I wasn't going to say anything about this, but...remember a while back, that post I did about having two jobs, my real one and the blogging thing? And how it would be cool if I got paid for the other?
A few weeks ago, I got an email from a media branding group in New York. They'd read DadCentric, it seems, and were very interested in working with me to develop the site. Phrases like "book proposal" and "radio and TV" were used. These were pros - former network producers and well-known PR execs and magazine publishers.
As Neo might say...whoa. Here was Morpheus, with a blue pill in one hand, a red pill in the other.
Needless to say, I took the red pill. And things are happening.
Couldn't tell you. Real life has stepped in - time (precious little of it) and money (busted dishwasher, two car registrations and a possible trip to Chicago = no wetsuit) are still keeping me out of the water.
And to tell you the truth, I'm ok with that. I'd like to approach the new board with a clear head. Although surfing is an excelent way to take your mind off of things, often times I find that when I'm sitting in the water waiting for the next set, my mind tends to wander. And when it does, it wanders back to things that I wanted to put aside for the moment. Without that focus, I tend to flail. And flailure, when you're a relative newcomer to the lineup of north San Diego County, is not an option.
Plus this post from Ted got me to thinking. The last few times I went out I had similar experiences - it felt like work. Like an obligation, rather than a passion. And it shouldn't be like that. Part of it for me was the fact that I've gotten everything I can out of my longboard - I know it's strengths and weaknesses (and came to realize that the weaknesses far outweighed the strengths). That led to the realization that surfing for me had lost something - I just wasn't getting that rush that I used.
So the time out of the water has been a sabbatical. I'm recharging the batteries, while taking care of some other business, and something tells me that when the time rolls around for me to buy the wetsuit, holistically speaking it'll be the right time, and I'll truly be stoked.
Right now the vast bulk of my co-workers are outside in the parking lot, enjoying a barbecue put on by Management to Kick Off The New Year. That's how the memo put it, anyway.
Luckily, I had to run down to Lowe's to check out dishwashers. This only took a few minutes, so on the way back I stopped for gas and a quick browse through the stacks at Barnes and Noble (had just enough time to peruse the magazines - did you know that there is a mag called Bodyguard, written By And For The Bodyguard Community?). Unfortunately, my plan of getting back to the office right after the party wrapped up failed. I did manage to sneak into the building without being seen. Now all that remains is to wait until the leftovers are brought up to the breakroom. Free lunch, without the tedious work-related blather. Even better, I avoid the "social" chit-chat, which as I work for a defense contractor, tends to revolve around our president and what a swell job he's doing (my silence in such conversation tends to make things awkward). And my time and energy can be directed towards more useful stuff. Blogging is hard enough without such distractions.
First, the big news: last night I saw one of the - perhaps THE ONLY (I'll need someone to verify this) - Seinfeld eps to actually feature my hero Larry David in an on-screen role. "The Heart Attack" begins with Jerry watching a cheesy B, possibly C-grade sci-fi flick. On screen, a man in a shiny costume and goggles is screaming some gibberish about "burning like Siegfried". We cut to Jerry, waking from a dream and chuckling, writing down some notes about the man he'd seen on TV earlier. That man - Larry David.
Yesterday I waltzed over to Genuine; Jim is one of the guys heading up the Best of Blogs Awards, and it seems that many people are giving him shit over various BoB related things. One of the chief complaints seems to be that people are having trouble voting more than once. Now - of course I'm stoked that DadCentric was nominated, and it will be nice if we win (but as I told Jim, if we do, I'm donating the award to Sacheen Littlefeather). But really. I read and regularly converse with a number of the nominated bloggers, and I'm convinced that their readers are much more concerned about who wins than they are. (This, of course, is due to the fact that we're all part of an international cabal, a Blogilluminati if you will, bent on world domination, so if one of us wins, we all do.) So voters - as the kids today might say, all y'all gots to chill.
The other night we were strewn across the sofa, watching Hours 1 and 2 of the new season of 24. Thanks to the Golden Globes, I have not seen Hours 3 and 4, but they are there waitin' for me on the ol' DVR. I was somewhat bitter about missing Hours 3 and 4, but then ScarJo showed up on the red carpet wearing this low cut red dress, and, well, she's all grown's up, now, isn't she?
Sorry...what was I going on about? Oh - 24.Even though I half-expected the writers to start the show the way they did, it was still one of those rare moments when Fox's "YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FIRST TEN MINUTES!!!" claims actually held up. No spoilers, but - wow, brutal. So about thirty minutes into the show I asked Beth if she wished I was a badass like Jack Bauer. And she said no.
Come on! Apart from his penchant for Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses, who wouldn't want to be married to Jack?Yeah, the man is scary, what with the cutting off heads and fingers and shooting helpless wounded captives and such, but he can fly a helicopter. And more important, the guy has a fantastic ability to keep his job while pissing (and occasionally killing) off his superiors AND has maintained an incredible work-life balance. In four years, he's worked a total of 96 hours. Do you think CTU is Unionized?
Here's the scene: you're driving down the 805 on your way to work. A car pulls alongside you. You glance over. The driver is in the classic "Slouch" position, seat reclined to the near horizontal axis. It's foggy, yet he's wearing his dark wraparound shades. They go well with his Oakland Raiders replica jersey, the gold chains, the red FUBU hat he's wearing, pulled low and cocked to the left, Big Willie Style. Only he's a skinny white kid with really bad acne, and his ride? A 1998 beige Ford Escort.