Category: Life

  • The Sitting Disease

    The Sitting Disease

    sit

    In the late 1980’s there was an incredible innovation that came into the business mainstream — like a bull — and it was called voicemail and — it— changed — everything.  I mean everything. Oh there had been some other recent technological advances before this; yeah, fax machines were pretty cool — you could send a document from New York to California in seconds, what’s not to love about that? But voicemail altered the very fabric of our everyday jobs. It changed how we moved around, how we reacted to new information. It meant freedom.

    But in order to appreciate voicemail you need to understand what work-life was like before this amazing breakthrough.

    For example, the challenge with being an outside salesperson back then was that it was very difficult to actually get outside. At all. You had a desk and you had customers — that called you at your desk. They called with issues, corrections, questions, change orders, to input new orders, expedite and sometimes just to talk. It was necessary to take these calls, to react to these needs, but it was also necessary to meet with customers as well as cultivate new business. But this meant leaving your desk. And your phone.

    Now we had answering machines at this time — they had been around for ten years or so and yeah, that changed things a bit. They were these big clunky tape recorders that sat on a secretary’s desk and recorded any general phone messages that came in after hours. So even if you called in late — even at midnight — you could leave a message. But voicemail was so much better.

    Because the thing with voicemail was that you didn’t have to be physically at the tape recorder to get your message. You could be — anywhere.

    If a customer called the office and you weren’t there, or if they called your voicemail directly, they left a message. Then at any payphone, at any phone at all — anywhere in the world — you could call the voicemail number, push a code and get all your messages. You could be down the street or across the country and still get your messages.

    Just — like — that!

    And as if a lock had been picked, as if a door was swung open, we were no longer chained to our desks. We could be on the road all the time. If we had a phone nearby we could gather our messages and take care of them from anywhere.

    We had become —- mobile.

    And that was just the beginning. After that came mobile phones and emails and smart phones and Bluetooth and a bunch of other things that followed. All mobile. All giving us freedom. Freedom to move — in fact a new smart phone commercial shows a a surfer sending an email — inside of a wave.

    And the mobile revolution had begun.

    And now —. Thirty years into this mobile movement. After we are free to be as mobile as we want to — we are the most sedentary that we have ever been. Ever. In history.

    Since the beginning of time, today, at this point in our history — Americans spend more of the day sitting then ever before. Ever.

    Thirty years after all of this mobility started, we now sit for most of the day. Sometimes for fifteen hours a day.

    In fact, we’re mobile, we’re on the go, but we’re still sitting. We sit in the car, we sit on the plane, we sit in the airport waiting to get on the plane. We sit in the waiting room, we sit at home and of course — we sit at work.

    So why is this a big deal?

    Well, we were not built to sit. We were built to move. And with sitting we increase our risk of heart disease to 65% — which means that we have just given away seven years of our life by sitting. Add to that the risks of certain types of cancer.

    Immediately after you sit down, the electrical activity in your muscles slows down dramatically along with your ability to burn calories. If you sit for a full 24-hour period, you experience a 40 percent reduction in glucose uptake in insulin. All of which has caused many health experts to call sitting; the new smoking.

    To break that down, The American Cancer Society recently published an article stating that men who sit 6 hours a day are 48% more likely to die before their standing counterparts and women that sit this long are 94% more likely to die.

    http://www.juststand.org/tabid/674/language/en-us/default.aspx

    The only good news about this is that the effects are reversible.

    – Stand up once an hour.

    – If your driving, pull over every hour or so and stretch for a few minutes

    – Walk during breaks.

    – Look into standing-desks and working more while standing.

    – Walk a message to a co-worker instead of sending an email.

    – Park as far away as possible and walk to where you’re going.

    – Exercise three times a week.

    And get moving.

  • The 10 greatest guy inventions of all time

    The 10 greatest guy inventions of all time

    invention

    There are inventions and then there are guy-inventions — these are the gadgets, tools and innovations that are so deeply embedded in our man-lives that the idea of going without them is completely unthinkable.

    Here are the top 10 guy inventions of all time.

     

    10. Ramen Noodles

    Whether you buy them now or not, at some point of your life you have consumed many bowls of Ramen noodles, cup o soups, or similar products. Why? Because it’s completely a guy thing; cheap, simple and portable. We lived on this stuff in college and we still buy them when no one is looking.

     

    9. Dish sponge and soap dispenser

    If you are not familiar with this one yet, stop what you are doing and run to the store right now. I’m not sure who to thank for this dish washing miracle but it is a clear handle filled with dish soap and a sponge at the end. That’s it. But now you don’t need to fill a sink with water — which men hate — instead you can wash a cup, a bowl, a dish with just the dispenser. Run some water, soap up the dish with it and rinse. Done.

    [amazon asin=B00HWL9AR4&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B005BFZ5N6&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B00J7KM5X4&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B00ET5VMTU&template=iframe image]

    8. Digital Video Recorder.

    This innovation still amazes me. The ability to pause and rewind live TV should be a candidate for The Nobel Prize. Now, we can pause anything we’re watching, get a drink, take a call and come back and not miss anything — as well as skip through the commercials. Also it’s great for those ‘what did he say?’ moments when you can rewind and settle a TV bet.

     

    7. Energy drinks

    Sure women buy energy drinks — in fact the largest demographic of energy drink consumers are young mothers trying to get through the day with as much steam as possible. But the idea of energy drinks is completely a guy thing. It’s fast, cold, comes in a can and gets the motor going.

     

    6. Microwave Oven

    Microwaves are everywhere men are; construction sites, break rooms, garages. They are these inexpensive little boxes that you plug in, press a buton and within a minute or so your food is hot. What’s not to love?

     

    5. Global Positioning System

    The GPS system was the freedom rally-cry for all men. Never again, do we need to hear the words, just stop and ask someone for directions — which in the guy world is equivalent of wearing a dress. And if we keep the volume down and just look at the pretty directions, we actually feel like we’re getting there by ourselves.

     

    4. Safety razor

    When is the last time you walked into work and saw a fellow co-worker with those little pieces of toilet paper stuck to his face to stop the bleeding from shaving? For some of you, probably never. That’s because it rarely happens anymore but it used to happen all the time. New razors are so well developed that it’s almost impossible to cut yourself shaving any longer and the shave is close and fast.

     

     3. Cordless drill

    When the cordless drills first came on the scene  in the 1980’s they were very expensive and the only group that could afford them were  professional contractors — while the rest of us looked on with lust. Now, the technology has been so well developed and the price point has dropped so much, that everyone has one. And the new 20 volt models keep their charge forever — months without a recharge.

     

    2. Duct tape

    Duct tape is a pressure sensitive tape coated with polyethylene. It was first developed in World War II to seal ammunition cases and make small repairs because of its water resistance. Now, we use duct tape for everything because it’s fast, easy and it works.

     

    1. Television Remote Control

    Yes, it’s a cliché, but the truth is the remote control is the greatest guy-invention of all time. It puts the world in our hands, caters to our short attention span and lets us bounce all around the TV universe increasing our programming productivity. In fact, for most of us, if we can’t find the remote — what’s the point of turning the TV on?

  • Eric

    Eric

     

    erik

     

    Eric tossed the bag in the wheelbarrow as if it was just a second thought, a whim, instead of what it really was — a sixty-pound bag of cement — and it hit the metal wheelbarrow with a thud. Even the wheelbarrow shuttered from the impact but Eric didn’t seem to be affected by the task. He picked up his shovel and pierced the sharp end into the bag — which was disappointing because that was becoming my favorite part — then we pulled out the pieces of bag and I added in water from the hose.

    “You two are a mess.” We were caked with mud and sweat when Debbie’s phone made that shutter sound as she snapped a picture.

    “The word you’re looking for,“ I corrected her, through heavy breaths. “Is macho.”

    “That’s right.” Eric agreed, stirring the cement with his shovel.

    “Macho,” I repeated. “And Eric.”

    “Hey!”

    [amazon asin=B000WEKCFM&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B0026RGNJ2&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B001FBG9WG&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B007CZZS3A&template=iframe image]

    Debbie placed the phone back in her pocket because Debbie only takes one picture of anything. Just one. In a world of digital photography, when you could take dozens of shots, increasing the odds of capturing a few treasures, she makes just one single pass at it.

    Debbie could stumble across Elvis coming out of a spaceship shaking hands with Jimmy Hoffa and Bigfoot, and she would excitedly pull out her phone and take one single photograph. Click. Then, hours later when she was trying to post that picture— of the spaceship stairs because that’s all she caught — she would actually have the nerve to be disappointed. And this is the reason that the one and only photograph of Eric and I pouring the footers for our new deck, are of both of our backs.

    “They’ll be more,” she said.

    And there would be. Once the footers were dry, Eric and I would start on the frame and there would be additional pictures — of our eyes closed, our feet and a few of the dog — there is always need for new pictures of the dog. And since pictures of Eric are no longer at a premium — since he’s not dead — there would be time for these new pictures. And since it looks like Eric will remain not-dead for a long time, there would be additional time for other photographs.

    Because Eric is not supposed to be just dead, he’s supposed to be long dead. By almost a year. In fact, that’s why he came here and that’s why he ended up living two houses from us. He came here to die.

    The details of Eric’s life before we met him, aren’t important — and I don’t know all that much anyway. Only that when he arrived he had made some bad decisions and he was diagnosed as terminal. When the doctors said there was no hope he called his family to say goodbye and this was when his sister Dianne, moved him up from Florida to spend his last few weeks with her and her family.

    “I didn’t want my brother to die alone”, Dianne would smile, through tired eyes.

    But Eric in those early days is not the Eric of today. He was a skeleton in a red bathrobe that would walk in his front yard to smoke a cigarette and would nod if cornered, but nothing else. He was gaunt, beaten, broken and sleeping in a borrowed bed while the life he was lent was about to come due.

    When the doctors said it was time, hospice came. They made him comfortable. They said Eric would be gone in a week. The next week they said it would be the following week. Then they said a month. Then they stopped coming and told Dianne to call them as soon as Eric was dead.

    She said she would.

    More months went by and Eric’s travels from the house became longer. He took short walks. Then he took longer ones. Then he bought a used bicycle and could be seen peddling through back streets. Even his conversations became longer — on his front lawn, always in that red bathrobe — and any topic was fascinating and new.

    I didn’t know Eric before he came here, so I don’t know if that childlike excitement he has now is the real him or the reaction of a man who has been given a second chance and doesn’t want to waste a single moment of it. But the him, now, is easy going and inquisitive and if you just moved into our neighborhood, you would swear that Eric had lived with Dianne and Dan for decades — or even that it was the family home and it was Dan that had moved in with them after he and Dianne got married. He just — belongs here.

    “Looks like rain,” Eric covered the two footers with a tarp and we tipped the wheelbarrows over them for additional protection. Then we walked the tools to his truck.

    “This is a great truck,” I shut the tailgate.

    “I know,” Eric beamed. “Did I tell you I got it for fifteen hundred?”

    “No,” I lied.

    And I got to hear the story again.

  • Fame

    Fame

    actor

    Since the beginning of time, man has been coming up with wise things to say to each other. Pearls of wisdom. Proverbs and sage advice. The best of these insightful phrases are remembered and passed on.

         Two wrongs don’t make a right.

         Necessity is the mother of invention.

         Absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

    King Solomon — often touted as the wisest man in the world and the author of The Book of Proverbs, in The Bible, penned over a thousand ‘songs’ or wise sayings about God and life. Great stuff such as: A soft answer turns away wrath. Don’t run too far from your problems, you’ll only have that same distance to return. And; A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.

    Accurate statements. All of King Solomon’s writings are sound and solid but there is big difference in The Bible between the word of God — I will never leave you or forsake you — and the words of wise men like Solomon — train a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will return to it.

    Because King Solomon’s words are only wise guidelines and God’s words are where the pure truth of The Bible lies.

    We often forget this and therefore the phrases themselves — those motivational words of encouragement that dot our Facebook walls — become our perceived truth. But these phrases can only contain the refection of the truth, not the truth itself.

    An example is the phrase is: Do what you love and the money will come.

    Cute. But wrong.

    If taken literally, this means that if you do only the things that you love and enjoy, you will become wealthy doing it — or at least be able to support yourself doing it. That by going after those areas that we have done before and know that we love, we will be successful and content — so all you need to do is to focus on those things you get pleasure out of and leave the things that you don’t, alone.

    I love eating Oreo’s but not only would it be difficult to find someone to pay me to eat them, I guarantee that after a few weeks I would stop loving them.

    So the phrase is limited. It doesn’t allow for growth and hard work. A more accurate edit might be: Love what you do and the money will come. Yeah, that’s closer. But, if you drill down deeper into what is around the proverb, what supports it, you will see additional flaws.

    So what do we enjoy? — and not only what do we get pleasure out of but why do we get pleasure out of. Because the world is divided between pleasure and pain — we either turn towards something or run from it — yes, that’s true. But there is also the gap factor.

    Pleasure is great, but sometimes pleasure can be pulled from one area into another when needed, which is where gaps occur. The obese woman with immaculate hair and makeup has gaps. The short man in the Hummer has them too; pleasure in one area being syphoned to decrease pain in another.

    This occurs a lot in The Performing Arts where people become hooked on the adoration, the attention, the notoriety, and not the work.

    Here is an example. Think of how many people you know whose dream it is to become one of these three things: a writer, an actor or a musician. Start counting in your head of all the people you know, or have ever known, who have dreamed of becoming well known in one of those categories — to catch their big break, land that perfect roll or simply be discovered.

    Got a rough number?

    Good. Now, do the same thing and think of people you know whose dreams, who’s very passion, is to break into three completely different career paths. A puppeteer, a juggler or a camera operator.

    Got that second number?

    Okay, so why is the first number so much higher than the second? According to logic it shouldn’t be. If artistic talent and passion is the true driver, then those numbers should be the same because it takes just as much creativity in making a marionette come to life as it does to pretend to be someone on stage. It requires as much skill to work a TV camera as it does to sing. So why do we not know a single kid who wants to be a juggler when he grows up? Why don’t we have a few dozen friends who after a few too many Budweiser longnecks, pine over the life they should have had with puppets?

    Tom Hanks was interviewed once and was asked when he first knew that he was a success. He laughed at this and said that he was a success when he first got out of college and was performing Shakespeare in the Park. He was doing what he loved to do, was happy and probably would have been content performing in that way for the remainder of his career. It wasn’t the fame that drew him, it was the craft.

    Kevin Spacy has turned down several film rolls because he doesn’t really like making films. But he loves the theatre and spends as much time performing in theatrical productions as he can.

    If your dream is in one that fits in that first category, then here’s the question. How will you know if you are successful?

    If the answer is — if the true answer, the one you only tell yourself — is when I’m famous, or when I’m rich, then you are heading towards the shadow of this dream rather than the dream itself. It’s a lie, a trick and a gap.

    The Ancient Greeks had a phrase called The Golden Meen. Nothing to excess. Finding the balance. A life with balance is great life. It is strong and solid and cannot be tumbled. But a pursuit where there are only two levels; fame and failure, can never be aligned.

    Breaking in. Catching a break. Being discovered. What does that even mean?

    If you want to write, to perform or to make music, then do it. Get good at it. Hone your craft. Write plays for your church Christmas play, make music at a retirement home and do standup for Veterans. Use your gift and your passion and give it away. Get good at it.

    And find the balance.

  • Clara

    Clara

    clara

    About nine years ago — this would have been when my son Alex was about ten years old — we saw Clara for the first time. We were in the car, we had just turned off of Fiddlers Green and onto Governors Avenue and there she was, over to the left side of the road coming towards us.

    It was cold outside and Clara was pushing her grocery cart against traffic, the way that bicyclists do, and the wheels of the cart were biting into the grey slush of the road. Alex saw her and he stopped talking. We drove another hundred yards or so before he spoke again.

    “We’ve got to go back,” he said.

    Now, I know I saw Clara — not really acknowledging her but seeing her the same way I saw the Burger King sign and I saw the Michelin store behind her. But Alex had locked in on her. He really saw her.

    “We’ve got to go back,” he repeated.

    “Why?”

    Alex told me what he’d seen. That there was an old woman in the street. Everything she owned was in one grocery cart and it was cold outside. We had to go back. To help.

    “Great idea,” I said magnanimously, as I mentally scanned what cash I had on me — hoping that I had something smaller than a twenty.

    “No,” he corrected me. “We need to take her — home. To our house. To live.”

    We kept driving and I told Alex how proud I was of him. I praised the great heart he had and told him of what a great kid he was. And then I gently explained how we could help. With a little bit of money.

    “No. We need to take her home with us.”

    And I explained all the reasons why we couldn’t do that. That the lady was a stranger. We couldn’t bring a stranger into our house, it wasn’t safe. We could help, sure, a little, but we —.

    But Alex looked at me with focused eyes. “But Dad, she’s old. And it’s cold and we have that big guest room that no one is using and she can —. “

    He kept talking and we kept driving. When we got to Walmart he was still talking — well, I was still  talking. Alex was anxiously trying to hurry us up. To get us back in the car and get rolling towards Governors Avenue.

    “How about we get her some food while we’re here, huh? How about that?’

    “No,” he said.

    But I did it anyway. I picked out a few prepackaged sub sandwiches, some chips and some bottled water and I listened to Alex plead. And as I did, I understood that he didn’t want to bring this woman home the way you do a kitten, or a lost dog. She needed to come home with us to be part of us. To be a member of our family.

    Why? It was simple. We had the space. We had a house that was warm and dry and there was plenty of food there. There was no reason to discuss it any further. We had resources that someone else didn’t. It was only fair.

    We drove back to Governors. To the place we had seen her and she was gone. We  drove further down, through the side streets. Nothing. We looked inside of Burger King and the bus stop and then circled the entire loop again but could not find her.

    “Okay,” I said. “I have an idea.”

    Alex looked up at me as if there was nothing I could have done to disappoint him more. We pulled into the homeless shelter that was on Governors Avenue and I parked the car. We walked inside and told the lady at the desk who we were and who we had had seen and that we wanted to get this food to her.

    The woman knew exactly who I was referring to and told us her name was Clara. Clara had been in and out of the shelter many times. She had been offered job opportunities and even an apartment but something always happened. The woman at the desk told Alex how proud she was of him wanting to take Clara home. But that we had to be safe and that there were other ways to help.

    And Alex, silent, looked up at the both of us with frustrated eyes. We could show him statistics, photographs, evidence, all day long and it didn’t matter. Here were the only facts that did. There was a woman that needed help. We can help. Done.

    We left the food at the shelter — she didn’t know if Clara would be in but she would see it went to good use — and we walked back out to the car.

    “Feel better?”

    “No.” And he didn’t.

    We saw Clara a few more times after that. And then we didn’t see her again.

    That was nine years ago. And Alex? Well, he’s nineteen now. And he still has a gentle heart and is a sensitive, caring kid. But he has that filter now about things such as this. The ones we all have.

    Now, there was no way that Clara could have come home with us. Absolutely not. I wouldn’t jeopardize the safety of my family, I know that. Everyone knows that. It would never have happened.

    But still —. There’s something so —. So absolutely pure about putting what we should do — ahead of what we can do. And instead of finding a way to nurture that better in Alex, I somewhat yanked it out of him.

    And I feel bad about that.

  • How to simplify your digital life

    How to simplify your digital life

    digi

    On June 5th of 1883, at the house that stood on 6 Harvey Road in Cambridge, England, John and Florence Keynes gave birth to their very first child. A son they would  name John, after his father. Young John, was bright and happy and had the advantage of being raised by a prominent English family that highly valued formal education.

    A few years passed and shortly after John’s brother Geoffrey was born, John was enrolled in the Perse School Kindergarten — but was absent a great deal due to illness and was almost held back. And by the time his sister Margaret was born, Keynes was a student at Saint Faith’s Preparatory School, where he excelled in mathematics and algebra and was recognized for the breadth of his vocabulary.

    In 1894, at the age of eleven, John Maynard Keynes rose to the top of his class. It was a place that he would stay for the remainder of his education.

    1897 came and Keynes won a scholarship to Eton College where he continued to excel in mathematics, and in 1902 he left Eton for King’s College, Cambridge, where he was given another scholarship as well as began to specialize in economics.

    Now, if you’ve studied economics, you know the basics of Keynes. He would end up changing the standard economic views of the time; as well alter the way we look at governmental roles. He created in depth theories of business cycles — all of which would be later called Keynesian Economics — and in the 1930’s, he began to seriously challenge world economic concepts. He disagreed that free markets would always provide full employment, as well as the idea of demand leading to periods of high unemployment and argued that governmental regulation would need to closely monitor boom and bust cycles.

    Then came World War II and Keynes’s ideas began to be adopted by the leading Western economies, which lead to the creation of The World Bank. And even though Keynes died in 1946, he actually became more influential after his death — as the governments and economic systems that had adopted Keynesian practiced were now booming — which created real life success to support his theories. Time Magazine listed John Maynard Keynes as one of the top 100 most influential people of the 20th century.

    Now there is no doubt of the intelligence and vision of John Maynard Keynes. It’s clear that he was absolutely correct in many of his theories of economics and financial projection, and his understanding of business and world market trends is probably better than anyone’s ever. But — there was one area that Keynes was incorrect about.

    In fact — he was dead wrong.

    Keynes began to map the growth of technology in the 1930’s. He saw that with the rate of the development of useful tools and innovations being created, that this would eventually affect society as a whole. He factored in the advances he was seeing in communications, manufacturing, transportation, all areas, across all industries, and in an essay entitled Economic Possibilities For Our Grandchildren, Keynes made a statement that would be tied to his name from that moment on.

    “By the time my grandchildren are adults,” Keynes had said. “They would be working a 15 hour work week.”

    Technology would free us. New machinery and modernization would be the tools to take on most of the burden of our average work week.

    Keynes stated that over time, with the help of machines, technology and new concepts, people would become more productive. Machinery and the modernization of the work place would be able to take on the burden of most of our work week and an hour of labor would produce more and more stuff as time moved on. So we would be able to work less and less. Technology would free us.

    And Keynes was —- so wrong.

    Well — that’s not true. He was right about the development of technology.

    Since his death in 1946, mechanical and computer innovation has changed every aspect of our lives. We can now send information around the globe, in seconds. We can communicate with anyone we want to in a written, video or text format. We have access to information on any possible subject instantaneously and can bounce signals off satellites to track our location and get us where we need to go faster and more efficiently. We can sort, organize or trend data. And we have successfully made the world a much smaller place by opening access to every part of it.

    But Keynes was wrong about how this would affect us. It didn’t free us. Not at all. It only lead to the bar being raised.

    According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, an average individual needs to work 51 hours per week today, in order to produce as much as someone who was working 40 hours a week in 1950 — so a team with email, spreadsheets and cell phones, needs to work more than the team with typewriters, carbon paper and messenger services. And in 1990, MIT completed a study that predicting that with the current rate of technology growth, mixed in with the productivity rates; we will need to increase our work by 120% more in the next 50 years to capture the same current production rate. So we will need to work 15 hours more each week in fifty years, in order to be as productive as we are today.

    The technology that is available now is not creating less work. It’s creating more, by constantly raising the competitive need. So we end up doing more because we need to do more.

    And not only has technology simply raised the minimum standard of work production, it is completely altered how we think and react. We need to be wired, to be connected — all the time. If we hear that ding or buzz of our phone, we have the Pavlovian need to see what it is — no matter what we are doing or where we are.

    Here are some interesting facts.

    84% of people use their cellphones as alarm clocks, so their phones are right there with them, even when they sleep.

    A Health Club chain recently had to post signs asking members not to use cell phones — in the shower.

    Lifeline and Link-Up provides free smart phones to those on state welfare programs, as texting capabilities and wireless internet access is now seen as a basic human need.

    We are 34% more likely to misplace our car keys, than we are our cell phones, because we are on average away from the less.

    Municipalities are now adding signs on rural roads that have limited cell phone coverage to prepare drivers for the fact that their phones will not work for several miles.

    Phones, tablets, smart watches and whatever is next in the technology line, are deeply embedded into our lives. So how do we use these tools — as tools and not leashes? How do we take back our lives and unhook the electronic collars?

    Well, there are a few ways.

    1. When is it ego and when is it priority? Yes, there are times when that phone needs to be glued to your hand — if you’re on call, working out a customer emergency, someone in your family is ill. Yes. You need to work the phone. But those are rare. Most of the times that we respond to an email during dinner, is so we can be the first one on the email chain to do it. To save our place. To let our customers, or co-workers, or the guys on The Little League Committee know that we are on this. And this is just ego. If you are not getting further information or adding information to the conversation, then you are just electronically thumping your chest to show others that you soon will.
    2. Respond with data — anytime you send a work email, text, voicemail without new information, you are wasting time. Especially on long email chains where the world is being copied. Determine what the goal is and work towards that.
    3. Batch tasks. The most productive people out there, batch there electronic chores. The answer emails in the morning or late afternoon. They respond to texts at lunch and return voicemails only in the car. They get more done in a shorter period of time and actually get real work done, offline, with real people, face to face.
    4. Turn off notifications. Just because your aunt posted a video on Facebook or your neighbor put her goulash recipe on Pintrist, this doesn’t make it news. Those notifications are only distractions. So turn them off and look at them later.
    5. Leave it in the car. If you look at an organization’s highest ranking individuals, thye almost always never arrive at a meeting, presentation, lunch or discussion, with their cell phone. They almost always leave it in the car. These are the people that want to be focused and want you to know that they are. The reverse side of that is, when you are meeting with high ranking people from other companies, they won’t have their’s either. And they will respect those that give them the same respect.

    The simple rule is you want walk around all day with your hammer or a spatula. You use these things when needed then put them back. The same thing is true for your phone, tablet watch or whatever other magical electronic gadget you have. Use the tool and master it. Then put it away.

    Confidence is found when you can distance yourself until needed.

     

  • The bar

    The bar

    the terrace photo

    On Sunday February 4th of 2007 — the day of Superbowl 41 — our house in Vestal, New York, was empty.

    The wooden floors — that had been protected by rugs and furniture for over a decade — were now shiny and bare. The walls — including the ones that Debbie had made me paint twice when she changed her mind on the color — were now only decorated with outlines of where picture frames had blocked the sun. And rooms that we once knew every noise and bump of, now bounced strange sounds through empty spaces.

    The new job I had accepted, came with a complete relocation package, which included a team of packers and movers that marched in and took our entire life — beds, bicycles, furniture, the kids toys, clothes and ten years of living — and squeezed it all into one single truck; into 208 square feet of moving space. Or 52 square feet per person. Or 19 square feet, for every year we had lived there. And all that life, all that stuff, was now parked in a storage lot for a week, until we could close on our new house, two states away.

    But we would need to move out now, in order for the new owners to move in. So we  would leave the town where Debbie and I had first met — at Energetics Health Club, just three blocks from our house — and where our wedding reception was — The Vestal Steak House on The Vestal Parkway — and we would leave the area that we had known for years, leave the neighborhood, the family, and the familiar.

    But first, we would go to the Superbowl and going-away-party at Jennifer and Dave’s next door. The entire neighborhood would be there and we would say our goodbyes and then we would come home for one last time. We would climb into our sleeping bags that were spread out on top of air mattresses and we would sleep. And then in the morning, we would leave.

    And the house at 317 Frey Avenue in Vestal — the place that had been home for eleven years — would belong to someone else.

    Now, when we first bought the house — this was back in 1996 — that move was so much simpler than this one. Going from our small apartment to that big house was incredibly easy and only took my cousin Brad and I a few hours. Plus, we were only a family of three then — Nick was a toddler and Alex hadn’t been born yet and we actually wondered how we would ever fill that big house.

    That first night that we spent in our new Vestal home, back in 1996, Debbie and I had sat in the living room together. We had put Nick to bed and were watching Aladdin — the cable wouldn’t get turned on until the following week and we only owned kid’s video tapes — and it was then that Debbie made the announcement.

    “Go get us wings.”

    Now in Endicott, where our old apartment was — clear across the river — there were plenty of places to get chicken wings and Debbie and I had become complete Endicott wing snobs over the years. But we were in Vestal now.

    “Where?”

    “I don’t know. Go find a place.”

    Now finding a place for good chicken wings in upstate New York is not as difficult as you think. It’s like trying to find a good show in Vegas, or a great fishing spot in Maine. The corner bar-and-grill always had the best food and there were hundreds of them around. So I got in the car and drove.

    And that’s when I found The Terrace.

    It was packed inside when I walked in but I made my way up to the bartender.

    “You look lost,” Lynn spoke over the noise of the jukebox and the crowd, but she was smiling.

    “Yeah, I might be. How are your wings?”

    She gave me a look that was a combination of — what, are you stupid? Mixed with — don’t insult me by asking. So I ordered two dozen wings to go, and sat at the bar and nursed a beer.

    I would stay there for the next eleven years.

    At least once a week we got wings, or sandwiches or some other food from The Terrace — and of course you have to go there to order it. And I became a regular. The Terrace became my bar and I became a part of it. Now I never stayed late, I was always home by six o-clock, plenty of time for dinner with Debbie and the kids, or I brought dinner with me from there — and I was rarely there on weekends. Just once or twice a week for a few hours; the minimum amount of time required to hold my place in the pack. Just enough to keep the bar a part of me and me a part of it.

    Now, everyone has a roll to play at a bar. You have your experts on everything — Mike. You have your big shots — Chris the lawyer and Jimmy the broker. You have the pack leaders — big Frank and Remmy. You had borderline criminals — Newt and the haircut guy, and you had a potpourri of assorted bar characters.

    And at The Terrace, I got to play the part of the writer; a fun roll that required very little work and absolutely no writing. You just needed to talk about writing once in a while and as long as there wasn’t another writer that was already accepted as part of the group — which happens a lot — then you get to be it.

    And then you can cool phrases used about you, like — you should tell Everett that story, he’s the writer.

    I cried at The Terrace. But I laughed there too. And I always left before I really wanted to. And I did this for eleven years; from 1996 to 2007, and during that time I belonged to The Terrace and it belonged to me.

    And then 2007 came and we moved away.

    And although I thought about the bar — a lot — I had never been back. Not even when I’d be passing through that area — I guess I was afraid of not wanting to see something spoiled or ruined. So I never went back.

    Until last month.

    I was in town heading to Syracuse for a meeting and didn’t want to drive any further, so I checked into The Hampton Inn in The Vestal Parkway and then headed for The Terrace for wings.

    It’s humbling to go back to places that were once important to you. Just because you left, you expect them to wind down and stop but they continue. And there are all new faces. With all new groups, that come with a different pecking order and a new gauge of respect and esteem. And you want to grab these people and tell them that you were part of this once too. That you sat where they sat and you passed the same tests they did. And that there was a time when your group — not there’s — were important to this place.

    It’s sad when time moves on without you.

    But it’s even sadder when it doesn’t.

    I had just walked through the door of The Terrace and was working my way towards one of the many empty barstools, when I heard my name. Then I heard it again. Then again.

    After nine years — they were all still there. Mike. Sam. Big Frank. Remmy. Lynn. All of them.

    They were all still there.

    And I sat at the bar and ordered my wings. And the back-slaps and the handshakes started. And then those little blue plastic chips began to build up around my beer glass — this one is from Mike. This is from big Frank. And I took my position back.

    The great crowds are now gone from The Terrace. The once strong blue collar area has dwindled, with most of the coveted high paying factory and manufacturing jobs all but vanished. And many buildings are empty, some with broken windows and grass growing through employee parking lots that once held hundreds of cars and trucks. So the large crowds had moved on, but the people at The Terrace who held court over them, have remained at their post.

    Since I moved, I found the time to finally finish that book I was always talking about and it had been out for a year. And although they all knew about it, they teased and congratulated me, those accolades didn’t give back the emotional dividend I always dreamed it would.

    Because it wasn’t that I moved on from The Terrace. I didn’t. I just — moved. I cheated. I didn’t graduate or wake up one day and no longer need it. I just took the bar out of the equation. And if we hadn’t moved, if I hadn’t evaded that decision, would I still be there too?

    I never found a bar in Dover — where we live now. I remember looking for one when we first arrived, but I didn’t look very hard. And I don’t regret my time at The Terrace, but I don’t yearn for it either. That might be maturity, but I doubt it.

    It’s just that — over time you begin to see the beauty in the unassuming  parts; work, writing, the house. Because older men crave all of those things — we thrive on it. We hunt it. Older men need results.

    Younger men don’t.

    They need bars. Where all you need to do is dream it. Brag about it. And promise to one day — claim it.

    And if your do that — then it’s real.

  • Velma

    Velma

    VelmaVelma invented the Egg McMuffin.

    This would have been around 1957, at a business she owned with her father called The Gem Diner.

    The Gem Diner was a little place in Sanitaria Springs, New York — which in itself was a little place near Binghamton, New York — that sat on the side of Route 7 and sold sandwiches, shakes, burgers and fries to travelers who would stop by for lunch or an early dinner. But few people came in for breakfast.

    “They stop and get coffee,” Velma said to her father.

    “They get coffee,” Grover corrected. “To go. They don’t want to be late for work, so they fill their thermos and leave.”

    So Velma began thinking of a portable breakfast that could be made quickly. She came up with a fried egg, slice of Canadian Bacon and cheese served on a toasted English Muffin.

    “What is it?” Grover felt the warmth of the English muffin and egg flow through the wax paper that covered the sandwich.

    “It’s breakfast,”

    “Well,” he unwrapped it. “We’ll give it a try.”

    They sold out the first week. The item was named The Gem Diner Special and it cost thirty cents.

    “Don’t forget The Gem Diner Special tomorrow,” Grover would remind every customer he rang out.

    Now, on the road from Bainbridge, New York to Binghamton, New York, there were over fifteen places to stop and get a cup of coffee on your way home from work —  twenty if you weren’t picky. But none with a prettier waitress. So every day Larry De Morier stopped at The Gem Diner. And every day he would talk to Velma. And every day he would leave — only after he made her laugh at least twice.

    He proposed to her on the porch steps of Grover’s house in Sanitaria Springs — the big house that was once the town’s hotel — just around the corner from the diner. They were married in January of 1958. Grover rented the upstairs rooms out to people, so he moved to a back bedroom of the house, and the newlyweds took the first floor.

    Life went on.

    Four years later, two days after Christmas in 1962, Velma awoke suddenly and knew it was time to deliver her child. She woke her husband who carried her bag out and scrambled to get her into the car. Larry jumped in — it was ten miles to the hospital but the roads would be clear at this hour — but when he turned the car key, nothing happened. He tried again. And again. But without even a click from the starter to signify effort, the car did not start.

    Larry jumped out of the car — leaving his wife inside — and disappeared. It was cold and silent in Sanitaria Springs at this time of night. Velma sat — trying to remain calm — until she heard the roar of a large engine in the distance, then a car raced towards her; a copper colored Ford Fairlane. Larry jumped out to transfer his wife inside.

    “Who’s car is this?” she asked, through shallow breaths. .

    “A friends.”

    Larry shot out of the stone driveway.

    On the clear back roads, they made good time. They got to the hospital and their child was born, and fifteen hours later — when his head had now cleared — Larry decided he’d better find out who’s car he had taken — since he had ran up the street and looked inside of every car he could find until he came across one with the keys in it. So he and Grover made some phone calls, identified who owned the car, described the situation. The police were contacted and they stopped their search for the stolen Fairlane.

    The Gem Diner did well for a few more years but the hours were long and demanding. And Grover decided it was too much for his daughter and her young family, and too much for him. They closed the doors. So Grover paced the big house trying to determine what do next — especially since Larry and Velma would soon have another mouth to feed with their second child. He had to come up with a source of income for her where she wouldn’t have to be away from home as much.

    “A fish store?” she asked. “You mean, to eat?”

    “No. Tropical fish,” he said excitedly. Pointing to the area that was once the bar of the old hotel. “Right here. You wouldn’t even have to leave the house to take care of customers. You would here the buzzer inside the house when someone came in that door, and you would just walk in through the house. Simple.”

    So Grover got to work on The Mermaid Aquarium, Sanitaria Springs first tropical fish store. He bought display cases and shelving, hose and tank decorations and filled over a hundred different tanks with water, gravel, pumps and exotic fish.

    “Do people care about tropical fish?” she asked.

    “You’ll make them care. And a fish tank is cheaper than one of them color TV’s, remind them of that.”

    Grover walked out to his car, motioning his son-in-law to help him carry something back in.

    “What is it?” Larry lifted his side of the box but something inside moved.

    “Alligators.”

    “What?”

    “Baby ones. Put them in that tank right next to the piranhas.”

    Preparation for the store continued. And two days before the grand opening of The Mermaid Aquarium, Grover Bennett died. Velma opened the store without him. And a week after that, she named her new daughter after her father’s favorite song; Laura.

    The Mermaid Aquarium provided a solid second income to the family and with the rent of the tenants upstairs and Larry’s small salary, they squeaked by. In fact, there were even a few dollars to spend on a new trend: kids birthday parties hosted at McDonalds.

    In 1972, as Velma helped kids into the basement of the Front Street McDonalds —  where they had games, music and cake set up for her son’s tenth birthday — she passed a large poster announcing McDonalds newest food item. The franchise would now start serving breakfast and they invited all to try the new Egg McMuffin.

    Velma smiled.

    And time moved on.

    Velma is 93 years old now and I thought of these stories as I helped her pack last weekend. I thought of how when my dad went on medical disability in 1978 and his small salary would now become even smaller, Velma became the oldest College Freshman at the State University of New York at Delhi’s Nursing Program. She was 56 years old and she combined classes and graduated in one year. She then went to work at The Delaware Valley Hospital in Walton for almost thirty years, where she won nurse of the year in 2002. A plaque still hangs there with her name on it.

    We continued to pack.

    “Not everything,” she said. “We don’t need to take everything, just a few things. I’ll be back.”

    “I know.”

    And we would be back. A few times probably to get the house ready to sell.

    “Your heart is strong, Velma,” Doctor Freeman had said, only a few days before when he examined her. “Very strong. So are your legs. But your balance is terrible.”

    So Velma would go to Ohio. To Laura’s house. Where there was a room waiting for her and a city that had senior centers and groups and organizations and she wouldn’t be alone in a big house.

    “I’m not just going to twiddle my thumbs,” she said.

    “No one is asking you to.”

    “I need to do things.”

    “We know.”

    And we packed her bag and got her medication. We took a few of her pictures and I checked the lock twice. We got in the car and then went back inside for her cane — she didn’t think she would need it. Then we adjusted the heat in the car to volcanic levels — just the way she liked it — and we headed out for the five hour drive to meet my sister half way between Walton and Columbus.

    “I didn’t get breakfast,” she announced, as if a serious crime had been committed against her.

    “We’ll stop at McDonalds on the way out.”

    “Okay.”

    And we did.

  • Brain Health

    Brain Health

    brain2For almost a century, the field of clinical psychiatry — the medical branch dedicated to the study and treatment of mental disorders — was the only branch that did not look at the actual organ it was treating.

    This is true. For over a hundred years, a psychiatric assessment of a patient’s mental care would begin with a patient history and psychological assessment, and would end with therapeutic sessions — and of course, lots and lots of drugs.

    Now, with cardiac treatment, the very first step for diagnosis has always been to have scans of the heart, valves and arties taken. Pulmonary care first begins with looking at the lungs, and if you broke a bone, the first step— the very first action taken — would be to have an x-ray shot of the injured bone.

    But in the world of mental health it was always assumed that the mental illnesses had nothing to do with the vessel that illness was contained in. That struggles, disease and conditions of the brain —– had nothing to do with the brain itself. So it was simply ignored.

    But something interesting happened in the 1990’s when a few groundbreaking doctors first began to use SPECT (Single-photon emission computed tomography) scans of their patients brains, in their treatment. And when they did, they discovered some interesting patterns — especially where addictions are concerned.

    For example, if you scan a person’s brain who is addicted to alcohol and compare that to a healthy person’s brain, you will see two completely different organs.

    The healthy person’s scan will show activity in the various areas of the brain — the frontal lobe, the hypothalamus, the prefrontal cortex — all firing off as needed. There will be a dispersed activity in all these areas. All parts of the machine have a use and all of those parts are being utilized where needed.

    But the alcoholic scan will show overactive areas in the what is referred to as the pleasure and reward bundle of the brain — the nucleus accumbens, the prefrontal cortex and the amygdala — with other areas seeing very little use. In fact, an alcoholic’s brain will have this swiss-cheese-appearance with certain areas of the brain basically shutting down due to lack of use. And an alcoholic’s brain will actually be physically smaller than a healthy person’s brain. We see the exact same thing when we look at a brain scan of someone addicted to drugs.

    Now this isn’t very surprising to us. We know that there are chemicals in alcohol and drugs that are extremely harmful. So a chemical attack of the brain can result negatively to someone who abuses drugs or alcohol. Yeah. That makes sense.

    But here is where things get interesting.

    If you now scan a person brain who is addicted to say, food for example — someone who is morbidly obese — or someone who is addicted to gambling, pornography, sex or shopping, you will see —- the exact same thing.

    A person’s brain addicted to shopping — is almost identical to that of someone who is addicted to alcohol. The brain from an individual who is addicted to pornography — will look just like the brain of someone who is addicted to heroin.

    brain

    What? How is that possible?

    It’s simple.

    The brain registers all pleasures in the same way — whether it’s booze or sex. Gambling or cocaine. Finishing an important project at work, or scraping enough change together for a fifth of bourbon. In the brain, pleasure has a simple and distinct signature: the release of the neurotransmitter dopamine. That’s it. To the brain, all pleasures are the same.

    All drugs of abuse — nicotine or chicken wings, crystal meth or Facebook — causes a particularly powerful surge of dopamine. And in our brain we then create a well-worn path to get to it.

    And in addiction our view of the daily life becomes very simplified.

    Stressed? No problem, grab the addiction.

    Celebrating? No problem, grab the addiction.

    Bored? No problem, grab the addiction.

    Eventually the other areas of the brain — reason, patience, problem solving, planning, — aren’t needed as much. You have only a condition and response. This equals that —- with the ‘that’ being the addiction. The magic button that can be used at any time, all the time.

    And eventually a very worn path is created between a very small part of our brain. And the other rooms just —well. Shut the lights off because there is no activity going on there.

    Now, where it gets even more interesting is that the likelihood that the use of a drug or activity will become an addiction is directly linked to the speed and intensity of that dopamine release. So smoking or injecting a drug, produces a faster and stronger dopamine signal and is more likely to lead to drug use that taking as a liquid or pill.

    But we live in a very fast paced society. A person who is addicted to shopping can get that dopamine rush as soon as they pull out the credit card out or even hit the shopping cart icon. And someone addicted to gambling doesn’t need to find a bookie or a casino any longer. You can gamble online from your phone. And food —? Twenty four hours a day we can get fast and hot food delivered, picked up or microwaved — in seconds. And that dopamine rush is triggered.

    And this is not only for addictions that we consider ‘destructive’ but for all addictions. A person’s brain who ids addicted to marijuana will look like the one who is addicted to work. The individual, who has to get to the gym six times a week, will have a brain that looks like the person who is addicted to nicotine.

    Do you know anyone who cannot hear that ping of a text message or the sound that an email has just been received, without checking their phone? That little sound can easily be hard wired to that dopamine trigger, and a path is formed.

    So what does all of this mean?

    Well, it means that when we get most of the joy, happiness, release, and pleasure from only a few areas, that there is not only a spiritual cost but a biological one. It means that that quick pleasures can be extremely costly — not just for what we are leaving out of our lives, but for the damage done to the organ that keeps us breathing and allows us to reason.

    It means that old habits destroy, and new skills build.

    It means that quick fixes are costly, and new experiences are constructive.

    It means that the greatest joys are the ones we work at, and the ones we strive for.

  • The broken gauge

    The broken gauge

    path

    From the moment we are born — when we are a minute old, right to the day before our eighteenth birthday — we fall under a specific legal category. We are minors.

    Now, the dictionary definition of a minor is one of lesser in importance, seriousness, or significance. Which in the legal state is somewhat untrue. Yes, as minors we cannot vote, buy tobacco, we cannot serve in the military and we cannot make legal decisions on our own. But as far as importance, we have the very highest priority of legal protection and safety.

    But at eighteen years of age this changes. We leave the state of minorship and enter the legal age of adulthood. This is the line. There are the things that happened before we are eighteen — our childhood — and then all that occurs after — as an adult.

    Now, there is no clear reason why eighteen was chosen for the age of adulthood. Many historians will say that it is tied to the end of the public school system and the beginning of college enrollments and most kids complete high school at the age of eighteen. An age had to be chosen and this one made sense.

    So the normal path of life is tied directly to this age.

    Before eighteen, we are a minor.

    At eighteen we are an adult.

    By twenty-two we should be done with college or have our career path chosen.

    By twenty-five we should be living completely independent and be financially established.

    By thirty we should be married.

    By thirty-five we should have kids.

    By forty we should be hitting our career stride, making a good income and raising our children.

    By forty-five we should be upper management.

    By fifty we should be reaching our area of peak income potential.

    By fifty-five we should have our kids in a good college.

    By sixty we should be looking towards retirement and the good life.

    This is the path. This is the gauge we should measure ourselves and others against. If we are ahead of the curve, we are successful. If we are behind it, we are failing. And all of it is based on the fact that — we are adults at eighteen. And this is when it all begins. This is when the grading starts.

    But there is a major issue with this type of reasoning. The biggest one is that the human brain — the device that has complete control over all we think, reason, decide and do — is still developing until the age of twenty-five. This is true. It’s also the reason why our car insurance rates begins to go down at the age of twenty-five because we are finally done cooking and can now think clearly — at eighteen the rates are the highest and at twenty-five they begin to go down.

    So at twenty-five we first have all the mental equipment we will be given. But according to the scale we should be seven years into our path. And if we’re not; if at twenty-five or thirty we are just opening our eyes and seeing clearly for the first time — we are a failure. And worse, we have missed the boat. We realized too late. The opportunities have left us and we’ll just have to get by someway else.

    And this is absolutely not true.

    Life decisions do not have expiration dates. You don’t go back to college to finish, you go to college. You don’t go back to your old profession; you just decide that is the industry you want to make a living at.

    Fifty is as perfect of an age to begin a business as thirty is. Twenty is just as good a time to go to college as forty. And learning to play the guitar, to speak Spanish, to dive or to juggle, has no age limit at all.

    There is no back.

    Because there is no gauge.

  • How to shine your shoes

    How to shine your shoes

    shoe shine

    Although the good old days when shoeshine boys stood on street corners — young kids with a shoe box, offering a quick shine to passersby — was well before my time, I did get to be part of the great suit era of the 1980’s; when no matter whether you worked in the mail room or had the corner office, you were donned in a suit and tie.

    And this was also the time of the shoeshine guys.

    These shoeshine guys — with their barbershop like chairs on a pedestal — were everywhere; hotels, airports and even some restaurants. Which made perfect sense because these were the days when your first impression was determined by the firmness of your handshake and the shine of your shoes.

    Now if you think that the shoeshine guys were just a nostalgic look at a different era, I guess they were. But for a young man they were also a rite of passage. Having your shoes professionally shined while you sat there and looked on,  meant that you were not only old enough to get your shoes shined — and were actually wearing shoes that you could be shined, not sneakers — but that you could pay for it yourself. And for a few bucks you could feel both responsible and frivolous at the same time.

    They are mostly gone now, the shoeshine guys. I mean, you still see them in airports and most major cities still have them, but the bulk of them; the shoeshine guys set up as you waited to get a table for lunch or as you sat at a bus stop, are all gone. With the majority of us in business casual, our loafers don’t seem to need to be as shiny as our wing tips.

    And most likely the next generation probably doesn’t need the shoe shine guys like we did. Because they have there own rites to go through. But there still — even if just for a wedding, funeral or interview — you will be a need to shine your shoes. And when you do, you want them to glow.

    HOW TO SHINE YOU SHOES:

    1. Remove the laces of the shoes. A lot of people don’t bother with this but its the only way to get the tongue polished and get in all the nooks at crannies of the shoe. Take the laces out and fold the tongue up — this is also a good time to replace the laces if needed
    2. Clean the shoe. Not polish, but clean. Place your hand inside the shoe and with the other hand take a slightly damp cloth and wipe down the entire surface of the shoe to get off all the dirt and dust. Note, if you skip this step you could not only polish the dirt into the leather, but any sort of particle of dust could easily scrath the surface of the shoe.
    3. Apply polish. Using circular motions apply a thick coat of polish all over the shoe. Don’t be stingy here. Get a thick coat of polish all over the shoe and work it in.
    4. Get the shoes wet. With a spray bottle or a just taking your hand over the stream of water from the sink, cover the shoes with beads of water — its best to do one shoe at a time. Once its wet, you get in there and start buffing the shoe. This is the shining stage. Work it hard and add more water if needed.
  • REVIEW: Audio Book. Johnny Cash: The Life

    REVIEW: Audio Book. Johnny Cash: The Life

     

    johnny_cash_the_life2-540x340

     

    Audio Book:

    Johnny Cash: The Life

    Written by: Robert Hilburn

    Narrated by: Charles Pittard

     

     

     

     

    As I’ve mentioned, I spend a great deal of time in the car — a great deal. In fact, if I sat down and calculated it, I’d say that I average about 2,000 miles a week.

    My routine is simple. In the morning I get in the car. I drive. I have meetings during the day and then I drive home. That’s my life. And it’s not unusual for an average day to contain six or eight hours behind the wheel — or more.

    And when I get in the car — after I return all the phone calls, send the audio emails and check on my mom at least once — what’s left is pure windshield time. And the majority of that windshield time is spent listening to audio books.

    At any given time if you were to look in my car you would see three different audio books. One of them will most likely not have passed my five-minutes-test and I’ll put it in the backseat and not finish it. The second will most likely be tolerable and the third will be good to possibly great. Depending.

    I just finished  an audio book that was the biography of Johnny Cash. It wasn’t great.

    Now, the first thing to know is that I knew very little about Johnny Cash before this book. I could name a handful of songs but I never really followed him and didn’t see any of the films made about him. So I had a clean slate going in and picked up the book to learn more about the singer.

    As the book opens, we learn about Johnny’s  — then called JR’s — childhood and this beginning had a great few chapters. We looked at the artist’s very early life of growing up in the hills of Arkansas and we saw his family through their struggles and hardships. I enjoyed this part — even though the narration was probably one of the worse I’ve ever heard.

    See, audio books are an art form and there is so much talent in these narrators because you don’t have sound effects or music, you have one person reading the book with all the different voices, characters and accents. And a truly good narrator will allow you to forget that there is only one person reading this book and you would swear that there are a dozen or more.

    This is not the case with this book.

    The narrator — a gentlemen named Charles Pittard — simply reads the book. And he reads the book the same way that you would read a shopping list or instruction on putting together a chair. Drole. Dry. And flat. This is probably the second worse reading I’ve ever heard, next to Juila Roberts when she narrated The Nanny Diaries — it was a long drive and the book was loaned, not my normal choice of books — and I couldn’t get past the first few minutes. She just read it like she had one eye on the clock.

    Now you could get around the narration except that most of the book is written in this flat manner as well. In fact, a few chapters in the book stops being a book and becomes more of a report. A list of all the songs Johnny Cash wrote, recorded and all the places he went. I didn’t feel like I was there, I felt like I was sitting in a Moose Halls listening to  someone’s presentation on the life of Johnny Cash; while watching slides and getting to see the speakers collection of  albums and concert tickets.

    Not a good audio book. Don’t bother.