 jeans* and big boy shoes** - what I thought to be acceptable clothes for a cold and snowy Minneapolis winter day.

By the end of the day Thursday, allegedly was not only engaged but had a baby on board.

Colle+McVoy needs to hire more men.


*Number 1 jeans refer the ranking system all men have for their jeans. Men rank jeans in order of preference – favorite jeans as Number 1, second favorite as Number 2 and so on.

Whether men admit to doing this or not is moot – all do it subliminally. Also to note, men do not buy jeans that will not become their new Number 1.

I would hypothesize women do this as well, however, I have no proof.


**Not skateboarding shoes.

Manifest Destiny

This is curtousy of Found.com.

Look at bullet point 6. "No farting without OUR permission."

The implication that this list was written by more than one people makes me want to pee my pants.

If they are creating their club's manifest destiny, I want no part of it.

Wood Handle Bars Part II

Follow up entry to my post earlier this week on the recently completed wood handle bars for my fixed gear bike.

As promised, photos: 

My next project is inspiration from Fast Boy Fenders.  I'll let you know when I get this started.

Also, I'm slowly realizing that posting photos of bicycle handle bars makes me a huge nerd.

I'm strangely okay with it.

Thanks for understanding.

67 Cents

Caught in the act! Consuming money. MONEY?! Really?

Otis, our self-asserted bonehead, was found eating coins in the hallway. Pennies, nickels and trembling quarters from my sacred laundry fund, were being funneled down like sour apple tooters.

Brash.  Especially in this economy.

Evidently, organic Dog Chow is less appetizing than hardened nickel and copper.

I was going to scold, but realized he would eventually pay.

Literally.

The Beer Cart Approach

I was at a Minnesota Wild hockey game with Aly when the following event occurred:

Location: Beer Cart

Participants: Aly, Moustached Beer Cart Woman, John and crowded beer line

Interaction:

Aly: What kind of beer do you have?

Moustach: Miller Lite, Budweiser or Boulevard

Aly: Hmm. I don't know.

John: Just pick one.

Aly: I don't know what I want.

John: Just pick one, it's probably one keg and three taps anyway.

Aly: Maim, what's the darkest out of the three?

Moustache: Maim, I have no idea.  I'm just pulling the tap.

This is today's revelation:

At a sporting event, you don't order a beer by type, you order by number.

Push button nachos and door stop pretzels are hardly the environment to engage taste buds.*  And deciphering different beers from sweat soaked tap lines is an exercise in futility.

A beer cart approach must be confident and quick.  Like Ellen - in and out.

John's steps for ordering beer at the game:

1. Pull cash from wallet in preparation of approach - rounding up to the next dollar amount from the total cost of your beverage purchase (i.e. if you order one beer for $7.75, hand over $8.00)

2. Raise hand to head high, extending the number of fingers as number of beers you wish to receive (incorporate additional hands/fingers if necessary)

3. While approaching cart, loudly confirm the number of outstretched fingers appearing on hand/hands (acceptable to vocally repeat the number as many times as necessary)

Avoid quips such as "You, sir, are a craftsman" or "God made you, then the tap" which inhibit speedy transactions.

Smile, but not too much.

Stand close enough to the cart to turn over your money and not let anyone cut in front of you.  But don't stand so close that you rub against the cart.  Then you get all that mystery liquid stuff all over your shirt and look like a sticky idiot.

Focus on the money.  Then the number.  Then, the sweet taste of success.

Make me proud.

*Unless you are from Wisconsin.

Kauai

The day to day countdown is officially on for Aly and my trip to Kauai.

We've been researching recommended hikes and recipes for mai tais.

If this doesn't make you want to want to but your life on screen saver, I don't know what does.

Pulled from Frommers.com - even better that it was coded as nightlife:

Some insist on viewing the sunset with a locally made tropical mai tai. The entire day can be built around the sunset - shopping for the mai tai ingredients, checking the angle of the sun, and swimming with the knowledge that your big, salty thirst will soon be quenched with a tall, homemade mai tai on one of the world's best beaches.

When the sun is low, mix your tropical drink using fresh lime juice, fresh lemon juice, fresh orange juice, passion-orange-guava juice, and fresh grapefruit juice, if possible.

Pour this concoction on ice in a tall, frosty glasses and then add Meyer's rum (got to love the product placement), in which Tahitian vanilla beans have been soaking for days.

That's all the convincing we needed to keep our head above water for the next three weeks.

Wood Handle Bars

They are finished.

My first attempt at customized wood bicycle handle bars.  The final clear coat is currently drying and I've never wanted to beat my chest in manly type fashion more than I do right now.

What's better than riding a bike without brakes through the streets of Minneapolis?

Riding a bike without brakes with wood handle bars.  As if the brakeless excitement in itself wasn't enough - factor in handle bars that may splinter into a thousand pieces at moment.

Simple and fantastic.

Curious what wood bicycle handle bars looks like?  Check out WoodHandleBar.com.  Ken Carroll just launched this website and was a big help emailing a few starter tips.

I'll get some some pictures up once I have them attached to the bike.

Go ride.

Big Gingers

We were bred as Americans to think that the apple hitting us on the head moment is to come sitting at a bar stool.

Not to say there is anything wrong with drinking and ideation - only that's the fall back expectation as to what we think should be happening in order to have that great idea.

I dream of my big business idea happening at a bar.  There's something romantic about the idea of opening the "Who We Are" page on your company website with "It all started with a pen and a cocktail napkin and a Corona.."

Or, standing in front of a thousand people as a keynote speaker stating, "The trick is (enter regurgitated corporate quote).  Now, let's go get a beer - first round is on me."

My latest moment happened Saturday night.

I was at a friend's birthday party at The Local in downtown Minneapolis.  The nostalgic Irish pub serves three things, in no particular order, Guinness, Jameson Whiskey and Fish.

Fueled by two of the three, Freddy, Zim and I began talking about Zim's latest fixed gear bike quest (pic to come as soon as the back brake is uninstalled - in true manly bike fashion).

We had an epiphany for a bike business.*

As the beer fueled innovation escalated, the idea spiraled into a mega-business.  The course of discussion when like this.

John: I'm telling you, this is what we need to pull together.  People would pay for this.  We just need a shop to get this started

Freddy: What kind of shop?

John: A bike shop?  Aren't you following along.

Freddy: I don't get it.

Zim: Shut your face!

John: How does it not make any sense?  This is genius!

Zim: YYewwwEAh!

Freddy: Ok, you're right.  Can the place also be a bar?

John: I don't see why not.

Freddy: Can I bartend?

John: No.  Well....Okay.

Zim: What else can we add?

Freddy: How about a gym mat in the basement?  You can just prowl around down there and squelch at patrons.

Zim: YYewwwEAh!

John: We need a sign.

Freddy: Like a real one?

Zim: Why the hell not?!?!

John: Let's put a sign above the men's room.

Zim: What's it say?

John: "Zim's Gym"

Freddy: That would have to go above the women's room.

Zim: YYewwwEAh!

The conversation ended with arm wrestling.

There aren't many pearls in this post.  Only, I'll probably avoid liquor when I put together my business proposal.

*I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. 

Pre-Basted

We had our annual Thanksgiving dinner with the ISU crew in Minneapolis tonight.

Scott and Ryan hosted the dinner this year at their place. 24 people and enough wine and food for 40.

I think this is fifth year we've gotten people together. I got home and was thinking about last year's dinner.

Colle+McVoy was nice enough to give its employees gift certificates to a local meat market last year for a fresh turkey. On Saturday morning before the dinner, Aly and I took Otis to the dog park. From the dog park, we took a short detour home to pick up our bird.

We picked out a 25 pounder and got Otis butcher bone. We put Otis and the bone in the far back of the Jeep, the fresh bird in the back seat and started to make our way home.

Going 75 down the interstate, I peek into the mirror and notice Otis had crawled into the back seat. The last thing we needed was a vet visit for a dog with salmonella poisoning, so I hollered at him and told Aly to push him back into the far back.

Aly turns around and her face drops. Crap.

"What did he do? Did he eat part of the turkey? Aly, talk to me," my mouth is moving as fast as the car is moving. I'm trying to turn around and see behind me while keeping us on the road.

White hot heat hits my face.

Otis, in all his glory, had positioned the turkey between his front paws, aimed and vomited on top of a thirty dollar dinner.

With tears running down my face I swerved across lanes of traffic to the first exit. Threw the Jeep into park in a boat dealership while Aly and I ran, gagging, out of the car like it was filled with bees.

We ended up making it home and wiped the bird down. Seasoned the bad boy and cooked it for the group. Halfway through dinner, we made a toast. Thanking friends, good fortune and turkey pre-basted in dog vomit.

The Blizzard of Ahhs

Glen Plake's life work, see right.

If you were interested in skiing growing up in the mid-80's, this is the guy you wanted to be.

He was the reason I harassed my dad into taking me to Snowstar*, in Andalusia, IL.  One of my true childhood heroes.

The Ski and Snowboard Expo was going on last weekend in Minneapolis.  After hearing Glen would be there, I made the trek downtown.

I did a few laps indoors, thinking there would be stage, or a booth packed with people.  I was frustrated, standing and staring at crappy Rossignol snowboards (Rossignol, stick to skis).  I turn literally 180 degrees and I am face to face with Glen.

He's wearing his patented bowlers cap and sitting in the Elan booth chatting with another Elan rep.  There was not another person within 40 feet.

I couldn't figure it out.  In my head, here was an iconic American freeskiier.  Someone who literally had a hand in changing the sport of skiing.  But everyone seemed to be more concerned with discounted Marmot pants at the Hoigaard's booth.

There was even Sharpie markers, posters and a life size cut-out of Glen (with full neon green Mohawk), which I felt was, in itself, attention getting.  Or at least indicated importance.

A Dalbello rep walked up and asked me if I had any questions.  I told him I would take a product brochure for kicks (admitting, I've switched to snowboarding over the past ten years), but really wanted to meet Glen.

The Dalbello rep said, "You have to tap him on the shoulder and introduce yourself.  Otherwise, he doesn't know if people want to talk to him because no one really knows who he is."

Unreal.

I introduced myself and immediately started sweating like I was on a first date.  He asked where I was from.  I told him Iowa originally, by way of Breckenridge.

Off the top of his head, he started listing ski areas in Eastern Iowa/Western Illinois.  Sundown, Chestnut and a couple other areas that, if not for a teenage kid sitting behind a ticket counter, wouldn't be much more than the local sledding hill.

"If I had to live in Iowa, put me at Sundown Mountain," Glen said.

What he should have said was, "If I was forced to survive in Iowa, please, for the love of God, put me at Sundown ski area."

This is a guy who's skied parts of Chamonix Mont-Blanc in the French Alps that have been skied by only a handful of other people.  A place where skiers routinely DIE by falling off 1,000 foot cliffs and crevices.  I was sincerely impressed he could rattle off places that are better known for combines than world class skiing.

We chatted about Colorado, Reel Thrills and his upcoming trip to France.  Incredibly nice guy.

He signed a poster for me which states, "To John.  Ski you in Iowa!"

It's taped to my bedroom door.

I'm a ten year old wiener.

For other wieners who love ski and snowboard videos - get these in your NetFlix queue:

Maltese Flamingo, License to Thrill, Dr. Strangeglove, Sno What, Natural Born Skier and, my all-time favorite, Blizzard of Ahhs.

*Elevation 210 feet

Steep

The movie, Steep, is nothing short of spectacular.

The advancement of big mountain skiiing those who took it to the next level.

My childhood, and still, icon Glen Plake, is in the movie.

I actually met Glen last weekend at the Minneapolis Ski and Snowboard Expo - I've been meaning to post about this and will this weekend.

Think powder. This state is killing me.

X Prize

Think about the innovation happening digitally.  It outpaces itself.  The technology in your iPhone is already surpassed.  Apple vs. PC or a million basement developers push the envelope on what can/could be created.

How does this type of industry progression happen while others remain stagnant?

It's argued that this type of innovation doesn't take place in certain industries based on the maturity maturity of the market.  Why don't we blow the top of this?

X Prize, founded by Peter Diammandis, is not a new idea.  Peter looked around and said, "We can do better.  I believe we can do better and I will pay someone to show me better."

It exercises the idea that competition will fuel innovation.

Why doesn't the government employ this tactic to spur commercial evolution?  With the economic crisis and tanking industries, instead of hand-outs, what about incentives?

I feel that too often 90 percent of the thinking is done by 10 percent of the people.

If you follow the link above, you can read about a $10 million dollar X Prize for designing a viable, clean and uber-efficient automobile that the general public can afford and will buy.

What if we had $700 billion dollars to to stimulate industries and save the economy?

We do.  We've paid for it - let's make the most of it.

Need something that motivates brilliant, radical thinkers - not something that rewards failing business systems.

Let's employ everyone, not someone.

The Home

Is the penthouse in a retirement home on the ground level?

Pasta Carnage

It looked like someone gave a pack of pre-schoolers a 2 liter of Mountain Dew and turned them loose in the grocery aisle.

I returned home from work today to discover Otis had weaseled into our pantry where we keep the dry groceries.  Crushed lasagna, spaghetti, rigatoni noodles blanketed the entry way and kitchen.  For an extra kick, chewed potatoes sprinkled the hallway.

Dumbfounded, I went blank as Otis approached me in the hallway.  When he realized I wasn't bending down to pet him, instead bending down to pick up, what used to be, my running hat, his enthusiasm disappeared.

He slinked around the corner.  With the only sound being the side of his ass hitting the ground as he slipped on the piles of cardboard and food.

Animal interaction has to be one of the only forms of testament to your true temperament.  I'm convinced, on judgement day, there's no bells and whistles.  It's just Peter.  With a VCR.  Replaying highlights of every encounter you've ever had with a bird shitting on your suede jacket or a cat puking in your shoes.

Scolding an animal laying in the same position a cooked pig with an apple in its mouth - surrounded by food even - was something out of I Love Lucy.

I started in on exaggerated finger pointing and phony scowling.  Before I could finish explaining to him his list of faults, for good measure, he peed himself.

H.G. Wells

When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. 

-H.G. Wells

H.G. Wells, a futuristic author, amongst other things, in the late 18th century. Coined the term time machine, and is credited with popularizing the idea of time travel.

His stories are still being adapted - the latest was the Steven Spielberg shot at War of the Worlds.  I actually haven't seen it, but I'm sure Tom Cruise is feels calm and collected at the heart of alien cross hairs.

Wells believed in socialism, wrote science fiction and married his cousin.  I'm sure his lunch money was not asked for, but taken.

Either way, still interesting guy.  Download his books for free at Wowio.

 

The Goat

Otis.

A freedom shitting death eagle.

He's earned the nickname "The Goat" because he will eat anything that's not himself.

Usually.

For the past two years, the garbage has been seen as a personal buffet and my socks have been crying out in horror.

After coming home from work this week to discover Otis had treated my tool box like a slow simmered pot roast (a sweat soaked hammer? really?), I decided his destruction needs to be documented.

This may be a list, this may be time to time posts, but either way I need to capture the destruction as it happens - because, everyone at work thinks I'm a liar.

Red or Blue?

The paradoxical question.

Every Jerry Bruckheimer film I've ever seen (regrettably, many) have the Red or Blue scene.  Hero poised over bomb, pliers in hand, perfectly beaded sweat and a decision to make.

Just once, I would love for a movie to end with Ben Affleck cutting the wrong wire.

 

The Varsity

Bomb-proof Schwinn Varsity

It's finished - my second fixie.  Deep V Velocity rims, profile bar ends and sawed down handle bar.  Wanted to keep as many original parts as possible.

Look for it on the streets of Minneapolis.