Bloggers block, and my dream work scenario

This is a blog. How can I go weeks or months without feeling like I have "anything to blog about"? I am alive, I have a family, I have a job, I have more and more nose hairs which protrude beyond the nasal opening, and must be trimmed! So really, no shortage of material.

I spend 9 hours of most weekdays at an office building. I sleep about 8-9 hours a night, thanks to my wife's awesome sleeping habits (seriously, life changing). So that leaves 6-7 hours to do other things like work out, play with the kids, taunt the cat, watch sporting events on TV, trim nose hair, etc... But that 9 hours at work may be the problem. Work takes up more than half my waking hours, yet I do not like blogging about it. There are too many things about having a corporate job that an outsider wouldn't understand, and that I don't want to risk talking about in a public forum. A public consisting of about 11 people spread around the country, but a forum nonetheless. Or maybe I'm only inspired to blog about it while I'm at work, which then creates a scenario where my creative ambitions could usurp my jobly duties; which, in turn, could cause termination of the job. 

To steal a gimmick from Dave Barry, "Jobly Duties" could make a great band name.

In all the meetings, conference calls, and seminars I've had the pleasure of leading or attending (no sarcasm there at all), I've been waiting for one moment--one particular opportunity--to let my true abilities shine. The transaction would happen during one of those meet and greet sessions, where everyone toots their own horn by saying how long they've "been in the biz", and it would go something like this:

Me:  "Hi, I'm Steve, the Assistant Brand Manager for the brand. I've been here..." blah blah blah "...after which, I developed a true passion for..." blah blah blah "...this one time, in band camp..." blah blah blah "...really happy to be here. And how about this weather, huh? Huh?"

Before I continue my dream sequence, let's consider why every single person in the history of any business conversation, new friend introduction, or family reunion simply MUST talk about the weather. Why do we do this? One's location in relation to the other makes no difference at all. You could have resided on the same street for 20 years, never vacationed, and stepped out of your house only to say to your neighbor, "Man, can you believe this very typical sunshine?", and they would reply, "I know, RIGHT?" This happens 40 times a day in the average office building, with people in one state acting like the weather in any other state is, like, totally wild.

Anyway, back to my sequence. I've just humbly introduced myself.

Interested Party: "Steve, as the Associate Brand Manager, how do you..."

Me: "Ahem, ummm...OH, you know, I was just going to say I'm just the 'Assistant' Brand Manager, not what you said, which was 'Associate'."

Interested Party: "Riiiight. Anyway, in your role, how can you impact the average sales of..."

--Here's where I interrupt again and turn a normal, droll business meeting into a real LOL moment--

Me: "I mean, and either way--associate or assistant--my title starts with 'A-S-S', so... Right?"

Everyone in the room: 

Well, there you have it. An insight into my professional success, and personal joy. Work is work, and I'd rather write about make-up stories that prove my immaturity than about actual workish work things. Or the weather, apparently. Except when it's SUPER hot for like 5 straight days, which it has been lately here in Utah. Seriously, it was like 103 the other day, in late August. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

Vacation pics and tidbits

Annie, the kids and I flew to Chicago on 7/31, drove to Hudsonville on 8/2, drove to Big Rapids (Cottage) on 8/5, drove back to Chicago on 8/8, and flew home to SLC (minus kids) on 8/9, our 1-year anniversary. All that time on seats of moving vehicles left me thinking, "Why do men wear wallets in their back pockets, anyway? My left arse cheek kills!"

Happy Anniversary baby! I did exactly what I wanted to do this year: set the bar low. I only get better from here, trust me.

Some of my favorite highlights from the trip:

- Zoey left the other 3 of us in stitches at the SLC airport restaurant. She started doing this weird "duh, du-huh" sound to Preston, and for whatever reason we all started giggling as she just kept doing it, without breaking. It was like one of those uncomfortably long Family Guy jokes. She just kept making that noise.

- The waiter looked like a creepy, ashy-faced version of Michael McDonald from MAD TV.

- I'm not going to compare every anecdote to a TV show, sorry about that.

- Nicknaming the Willis Tower the "What you talkin' 'bout-Willis Tower", and then hearing the kids try to say it fast. TV reference again, dang.

- Preston methodically cleaned out the appetizer plates at Giordano's.

- Zoey played a game at a street fair where you had to throw a ping pong ball into these tiny glass jars, to win a goldfish in a bag. You got 5 tries. These games are designed to be nearly impossible, right? She nailed it on the first try. We won a fish. It lived for 3 days. We tried.

- My Dad unwittingly ego-slapped me while we put together a new trampoline at his house. I just couldn't pull the last few sections of springs far enough to hook them. My hands were blistered, nearly bloody by then (slight exaggeration). He just kept pulling them 'til it was done.

- I saw my cousin Emily for the first time in well over a year, maybe two years? She went and married a man named Steve. Good job, cousin!

- I met my niece Elizabeth finally. She was crying within 30 seconds when I picked her up. We made up and became buddies later in the week.

- Zoey walking through Meijer in one flip flop, having lost the other one at AJ's house.

- Preston deciding to do lots of unpredictable things: Choosing an afternoon with Grandpa John and Grandma Terry instead of taking the train to Heidi's neighborhood with me and Annie and Dave and Heidi for the street fest; Going grocery shopping with Grandma Carol instead of hitting the G.R. Children's Museum with my Dad and Annie; Waking up super early on his own, at my parents' house, to play Gotham Racing on the X-Box. Well, that last one isn't so unexpected.

- Josh Pepper singing - screaming - "Beat It" in falsetto at the top of his lungs on Guitar Hero World Tour at AJ's house.

- Preston and Zoey arguing over the controls of the slowest, least entertaining type of water vehicle: the paddleboat. "I want to push the little handle forward and back!" "No, you suck at turning left while pedaling!"

- Seeing 3-yr old Danny by the campfire with his pants down. He was standing there with a marshmallow roasting stick in his hand, and suddenly his pants were at his ankles. It seemed like no great surprise to his parents.

- On my 2nd ski run of Thursday, catching an edge and going shoulder/face first into the water at full cutting speed. I hadn't fallen in a long time, and it's a trip. In half a second these thoughts occurred: "I am killing this run OH NO GOING DOWN. I think my shoulder just punched my clavicle. Am I upside down? I wonder if this looks cool to the kids. My teeth hurt?"

- Something about vacation makes my wife actually okay with a real, full arms and body hug. With an extended embrace. I know that's really sappy but I'm treasuring it. It was our anniversary after all. And I hadn't showered in like 3 days at the cottage and she was still in for it. That's love, baby.

I'm omitting a few things, surely, but I'm also very tired and this is taking forever. Plus I took the time to put those clever, HI-larious captions on all the photos above, so don't skimp on those. Thanks to Terry and John for letting me drive the Kia Sportage with the "One Hot Grandma!" license plate frame -- very awesome -- and for letting us crash at our favorite downtown Chicago condo. And thanks to Mom & Dad for hosting us at your home and the cottage for a week. It was a lot of running around, but something about the Midwest always makes it feel easy to enjoy. 

Crickets...where has Stizl gone?

I haven't written anything lately because I spend too much time thinking about writing. Ask me about that next time I see you; I'll have to explain.

I'll say this: John Irving either has some deep-seeded father issues, or he simply has the mind to create the gripping fictional tales his Garp longs for. I read The World According to Garp in about 2 weeks, which is, for me, flying through a novel. I can't wait to get more of his stuff.

My wife made a good point tonight over garlic burgers and beer. (Yes, a romantic Wed. evening every woman dreams of.) I was blabbering about how I hadn't blogged in a while because I couldn't recently find the time to write my observations or op-ed column-styled posts about life happenings. She pointed out that this particular blog may be an outlet for me in that respect, but that the small group of readers - family, friends - who would take the time to read it simply want to know what's going on in my life. Throw on some pics and let them know we all went to the water park, in other words.

So I'll probably start doing more of that. But not until after my vacation next week. We're all flying to Chicago on Friday, then driving to Michigan on Sunday for a week to catch up with friends and hang out with the family at the cottage. I'll get a chance to finally meet my niece, Elizabeth, do my kind of skiing (less snow, more motor) for the first time this year, let the kids 'drive' the Sea-Doos, catch some delicious bass, and maybe even share a reflective, love-drenched moment with my wife over garlic burgers steak and beer.

Track Day photos

Have Skills, Will Drive

If you haven't heard by now - and that's a possibility since I tend to speak softly - I had a rare and thrilling Monday. That's right, a thrilling Monday. Probably the most surprising part of it all. I didn't wake with the "ugh, weekend over" feeling despite the fact I was coming off a Vegas weekend of all things! No, I woke with the thought, "what is appropriate apparel for driving a race car?" Answer: Depends. Depends on what? No, just Depends. Get it? No? Oops-I-Crapped-My-Pants? Ring a bell with anyone? From the scary fast driving? You'll get it later on.

A couple design guys I work with gave me the opportunity to drive their cars, really fast, on an incredible road course here in Utah called Miller Motorsports Park. Our caravan from Salt Lake to the track included a Shelby Mustang GT, which I drove, a Lotus Elise, and a Shelby Cobra. (Not actual images of the owners' cars, just for reference.) I don't know all the car guy details of these vehicles, so don't ask. I know that they are all fast, and they make a terrific rumbly sound when the engines are revved. The Mustang had what's called a "Hurst shifter" with a "short throw". I looked it up on the Internet. It means that when you put the shifter thingy into gear and then go to another gear you don't have to throw anything very far, unless you are trying to get your opponent off the track with a green turtle shell, like in Mario Kart. "Here we gooooo!"

Once we arrived, we parked our cars amongst a variety of other souped-up rigs, like Porsches, Corvettes, an actual pointy-nosed race car, some BMWs, a Mini Cooper or two, and I'm pretty sure there was a Mazda Miata thrown in for good measure. Don't hate, it did very well on the track. The Lotuses and Cobras were the best looking cars in my opinion, very track-ready vehicles. I received an orange paper bracelet that said, "You are in the slow group, so don't try and go all Tony Stewart out there. Maybe more like Tony Randall." It didn't say all those things on the bracelet, but orange indicated my status as a novice. I could tell the organizers there weren't used to true rookies, as more than one asked me to clarify my claim of having zero experience.

"I'm Steve. This is my first time doing this."

"So what high performance vehicles have you driven?"

"Uh...my old Taurus SHO that had a stick shift? I grew up on a lot of country roads, so..."

"So how many laps have you driven before?"

"This is my first time here. It's my first time doing this."

"And which other tracks have you driven on?"

"You shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition. It would be, 'On which other tracks have you drived fastly?' and the answer would be NONE, this is my first..."

This happened at sign in, in casual discussion with other drivers, and mostly with the instructor with whom I was paired. (I forced that one a little.) Ron, who I outweighed by a good 150 lbs, seemed REALLY alarmed that I had nary a lap of track driving in my career as an amateur race car driver. I mention his size because I found driving to be a very physical activity, but his slight stature was clearly a non-factor when he threw that Mustang into the first corner off the straightaway. I gripped the door handle, the center console, the dashboard - anything I could grab to keep me from flying out the side of the car. There is NO WAY I'm going to be able to drive this car like that. How does it not spin out or flip entirely?

As Ron is whipping through the first several corners, he is trying to explain the strategy to me. A real-time tutorial on how to make your passenger barf in 10 turns or less.

"Now in this corner, it starts sharp but it levels off here, so let the car stay out wide a little longer and then get into your turn HERE and aim for the apex..."

After the word "HERE" I'm totally tuned out as I try and get my bearings after another sharp left. High speed corners have a way of reminding you what's important in life: balance, control, just living. Fortunately, I am wearing a helmet and, as prescribed, narrow shoes with a rounded heel. Surely that's all the protection I'll need in a fiery crash! We get to turn twenty-something, and we're finally on the long straightaway. I can breathe for a moment. Ron decides we better do another lap with him driving, since I hadn't spoken or even nodded my giant helmet the entire circuit. After a second lap on the 4+ mile course, we pit, and do a quick Chinese fire drill where I end up as the driver! BONUS. I shove the Hurst shifter into first gear, and promptly forget everything Ron told me. The first lesson in the driver's meeting was "coming out of the pits, do NOT cross the double white lines. Cars are doing about 140 down the straightaway here." While I did remember to check my mirrors and felt comfortable accelerating, I did maybe inch over the line just a hair. Fortunately, the coast was clear and I was into turn one before I knew it.

I mentioned the word "apex" before. I heard this word roughly 1,000 times during my laps. It's the point at the inside of corners where your vehicle should ideally reach the edge before gradually straightening out of the corner. "Use the whole track!" was another repeated phrase. Anyway, proper cornering for maximum lap speeds involves speeding frantically toward a cone on the outside of the track pre-turn, braking like you're told not to in driver's ed (stand on it!), then turning sharply to make a bee-line to the apex cone. All the while gripping the wheel like it's pulling you behind a boat and bracing your body with your knees against the door and center console, respectively. At least, that was my style. A more comfortable position, as the "pros" mentioned, was moving your seat so close to the wheel that you look like your Grandma Edna, except you can see over the steering wheel. This lets you drive with your elbows and wrists, not with your shoulders and entire torso, as I was. Again, I don't think racing is designed for people with legs longer than a newt's so that wasn't going to work for me.

These minor details are endless and I cannot possibly do them justice. So let me get to the point which is HOW AWESOME WAS DRIVING A RACE CAR ON A RACE TRACK?! In my 14 or 15 laps over 3 sessions, I got better and better at the throttle-brake-turn-apex scenario and started really having fun and really testing the car. The hardest part is learning to trust the vehicle through these corners. Especially considering it was not my vehicle! A man I've known less than a year was trusting me with this machine, and that may have been the subconscious restrictor plate that kept me on the track. (WHOA! Race-speak in metaphor, kids!) If you've never been subjected to G-forces like this in a car, as I hadn't (despite my Mom's best efforts on the way to church years back), you just can't imagine that you'll come out of the turn with the nose pointing forward. But it did, over and over, and I hit straightaways at 120+, and I bested S-curves at 80+, and I only maybe lost a layer or two of rubber in the process (sorry, Zach). Ron was super pumped with my very last lap, where I reached deep within my 40 minutes of racing experience to finally nail the double-apex turn in the middle of the track, and certainly pull off my best lap time. My shirt was entirely sweat through, my arms and knees ached, and my ears burned from being shoved into that helmet, but I had the biggest grin on my face the whole way down pit row the final time.

An epic experience, and I recommend it to anyone who truly enjoys driving. My folks always bought cars with a little "extra" under the hood - even if it was a giant, gold Oldsmobile, which I proudly drove for several years as a hand-me-down - and I've always been the "I'll drive" volunteer when it comes to friends or family or road trips. I also had the benefit of learning how to drive on manual shifters from permit days on, which took out a potentially challenging part of this event. So this was a true thrill, and I'm very grateful to Zach and Allen for the opportunity. I have some photos and video footage from them, and I'll try to get it online somehow for those who think I'm a big fat liar.

Did I mention they let me drive the Lotus home from the track? That is, after I folded my legs up into my body so I could get in. Rolling at 90 down I-80 in a yellow convertible import didn't suck.

And if anyone needs an amateur race car driver with an impressive resume driving one car on one track with a professional instructor, then I'm your man. Shake and bake, baby!