Do or Do Not

I have recently come to the conclusion that life should be lived with dignity. This sounds like a no brainer. You might say, “of course it should be. Everyone knows that.” But why then do we constantly accept the status quo and settle for the lives we don’t want? Are we not stripping ourselves of the dignity we deserve by not doing the best we can at all times? The answer is risk. It’s risky to put yourself out there. Here is how Paul Arden puts it. “Risks are a measure of people. People who don’t take them are trying to preserve what they have.” If you are unhappy with the way your life is going why would you want to preserve what you have? Here is the thing though; people who do take risks often end up having more. The other thing is that people are afraid to make mistakes. But I give you these words, without being too cliché, from Benjamin Franklin; “ I haven’t failed, I have had 10,000 ideas that didn’t work.” What successful people realize is that failures preconditions to success. False starts are rungs of the ladder. One important thing to note is that success does not equal money. Success equals Living a life with dignity and respect for your self and earning respect from your community. Wealth is often a side effect of this. Another thing to note is that When Ben Franklin said this; he didn’t just have the ideas. He went after them and found out first hand for himself that they would not work. You could have all the ideas in the world but if you don’t set out after them it doesn’t do you one bit of good.

I started MC[Squared] Graphic Design back in February of last year. It didn’t work out as planned. I have plenty of excuses as to why not but the reality is that I half-assed it. I was working part time for the paint store and part time for myself. I was lazy, and as much as it pains me to say it, I was not diligent in my efforts. It is no other fault but mine why it didn’t work. In the immortal words of Ron Swanson (or at least the words of whoever writes his lines) “Why half-ass two things when you can whole-ass one thing?” One thing I have noticed about successful people is that they chose a path and they stick with it. They do one thing and they do it well and diligently. They make it work. They are not constantly looking for something bigger and better to come along. They are the architects of their own lives. This is the type of man I want to be and the first step to that end is realizing my own faults, way to many too many to list, and go about changing those faults one at a time.

The vision of where you want to be is one of the greatest assets you have. So here is where I want to be. I want to own a multifaceted creative "commons". I want it to be boundless. I want to do everything from furniture design to commercials, logo design and branding to social media management and creative integration. I want it to be a space where my employees can feel free to be as creative as they possibly can and where failure is encouraged as a means to success. I want to create something bold. A place where clients know they can come and get spectacular results for whatever their needs are. The only way to get there is to start at the bottom and make it work. As Yoda says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” And he’s right. There is no try.   

Dallas

So I went to Dallas last weekend. I had never been to Dallas, or really anywhere in Texas, before this trip and I have to say, “Meh”. Fort Worth was nothing but tract housing chain restaurants and giant malls, kinda lame. Although there was a trailer park that was called “Wheeled Estates”, I thought that was hilarious. Dallas was a little different; it had a nice vibe and lots of really great museums. It didn’t feel like there was really anything interesting about it though. I mean, when you go to London or San Francisco or Seattle or Portland or pretty much any other major metropolitan area there is a feel to the city that is different than anywhere else in the world, Dallas didn’t have that. The art museum was FANTASTIC but that’s bought culture. Someone bought that stuff and brought it there. The architecture was somewhat interesting, most notably the Perot Museum of Science and Nature. What a cool building, look it up. By the way, the grassy knoll is not even a little bit a of a knoll. It was more like a slight rise. Lets just say that if you were on a bike you would barely even notice it let alone downshift to get up it.  And that is the biggest thing I noticed. It is really freaking flat. It’s a good thing I got the navigation system with the rental car because I would never have made the flight home on account of me being lost.

The navigation system did try to kill me on the trip though. I was looking for a sort of trendier area called the “Near South” district, which is on West Magnolia Street. So I set the sat nav for ‘W Magnolia St.’, it decided to take me to ‘E Magnolia St.’, which is totally different. I knew the area was getting more and more dangerous because the amount of landscaping in front of houses was decreasing at the same rate that the amount of package liquor stores was increasing. Just as I rounded the corner onto E Magnolia, in my bright red ford focus with un-tinted windows, I see the street is lined with cars that have been ‘donked’ (you know, the old Caprices and Grand AMs with like 33” chrome rims and bright terrible paint jobs) and like 30 or so ghetto ass black guys of which about 75% to 80% were sipping on some sort of liquor, stuffed in a brown paper bag of course. First of all, people really do this? I thought the brown paper bag was so cliché that it could not have been real. Seriously, whom are you fooling? If a cop rolls by they’re not going to be like “I wonder if all these guys are drinking?” or like “that must just be gator-aid in those brown paper bags. keep it moving.”  Second I would like to clear up that I am not racist. I don’t freak out when I see a group of black guys or anything but you need to understand, these were not go to work have a 401k black guys. These were gold teeth and neck tattoo black guys. Like, if I had another black guy in the car with me he would probably be like “dude we need to get the hell out of here.”

So anyway, I’m driving right through the middle of the annual meeting of winners, in my bright red ford focus, thinking to myself, “don’t stop, just keep driving”. Every head was following my car as I slowly drove through. It was a dead end. So here I am, in my button up gingham shirt, glasses, domestic late model economy car, trying to do a k-turn at the end of this narrow street with thirty black guys staring me down. A group of youths playing basketball at the end of the street, one of which could not have been more than 15 and had his entire chest covered in tattoos, completely stopped their game to watch me. I felt like Mike Myers in Austin Powers trying to turn around the little cart in the alley. Sort of hilarious yet sort of terrifying. But how do I know, they were probably all very nice. I probably could have stopped and asked for directions and they would have been happy to help… and offer me a beer.  

So that’s Dallas. All in all I had a good time. I would like to come back and explore a little more but just remember, stay away from East Magnolia Street.      

Pork Chop Night part 4

I sat there for a long time, just taking in the room and my father’s presence. He was an intimidating man. Not big necessarily but be had a definite captivation, you could feel it when he was in the room even if he didn’t know you were there.  It was a classic study, filled with the novelties of manhood. It had wood lined walls and green carpet, all rather nice if not expected. The south and west walls were concealed with floor to celling bookshelves and they were completely bursting with books. There was a gun case built into the north west corner filled a couple of old Berettas and a pair of Holland and Holland twenty gauges he bought on a business trip to London. My dad loved his guns. His favorite was an Abercrombie and Fitch double barrel that he got from Ernest Hemingway’s collection. He bragged about it a lot. He had to show it to every man that asked, and most of the time to those who didn’t. “He’s a hell of a guy” he told everyone about Hemingway  to which my mother would reply, with the courage of a couple highballs, “you bought it at a charity auction, dear, he only talked to you because you bought it.” The north wall held ornate frames housing my fathers law degrees from both Cornell and Harvard, hung just to the right of the door, and among other various accomplishments and certifications. Above the door was mounted a giant boars head, the body of which I always thought to be suspiciously missing. I hated it, it had horns and big glass eyes and I was glad the body was gone, that way he couldn’t ever get down. I always had a dream where my dad and the bust would be in a conversation about politics, the banter would turn into a heated debate and eventually a conflict over policy. My father would get up and walk to his gun case, take out the old Abercrombie and blast him right between the eyes, saying something like, “I didn’t think I’d have ta shoot you twice.” I would be sitting where I usually sit, here at the back of the desk, watching. He would turn around and notice me and pull me up by the arm and into his lap where we would smoke Cubans together.

            I sat and smelled his cigars. He smoked one every night. Him and my mom used to go to Havana often. I would stay with my grandma most of the time. I did go 

END CHAPTER I

BEGIN CHAPTER II

God I hate him. He’s such a prick. Anyways, I need to get Marcus off to school and I just cannot think about him right now. It’s just that I go to the trouble every night to make him dinner and he doesn’t even eat with us, Always sitting alone in that godamned office. Well, I don’t go to the trouble do I? Tony does. He’s a good cook; I don’t know what we would do without him. Jesus, When did I become so pretentious? We have a fucking live-in cook for crissake. It just so unreal, and when I say unreal I mean UNREAL. It’s so fucking fake, this whole life is.

“Marcus, come on now honey. What are you doing in there?” I called down the hall

“Coming mom, just havta brush my teeth one more time.” Marcus yelled back.

He’s the only thing worthwhile in this goddamned city. I’m not sure why he has to brush his teeth like that though. He certainly is a strange child. I shouldn’t think that, he’s my son. But the truth is he really is odd. Royal says its “just a phase that he will grow out of” but I’m not sure. Even his name is pretentious, the prick. What kind of name is ‘Royal’ anyway?

“Marcus! Were going to be late!”

“You don’t have to walk me anymore mom, I have my bike now remember?” Marcus shouted down the hall.

“Well your going to be late anyway.“  

Royal hates it when we yell down the hall at each other. He says it’s “just not what good people do.” Well Fuck him, he’s never here anyway. “That’s what you get for marrying a senator,” he always says. He’s right about that, I hate it when he’s right, the prick. 

“Marcus! Now!”

Marcus tumbled out of the back hall and into the great room, his schoolbooks scattering on the floor in his rush-to-a-stop at my feet.

“Marcus! How many times have I told you to take better care of your schoolbooks?”

“Sorry mom, but you really don’t need to take me to school today.” He said, “I’ve got my bike.” 

That damn bike, I fought Royal for two years, TWO YEARS, to get him that goddamned bike. “He needs to save up for his own bike.” Royal always said, “he’ll appreciate it more.” I don’t want to think about that right now either. 

“Sure sweetheart, but be careful. I don’t know what I’d do If something happened to you.”

“I will mom, It’s a Hawethorn Zep, I’m the fastest thing out there.”

I walked Marcus down to the foyer and waved goodbye to him. I waited until he rounded the corner at the end of our block and I could no longer see him. I closed the door and walked back up to the great room. We have a live-in maid, so it was always spotless and perfect, nothing out of place. God we’re ostentatious.      

How To Be a Man

I have been thinking on manliness a lot lately. I have never been considered a real mans man if you will. I don’t much care for the traditional sports or feel the need to drive a truck or join a fraternity. That’s just not me. I don’t have huge muscles or a beard. I got to thinking of the true meaning of the word Manliness and I came to the conclusion that we have it entirely wrong in our society. Manliness does not require drinking to much and getting into fights, watching football or fixing cars so much as being a woman requires baking cakes and knitting doylies. It is so much more than that, and most men fall very short of the mark. Trying to describe what manliness actually is is very challenging. It is so multifaceted that it will never be something you can pinpoint. But here is my explanation, the best I can give.    

I like nice things. I like old things. I like nice old things. I hate it when old thing are no longer considered useful and are tossed aside, unwanted, no longer suitable for the task at hand. The quality of things is paramount to their longevity and in my short time on this planet I have found that this is not just true for objects, but for men as well. Some men will outlive their usefulness and others will die long before their utility is ever fulfilled. For a man to be of great usefulness he must, as with anything of quality and value, be built on a strong foundation with the finest of materials. He must possess a firm grasp on the world and all of its shortcomings as well as its endless beauty and wonder. He must appreciate the value in others as well as himself and expound with great enthusiasm on the advantages given to him in his position in life. He must realize the absurdity and coincidence of his existence and never take anything, even the smallest of things, for granted. His tenacity must be never ending and he must always accept accountability for his actions. He must look at the world through a lens of temperance and humility and always consider all sides of every possibility. And most importantly he must respect himself as well as each and every individual he comes in contact with, for there is something to be learned from everyone and everything.

As you can see, being a man is no easy task. It takes dedication, risk, and patience but the rewards are far greater than you can imagine. To be able to look back on your life as an old man and know that you tried your best against all odds, holding steadfast against the current that is popular delusion, is a great and pleasing thing.  But it is better yet to look forward as a man not yet aged and know that you are doing everything you can. I would like to say that I embody all these qualities but I simply do not. All I can do is wake up and try to be a better man with every step, and that is acceptable.