Parallel Universe

As I mentioned at Get Rich Slowly the other day, I’ve discovered the bus.

I can recall riding the bus when I was just a boy (so before the age of two — right, Mom?), and I rode it once in high school to visit Paul Carlile when he was in foster care, but I’ve never ridden it as an adult. I’ve been on buses in other cities — just not in Portland.

What took me so long?

I was sort of in a panic Wednesday when I learned that the routine service on my new (used) Mini would keep the car in the shop overnight. How would I get home? Eventually I realized I could take the bus.

And I rode the bus back into the city on Thursday. A fifteen minute walk to the bus stop at Oak Grove and McLoughlin, a twenty minute ride, and bam! There I was at 4th and Washington.

I love it.

I had a sense of exhilarating freedom as I sat in O’Bryant Square just killing time. I know this probably sounds lame, but it’s liberating to not have a car downtown. I didn’t have to worry about parking. I could wlak where I wanted and take as long as I wanted. I could watch the skateboarders, and the mounted police (and the bicycle police), and the businessmen eating Chinese takeout on the park benches. I could sit there and write.

Sure, I could do all of those things if I’d driven downtown, too. But I wouldn’t. I’d be in a completely different mindset. It’s as if when I stepped on that bus I entered a different world — a parallel universe.

Later in the day, I met my friend Ramit for lunch at Kenny and Zuke’s. He was in town from San Francisco to promote his new book. I lingered a long time, chatting with our readers (especially Davy and Kinley), and then walked up to the Mini dealer to get my car.

The whole time, I felt like I was in a strange and wonderful alternate universe. All because of public transportation.

(I’ll admit, though, that it felt good to drive home!)

Two Glimmers of Insight

I’ve had a lot of amazing experiences lately that I’m not able to write about for a variety of reasons. However, I had two encounters yesterday that seemed especially important to me, and I wanted to write them down before I lost them. These anecdotes will be a little vague. Sorry.

I’m in San Francisco for some professional development and media relations training. (Yes, I’m serious.) It’s been a whirlwind of activity, but I love it.

In a morning meeting, I was complaining about the entire journalistic process in the United States. I’ve seen enough of it from the inside now to know that I cannot trust a single thing I see on television or read in a magazine. (Remember our five-year-old argument about Truth vs. truth? The media takes this to a whole new level.) These stories are manufactured, just like a cardboard box. They’re not reported. The “journalists” create the story they think their audience wants, and when they contact me, I’m just an ingredient.

Bill, one of the fellows working with me, listened to my complaints, and then he said, “J.D., you can’t look at it like that. You can’t expect it to be straight reporting because it’s not. You have to think of it like sausage. What they’re producing is sausage. The media is a giant sausage factory. You don’t want to know what goes into the sausage or how it’s made. You just have to trust that what comes out at the other end tastes good.”

I loved this analogy. Based on my experience, it’s so completely apt. It’s exactly what goes on.

I’m in the midst of participating in a bit for tonight’s episode of “On the Money” on CNBC. I’ll be on their Success Stories segment. But you do not want to know the ingredients to this piece of sausage.

Later in the day, I was working with Michelle, who is giving me public speaking training. She was asking me about my story and my goals. She wanted to know how I present myself. What do I want people to remember me as? I kept coming back to my old song-and-dance: I want people to trust my advice and listen to what I have to say, but I don’t want them to think of me as a financial expert. “I’m just a regular guy,” I said.

Michelle shook her head. “That won’t work,” she said. “You can’t kiss a girl through the screen door.” She didn’t even have to explain what she meant. I understood her meaning immediately. “The truth is, you are an expert. You’re an expert on the fundamentals of personal finance. You’re a common-sense advisor.”

Great stuff. (She also gave me a good disclaimer to use after I bill myself as a spokesman for common-sense fundamentals. She told me to say: “I am not an expert in this space. You should seek a professional advisor.” In other words, I should lay claim to what I can, and then offer people further options.)

I have another entire day of training ahead of me. I have to be over at the office in 25 minutes. I’m excited for what it might hold.

A Night on the Town

I’ve been promising for months (years?) that foldedspace would come out of its shell. Perhaps I should stop promising that.

One way for me to get more material to write about is to actually do stuff…instead of writing. The truth is that most of my day (every day) is spent on the computer, writing for my many sites. This is profitable, no question, but it means I have little personal experience to share.

To remedy that, I’m going to make a point of going out and about, hanging out with friends. And, in fact, I did just that last Friday night.

I joined a bunch of old friends from high school (Dawne, Tom, Jonathan, Tami, Dagny, ~~Cassie~~ Castle, Dusty, Karin) to eat, bowl, and sing. Well, I didn’t sing, but I had a lot of fun listening to everyone else do so. I’d never experienced karaoke before, and I thought it was a lot of fun.

I had the foresight to bring my camera, so I can offer two videos for my fellow Canby alums. First up, here’s Jonathan McDowell singing George Michael’s “Faith”:

This was the first time I’d seen Jonathan since high school. It was great to chat with him and to hear his laugh. It was also great to see Tom Stewart again, who blessed with a performance of Neil Diamond’s “Forever in Blue Jeans”:

Great stuff, gents. Great stuff. Maybe I’ll polish up my Paul Simon or Johnny Cash so that next time I can join the fun…

Salt of the Earth

“Why did you buy a bag of potato chips?” Kris asked me the other day. “You shouldn’t be eating those.”

“I know,” I said, “but I was craving salt.” It’s true. I was craving salt — although “craving” puts it mildly. I was driving home from running errands when I felt an urge to eat raw salt in large quantities. I stopped for a bag of the best chips on earth: Kettle-brand salt & fresh ground pepper potato chips. These things are salt bombs.

My love for salt is nothing new. Many of you have sat with me in restaurants or at fancy dinner parties and marveled as I ate raw salt. I do it even more when you’re not looking. One reason I have a variety of salts in the cupboard (seasoned salt, garlic salt, herb salt, sea salt, bacon salt) is that I eat a lot of it and therefor want a variety on hand.

Why is this? Why do I love salt so much? Why do I need it? I’m not sure. But I’m very glad that, so far, I am not salt-sensitive. I would hate to have to reduce my sodium intake.

This morning I had a grapefruit for breakfast. But that wasn’t enough. When I’d finished both halves, I felt my longing for salt coming on strong. I spied the bag of potato chips on the counter. I poured myself an ounce of them, and then threw in an ounce of smokehouse almonds for good measure.

Ah, salt, how I love you.

Apology

Hello, my friends. How are you? I know that it’s been a while since I’ve been here for you. I know that you’ve probably given up on me, and I don’t blame you. Deep in my heart, I have not abandoned foldedspace; I’m only on hiatus. Again.

Still, I can foresee a time when I return. A time Real Soon.

If it’s any consolation, my entire life has been on hold for six weeks. I’m not joking, either. My entire life has been Get Rich Slowly. This may seem absurd, but I do think that ultimately the sacrifice will have been worth it.

In any event, I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.

Just today, for example, I was reading the Countryside magazine. My first issue arrived in the mailbox today, and I spent two hours soaking in the tub, devouring the reader-submitted stories of modern homesteading. I read about people raising rabbits and chickens and goats. I read about people growing carrots and pears and zucchini. I read about people with no electricity, no plumbing, no cars. I read stories from radical Republicans and from die-hard Democrats. I loved every minute of it. And every minute of it reminded me of you.

You amy not know it, but I talk about you all of the time. I realize that only a few of you read Get Rich Slowly, but rest assured that your stories color the site and inform every article. More than that, when I speak with reporters, I often cite your actions as examples:

“Well, my friends Craig and Lisa have an enormous food-producing garden on a standard city lot. They even grow hops!”
“My friends Ron and Steve have goats. They love their goats.”
“Believe it or not, many of my friends have chickens. Mary and Steve, Mac and Pam, Jeremy and Jennifer.” [Note: I know the latter have “volunteer” chickens, but whatever.]
“My friends Rhonda and Mike tore out their front lawn and put in a vegetable garden.”
“Kristin and Roger have tons of grapes! Paul and Amy Jo just planted eight apple trees.” [Or was it six?]
“My sister-in-law prides herself in frugal fashion. She dresses well, but buys her clothes at thrift stores.”

Countryside magazine makes me long to live, well, in the country. The first page contains real estate ads. “20+ acres in West Virginia, 3BR 2BA. $50,000.” $50,000? Sign me up! (“But then you’d have to live in West Virginia,” says Kris.)

Anyhow — my life for the past three years has been like a runaway train. It picked up speed gradually at first, but before I realized it, it was careening out of control. Now, however, I’ve put the brakes on, and things seem to be slowing. Hell, I even got to go see a movie with Andrew and Dave recently. Can you believe it? Neither can I.

So, I’ve missed you, dear friends. But I look forward to making your acquaintance once again…

10 Top Motivational Ads from Nike

I don’t like advertising. Marketing is more powerful than the average person suspects. Marketers are armed with million-dollar budgets and decades of research. We defend ourselves only with our experience. It’s not a fair fight. I wince every time I hear somebody brag that ads don’t affect them; it’s my guess that ads affect these people most of all.

Still, I can’t help but love certain ads. For example, there’s an entire series of Nike commercials that make me want to get off my ass and do something. In a lot of ways, I don’t care if these make me buy more Nike products. They make me motivated to improve myself. In fact, I have an entire playlist at YouTube composed entirely of Nike commercials. When I’m feeling sorry for myself, when I’m feeling lazy, when I’m feeling uninspired, I watch these. When I’m done, I’m ready to go do stuff.

Here are my ten favorite motivational Nike commercials. I suspect that if you watch even a few of them, you’ll have a more productive day.

Awake (how to start your day)

Move (one of my faves)

Training (motivation to keep going)

Courage (dare to pursue your dreams)

Just do it

No excuses (there’s no reason not to try)

Leave nothing (good if you like American football)

Take it to the next level (good if you like real football)

Failure (Michael Jordan explains success)

A little less hurt (wow — just wow)

After watching these commercials, I’m ready to take on the world. (And the funny thing is: I don’t own a pair of Nike shoes. I have a couple of Nike shirts for running, but that’s about it!)

The Lovecats

“You know what?” I told Kris last night as we were getting ready for bed. “I finally have an idea for a long foldedspace post. Like in the olden days.”

“Ha!” she said. She didn’t believe me.

“It’s a story from when we were boys,” I said. “But there are a lot of different threads to tie together. It’s going to take some time.”

This isn’t that post. This post ties together threads of a different sort: YouTube, LOLcats, the music of my youth. Here, my friends, is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Some of you will laugh (Will K.?), some of you will cry. But most of you will just scratch your heads in bewilderment:

So funny it hurts!

I suppose some context would help many of you. “The Lovecats” is a 25-year-old song from The Cure. It’s a song I loved when I was in high school and college (and even today). And, of course, LOLcats are those (mostly) funny captioned cat photos. This video combines the two.

[Via Gina Trapani, of all people.]

Genius and the Creative Muse

Over the past couple of years, author Elizabeth Gilbert has been something of a joke in our house. We read her book The Last American Man for book group, and neither Kris nor I were impressed. It was certainly well-written, but the subject was lame, and we felt as if Gilbert were writing a love letter rather than a biography.

We’ve had friends read Gilbert’s subsequent memoir, Eat, Pray, Love, and their reactions have mostly been ambivalent, as if they couldn’t understand the hype.

So, Kris and I are unimpressed.

Yesterday, however, Andy pointed to Gilbert’s talk at this year’s TED conference. (The TED talks are amazing. They’re like little nuggets of brainfood.) Her subject? Creative genius.

My opinion of Gilbert has changed. After viewing her presentation, I have new-found respect for her and her process. What she describes is similar to what I experience. I’m not saying that I’m a genius, but what glimpses of genius I may have often seem to come from somewhere outside myself. (I think of it as possessing a muse, but maybe that’s because I don’t really understand the word.)

Gilbert tells the story of a poet who, as a young woman, would feel poems coming at her from across the landscape. She would run to the house to grab pencil and a paper before the poem would pass her by. I experience something similar. I am not joking.

When people ask me where I get my ideas, I tell them the best ones come from mowing the lawn. It’s true. For some reason I cannot fathom, when I am mowing the lawn (or doing other yardwork), I come up with the most brilliant ideas. For a long time, I would lose these ideas. I wouldn’t remember them by the time I was finished with my work. Frustrated, I developed a system. Now I keep a pencil and a pad of paper near the door. If I’m working outside and the muse comes to me, I stop what I’m doing, and I go to my pad of paper to write it down. I capture these bits of genius.

Gilbert’s talk is brilliant — at least to me, as a writer. It captures some bit of writerliness, and for that I am grateful.

(On a sidenote: Kris and I watched Almost Famous the other night. I knew the plot going in, so I expected the film to be “about” rock bands. Sure, that’s a main theme. But I was impressed that this is one of the best films I’ve ever seen about what it’s like to be a writer. Capote? That’s a film about a writer, not about writing. Almost Famous is about writing, and I love it for that.)

Branded! Feedback on the GRS Logo?

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been working with a real-life graphic designer to develop a logo (and eventually a new layout) for Get Rich Slowly. She provided me with a sheet of possible logos based on my vision for the site. Many were great, but I loved none more than this, which I think was only an afterthought on her part:

Something about the tortoise just grabbed me. He’s so damn cute! I told my designer that I wanted my site to be serious and classy (and classic), but also whimsical. I want it to have a sense of humor. I think this captures that very well. Plus I can’t help but think of the different ways the tortoise (who needs a name) could be used around the site. It’s branding!

I suggested that it might be fun to see a variation with the tortoise standing on top of the site name:

I like this version best of the two, but it’s less practical. For the web — and for print — the wide aspect-ratio is necessary. Still, I think the tortoise on top represents success. I may end up using this variation in certain circumstances (coffee mugs?).

This morning, my designer sent me variations of both logos, but with a spot of color. Kris likes the green better than the black. What do you think?

Finally, here’s the proposed business card. It would be two-sided. The first side would contain the logo and the contact information. The second side would contain a handful of provocative questions and the URL.

There you go. My first steps toward “branding”. I’d love to hear some feedback. Do you prefer the stacked version or the wide version? Black or green? (Or some combination?) Love it? Hate it? Ambivalent? I’m unlikely to change things substantially at this point because I like the tortoise motif a lot, but I’d love to hear constructive criticism on what works and what doesn’t.

The Year of Maintenance

Have I mentioned that Kris and I own a big, old house? We do. And for the past couple of years, I have done a piss-poor job of maintaining the thing. (Kris has upheld her end of the deal for the most part, but I’ve been absorbed with other things.)

The recent snow and ice pulled the gutters away from the side of the house in spots, which means the rain (which has been in mercifully short supply lately) just pours off the side of the house, and probably curls back onto (and under?) the siding. This problem snapped me out of my stupor, and I realized that hey! if I don’t take care of the house, it’ll fall apart. Yikes.

Over the weekend, we took a tour of Rosings Park — indoors and out. We made a long list of projects that need attention. Some are easy. We prune the grapes and the blackberries every year, right? Some are time-consuming but won’t cost much: cleaning the shop, finishing the horseshoe pits. But others will take both time and money, and they’re the things I’m most worried about. The gutters are but one example.

The southeast corner of the house — where we had an exahust vent installed for the furnace — is a nightmare. Paint is peeling away in large chunks. In some spots, it’s just bare wood against the outside world.

Kris and I have agreed that this year is the Year of Maintenance at Rosings Park. It’s going to be costly, but it needs to be done. As our home inspector wrote when we bought the house:

The national statistic on the Cash Value of Home Maintenance states, for every $1 that is spent on maintenance, up to $100 of repairs are avoided. In my experience as a professional home inspector, I have looked at hundreds of homes in all age ranges, and I have seen thousands of dollars of damage to homes that could have been avoided by spending $5 to $10 and just a few minutes of work.

It’s time for us to spend a few bucks and do a few minutes of work! (Though we’ve kind of progressed to a middle stage where it’s going to take a little longer and cost a little more.)

Anybody have experience/suggestions/recommendations for house painters?