Where is personal responsibilty?

The struggle between Government, business and society is starting a new round. The FDA is proposing that cigarette companies dedicate 50% of their packaging real estate to grotesque images that is reminiscent of anti-abortion imagery.

My personal belief is that smoking is a harmful habit and it is dangerous to our health. But it’s legal in our country and therefore companies have the right to manufacture, fairly market and sell their product to people who make the choice to consume it. I’m a supporter of anti-smoking campaigns that are conducted by other special interest groups like “the truth” but I’m not a supporter of Government dictating companies to counter-market their own products.

Will this set a precedent to place images of morbidly obese people on cheeseburger wrappers or Kellogg’s cereal boxes? How about horrific crash scenes on beer bottles?

Will the Government allow us to market only products they like regardless to their impact to our health? Or will it nurture a community of free choice and personal responsibility?

Read more about the proposal at AdAge.

16 Things you didn’t know about sleep.

Fun info graphic. Not mine, of course. Sources and designer can be found at the bottom. Click the image to see the full version.

Via: Psychology Degree

They’ll never get that.

This week’s tweet from advertising luminary Lee Clow (@leeclowsbeard) reminded and re enforced my personal belief about people: They’re smart. Clow’s tweet simply stated: The dumbest consumer can easily outwit the smartest brand manager. Or creative director. Sigh.

I’ve decided that I’m a champion for people. I believe that the people who are all around me are smarter than the average person — which is statistically impossible but I like it. I can’t count the number of times I’ve debated with clients regarding the intelligence of their customers. Often times they are customers who are well educated and successful.

I think what Clow is saying is that the game is more difficult than it appears. We have to work hard at appealing to the consumer using honesty and simplicity. No proverbial wool is going to be pulled over the eyes of the consumer. And, “simplicity” isn’t another word for “dumb down”. As smart as we think we all are, it’s still our consumer who determines whether or not we get to stay in business. Pretty smart, if you ask me.

Can you count to ten on your fingers?

My first job was at construction company. A drywall company more specifically. I was a youngster so I didn’t really do any “constructing”. I was on the clean-up detail, which consisted of driving an old wheat truck with a hydraulic bed to all the job sites to clean up all the crap the real construction workers made. My tools consisted of a large steal coal shovel, a ragged push-broom and the aforementioned wheat truck.

On my first day, I met my partner. He was considerably older than I was at the time (I was 15). I immediately noticed that he had lost an index finger. And he looked at me like I was going to be his comic relief once we left civilization, which is what I called the office. You know, where all the ten-fingered people worked. We jumped in the wheat truck and started bouncing to our first job site. We hadn’t even driven two blocks when Billy Nines starts rummaging through his lunch sack. Figured he had a danish or bagel or something he wanted to gnaw on during our short ride. But instead, he pulled out his mood stabilizer which was a loosely-wrapped baggy of herb. He already had a jay good to go so he pulled it out, and surprisingly, was OK with sharing. It was my first day, so I respectfully declined. But, of course, I acted like I was a burner like him, even though I hadn’t been that close to a bag in my life. I told him, “Nah, I just had breakfast.” He laughed at me and fired it up.

We hauled a bunch of crap before lunch. It was hot. I mean, hot. We jumped into the truck and started off for some place for me to eat my lunch and Billy Nines to finish his bag. We ended up in the parking lot of a neighborhood liquor store. Billy Nines got himself a 40. And in keeping fashion with his generosity, asked me if I wanted anything while he was in there. Geez! I’m already like Brian Johnson when Bender stuffed his wad down his pants in the hallway. Straight-laced, man. So, I ate my “PB&J with the crust cut off” and watched him guzzle 120 oz. of Budweiser and burn the rest of his bud left in his bag.

At the end of the day, we weaved and bounced our way back to civilization. Billy Nines didn’t spend much time in the yard. He fell out of the truck and stumbled into his 1974 Monte. Day one—down.

Cold Fingers

Sunday morning was crisp and clear. I got to run with my four year old son, Luke. He rode his bike on the sidewalk while I ran out in the street. That way he wouldn’t run over me and cause me to break something, like my pelvis. He did pretty well, we talked a little and slowed down at intersections so he could make it through traffic. When we were finished and in the house drinking hot stuff, I asked him how he liked it. He said, “Good, Dad. But my fingers got cold”. It’s time for riding gloves.

Monday 2km
Time: 12:44
Pace: 6:32 km

Tuesday: 2.39 km
Time: 12:19
Pace: 6:12 km

Wednesday: Recover

Thursday 2KM
Time: 11:59
Pace: 6:01

Friday Golf

Saturday Sleep

Sunday 2km
Time: 13:12
Pace: 6:24

Monday 2km
Time: 12:05
Pace: 6:09

Ow.

Saturday. Ouch. I’ve gotten four runs in with one recovery day. After meeting for breakfast with a childhood buddy, I grabbed Jake and roped up the dogs and took off. I mapped a new course last night that is a little bit longer and takes me through a different area of the neighborhood. I thought it would be nice scenery to run by the lake that is part of the neighborhood.

This morning was the first time I ran while I could see the sun. And when the sun comes out, so does everything else. 10 things I learned this morning:

1. Lakes attract geese and ducks.
2. My dogs go crazy when they see geese and ducks.
3. It’s difficult to keep pace when you’re tied to an animal that is chasing a goose or a duck.
4. Running later in the morning means most everyone is awake.
5. People with pets let them out in the morning when they wake up.
6. My dogs are very social and love to roll around with other dogs.
7. It’s difficult to keep pace when you’re tied to an animal that is more interested in rolling around with another dog rather than running next to its companion.
8. Fingers and ears get very cold in temperatures under 40° F.
9. It’s fun running with Jake
10. Even with proper warm up and cool down, I hurt.

Friday 1.91km
Time: 12:32
Pace: 6:33 km

Saturday: 2.39 km
Time: 16:42
Pace: 6:58 km

I turned 41 on October 14.

I grew up during a time when we played every sport. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer and track. We did everything. I spent a little more time playing soccer and reached a pretty fast and competitive level into adulthood. During that time, I’d never imagined that I’d feel the way I do at 41. I always thought I’d be an athlete looking for the next competition. For me, those dreams took a back seat so we could spend a little more time helping our kids realize their dreams, whether on the field, court or music hall. Now, I’m unsatisfied with my fitness. I’m several pounds over my ideal weight and my aerobic fitness is poor. This week I began doing something about it. I leashed up my dogs and plotted a 2 kilometer course in my neighborhood and took off.

Since my dogs love me regardless of how fit I am, I need an accountability partner. So, both of you will be my partner as I chronicle my fitness journey.

I’ve run twice this week and today, Wednesday, is my recovery day. I need it!

Tuesday: 2 km
Time: 13:49
Pace: 6:55 km

Wednesday: 2 km
Time: 12:56
Pace: 6:31 km

Thursday: Slept an extra :30!

It’s really just a Tuesday

I’m guilty too. I don’t intend this to be an indictment but the recent frenzy over Michael Jackson’s death reminds me that we’re a weird society. He was a brilliant entertainer and someone who shifted and created culture. No doubt about it. But the amount of attention that is focused on his life and death seems a little peculiar to me. Four former Presidents have died in my lifetime with each receiveing less attention than Michael Jackson combined.

To put it in perspective for me, I compare how he has impacted my life in relation to other people. Like my high school art teacher, Mr. Freeman, who encouraged me to pursue a career using my talents. Or my high school soccer coach, Coach Kollmai, who taught me to trust my mates and work as a unified machine. Or my third grade math teacher, Mrs. Enders, who gave extra effort to make sure I learned multiplication. People who make lasting impressions on how we live our lives. These people often pass away quietly and anonymously with the attention of family and a few friends.

Why don’t we spend as much effort to celebrate their lives? Maybe we’re weird. Or maybe I’m just weird.

I was Poohed.

So, I got “hunied” on Friday. That’s right, hunied. Sitting on the plane in Chicago when we were getting ready to pull out from the ramp and the flight attendant was making her last round through the plane. I had just turned my phone to “airplane mode” and had it sitting on my leg. As she passed, she asked me to power it off. I politely showed her that it was in airplane mode and she snapped back at me saying, “if it has a power button, it needs to be turned off. This plane don’t take iPhones, Honey.” This plane don’t take iPhones? Well, what phones do it take? I wondered. I realize it was probably the end of a long week and the last leg of her shift, but, Honey? And not a nice Honey. It was a, “Honey, if you don’t power down that phone, I’m gonna choke you until your pupils disappear” kind of Honey. So, I did what every other macho American would do when faced with a grouchy woman at the end of her shift and nerves. I complied. Thank you, United, for providing such smilie service and keeping us all safe while we’re enjoying the miracle of flight.

Golf at 103°

It was hot man. You know, August in the sun belt. We were nuts enough to spend the afternoon sucking at golf. What’s more, we decided to suck on the longest course in town. So, when we were about four holes from heat stroke, my oldest brother, Chip, hacks one into a grouping of Pine trees. Being the good baby brother I am, I went in to help look around in the tall grass to find his ball faster. That’s when I heard a series of cracks that sounded like small arms fire. First I heard it, then I saw it.

“What the hell”?

And I looked over and my brother was holding the top of his head.

“Somebody hit me in the head with a freaking ball!”

Man, I couldn’t help from laughing. So, as my brother described it, sirens were going off inside his head and flames were shooting out from a hole on top of his head. Didn’t sound very pleasurable but it was really excruciatingly funny.

These two geezers who were putting out on a green near the pines saw my brother get whacked and yelled over to see if he was OK.

“Hey Sonny. You OK?”
Pointing in the direction of my other brother, one of the geezers said,
“I think a fella from over there hit that ball”

To which my brother replied, “Yeah, I think it was one of my brothers”.

Which surprised me because he only has two brothers and I was standing right next to him. He must’ve really sustained a fantastic whack in the noodle not be able to distinguish which one did it. I mean, would it be too much to ask for a guy to pin the offense on the right brother? Anywho, Geezer number two said, “Well, guess you can’t do too much about that”.

Yeah right.

About 20 seconds later, my middle brother comes around the corner with his clubs like he was late for a party and said,

“Hey, you guys see my ball around here”? and of course Chip said,

“Yeah, you jacknard, you bounced it off the top of my head”!

And here it is. It’s what we were waiting for. As my brother and I were laughing the rest of our cracks off, he said,

“It’s not funny”!