No Country For Old Men

It's September 23rd, 2011. I remember the date so clearly because of what happened during that weekend. It was opening weekend of dove season in the south region of Texas.

Myself, along with three of my father's friends, are in the back of an old Jeep Wrangler. The two of us in the back of the Jeep have fashioned two seats out of Igloo coolers, which are also doubling as...coolers. We're meandering our way through thickets of unforgiving country. The landscape is blanketed with mesquite trees and prickly pear cactus. The environment is too unforgiving to allow for the growth of any growth that may be generous enough to offer its shade against the south Texas sun. Our only respite against the heat is the breeze provided by the openness of the Jeep.

The aforementioned heat is unbearable. I didn't have a thermometer at the time. I didn't have a cell phone signal. Save for a few species, the majority of wildlife in the region is migratory, much like the animal we traveled south to hunt. Not only is it no country for old men, it is no country for anything. Some animals do call the region we're in home, though. The Western Diamondback Rattlesnake, the roadrunner, the coyote, whitetail deer, javelina, and the animal that made the man whose land we were currently passing through: the Santa Gertrudis cow, live and die within south Texas. We are on the King Ranch.

Deep in the annals of south Texas resides a conglomerate cloaked in a shroud of secrecy. The King Ranch has cultivated a history worthy of documenting, but has found itself unwilling to share its story with the outside world, and here I am, navigating through its acreage.

We drove an hour and a half to reach the entrance of the Ranch that morning, where my father's friend met the three of us. The thirty minutes after was spent diving deeper into a land that remains largely untouched, save for the multitude of checkpoints scattered throughout the 825,000 square acres.

It's an interesting dynamic. We often associate gates as barriers to keep us out of something: prestigious neighborhoods, government facilities, hazardous waste treatment facilities, places of business, you get the idea. These checkpoints served as barriers to keep us out of nothing, and understandably so.

It's a spectacle. We know what white is because of black. We know what bad is because of good. We know what light is because of dark. The world we live in is a world where the reception of information is made by our ability to compare, and that world is teeming with things. To put yourself in the middle of a land where, if left to your own devices, you will die, and where the fingerprint of man is largely unnoticeable, offers solace. It offers vantage.

Office Politics. Offissiticks.

I'm two months fresh out of college. No. I'm three months fresh out of college.

I'm working at an advertising agency in the Houston area. From the three weeks I've spent here, thus far, I can gather a few a things: agency life from one to the next is like night and day, people are willing to help other people, and office politics are...interesting.

I don't mean interesting the same way I mean when I say, "Ted Bundy was an 'interesting' guy." I mean...interesting. After all, politics are a cultural phenomena. There's no "director of office politics" position within agencies - politics aren't tangible.

This isn't my first rodeo. I've worked at another advertising agency in the Austin area as well. That job and my current one both had "interesting" office politics. The first day of work is exciting: you have butterflies in your stomach, everyone's nice to you, and your forearms typically smell like lime juice.


After that, you start to observe the inner-workings of the space you're in. You begin to gather tidbits of information by watching other people interact. Things like: "Jerry must think bathing daily is a nuisance/optional." Or "Suzy probably has a phallus, and it's probably really big." And of course, "I can't wait till Friday so I can shove as much booze into my gullet as humanly possible," which seems to be an understood/not-spoken-of universal in the agencies I've worked in.

The biggest contributor to office politics (and the most interesting facet of them) is this - 9 to 5 folks are expected to have two personas: their white collar self, and their everyday self. I'm curious to know who came up with the idea of "being professional." My theory, is that somebody a loooong time ago, came to work acting like a damn bigot, and forever ruined it for the rest of us. To my demise, though, not everybody's childhood is blessed with a white picket fence in the sterile, 'ol U.S of A.

I worry that office politics may keep a few (unfortunate few) from being able to let down their guard and really know the people they'll be spending A LOT of their time with. Which is why I appreciate being a part of the industry I'm working in...

 My cohorts and I are in a constant battle to determine who enjoys fermented beverages the most, which leads to some pretty interesting camaraderie-building "exercises."

To My Mother

That's my mom and two older sisters.

Billy Joe Shaver said (roughly), "I know beyond the shadow of a doubt, it doesn't cost a person a thing to be faithful, honest and true...I wouldn't be me without you."

I know Mother's Day is tomorrow, but there's never a bad time to tell your mom you love her.


I remember in elementary school (1st or 2nd grade, I think) I came home upset. I had gotten in a fight with another kid during recess. My dad told me to handle the situation one way. My mother told me another. She told me to "kill him with kindness." Of course there's instances where different forms of persuasion are necessary, but I remember those three words my mom gave me.

When I used to get hurt, I had a tendency to (as stupid as it is) blame inanimate objects. I was a creative child, and often played basketball with door frames. I had mastered every door-frame-dunk imaginable: the tomahawk, the windmill, 360 windmill, and Jordan's Jumpman. When I was about 12, one of my door-frame-dunks resulted in me nailing my elbow on the door frame, but not in the literal sense. True to my nature at the time, I blamed the door frame. My mom was quick to correct me, "it's not what goes in your mouth that defiles you, it's what comes out. You know what it sounds like when you blame the door frame? Stupid!"

Don't let the exclamation mark mislead you - my mom was (and still is) full of too much grace to raise her voice distastefully.

That dunk taught me one lesson, and it wasn't that I should quit perfecting my reverse on door frames: it was to accept responsibility for my actions.

It took me a long time, I know, mom, but I know that whether I win or lose, or succeed or fail, that it's a result of my own doing.

Don't worry about me, I learned from you.

You are a saint, mom.

Happy Mother's Day.

Run, Taylor, Run!

Long timey, no talkey.

There's a rich culture surrounding the running world -  a culture where a mainstream is shunned, and brand loyalty is a statement of that.

To many (or maybe just me) Nike is the status quo when it comes to trainers. Those who choose to run in Asics, Newbies, Mizunos and/or Sauconys are making a statement of rejection (or affluence) by choosing their brands.

Then there are those I like to refer to as the "Gagas." These are the people that buy the most obscure brands out there. The brands whose following has to be esoteric enough to call Animal Collective sell-outs. These are your Pearl-Izumi buyers. (I don't know any brands because I don't fall into this category...I hope).

Take a walk with me...

In 2009, Christopher McDougall published his best-seller, Born to Run. It was a book that rocked the foundation of running shoes and what we expected of them. Born to Run highlighted the fact that the Tarahumara indians, a tribe of Native Mexicans world-renowned for their long distance running capabilities, ran on little-to-no shoes, and had no documented (or documentable) cases of run-related injuries. To further the argument for barefoot running, instances of run-related injuries have steadily increased since the advent of the running shoe...Sorry Nike.

No longer was your running shoe expected to "correct" over or under-pronation. Barefoot was the right way (or left) to run.

Quit walking...

Many would call Nike's release of the "Free" line as a reaction to McDougall's book. I do.

Either way, it doesn't matter why Nike created their new line, but what it did to the industry. Now, to stay alive, many of the shoe companies that pride themselves on their status amongst runners are finding that there is a viable market in the minimalists (and with good reason).

I've been on some sort of quest to find the perfect minimalist running shoe. It started with my Nike Free V4's. They were 5.0's (this means they were designed to resemble 50% of a shoe). After running about 3-5 miles a day for 3 weeks I developed tendonitis in my peroneus brevis. So I dumped the shoes and went back to my $140 Asics that contained more technology than a Ghostland Observatory concert and...problem fixed.

Old habits die hard. I went and bought my second pair of Nike Free's. Same result. Switched back to Asics. Same result.

I'm wearing my third pair of minimalists - the Saucony Kinvara. They're lighter and more breathable than any Nike Free I've owned. They don't restrict what little, natural range-of-motion I have left in my feet. You know the direction this is going in. I've owned these for close to a month and have logged who-knows-how-many miles in them, and my feetsies are fine.

Nike, call up Saucony and ask 'em what they're doin'. They're doin' it right and you're not.

Facetime

Disclaimer: This is strictly commentary. Not an instruction manual - I hope you're smart enough to know you shouldn't take instruction from me.

Sorry. If you expected this to be a post about the iPhone App, I'm sorry. Truly. Sorry.

I'm just kidding, I don't care.

This post is about branding. Sort of. This post is about faces. Sort of.

There's an interesting case study published by a psychologist named John C. Marshall. It's called "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat." The case study (which starts on pg.7 of the link if you actually want to read) examines Dr.P's affliction. He's a professor of music who can't recognize nearly anything unless influenced by the context of music, most likely due to brain trauma. In one instance he describes a glove as a container with five compartments.

But it wasn't the uniquity of this case that interested me so much. It was the realization that it brought me to: we often neglect the ease with which we recognize objects. Faces in particular.

When I see my girlfriend, my mind doesn't dig into a filing cabinet and pull out a picture of her face: it retrieves a unique combination of measurements that correlate to relay a message. "That's my girlfriend." That, in turn sets off a totally different combination of reactions. Reactions that...nevermind.

The reason I use that example is because our mind does the same thing when we recognize a brand. That recognition also ignites a series of reactions. We call those
"brand associations" in
"the industry" that I'm
"not a part of."

I'm going to use McDonald's, Nike, Starbucks and Gatorade as four examples. Interestingly enough, the aforementioned all produce a consumer good. I'm having trouble coming up with a service provider that proves to be as synonymous with its logo as those four.

Chances are, an image of the golden arches or the swoosh will recall certain emotions and/or experiences that we associate with the brands. All of which are unique to every individual. (Negative or positive, each of the four brands mentioned has market saturation in their respected product categories so they're doing something right).

McDonald's and Nike dropped their brand names from their logo awhile back so that they just include a symbol. Gatorade, and more recently, Starbucks followed suit. That seems to be the trend. A trend that is by no means an easy feat to attain, but pretty much says "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

Once I recognize my girlfriend, a myriad of emotional messages begin hopping across synapses. This too, is true for brands.

Just did it.

To Whom It May Concern

I haven't blogged in awhile, so I thought I would refresh "Hairy Pottery" with something a bit universal.

There are a few common misconceptions that I disagree with:
1. Good coaching is hereditary (see Pat Knight)
2. Black makes you look thin
3. AppleBee's serves food.

Let me start off by saying I would never knock something without trying it first. I'm optimistic. And I would never go to AppleBee's under my own gumption. I'm pessimistic.

I turned 23 recently. I spent that birthday in Salem, IL. A google image search for the town will result in a picture for a sewage treatment facility and a picture of a pregnant woman. I don't know what that means.

Anyways, I spent my most recent birthday there, which is becoming a trend I hope ceases to exist. For my birthday dinner, my family (not me) decided to go to AppleBee's. I had preconcieved notions before I stepped in, but did my best to restrain them.

I order something. I don't remember what it was, and it doesn't matter because it's all probably microwaved, mechanically-separated meat (google it). What I do remember doing, was not ordering anything with diuretics, which our waitress managed to ignore.

The climax.

My uncle told our waitress it was my birthday.

I don't know where franchised restaurants get off thinking it's pleasant to have all the waitresses on staff come and sing you happy birthday. I would have laughed and smiled; had they laughed and smiled, but the scene was too morbose. The waitresses sang a rendition of "happy birthday" that Rihanna could've written (that's a joke cause Rihanna doesn't write her own music...sorry, kids), and stared at me. Just. Stared.

But hey, I got free ice cream and food poisoning out the gig, so I can't complain.

Whack Friday

Hopefully everyone enjoyed their holidays. I did.

I have yet to experience the phenomena that is "Black Friday." The name wreaks of evil. Maybe Cusack could've raked in a few more bucks in the box office had "2012" been named "Black Friday."

Nomenclature aside, there's more gravitas reasons as to why I choose not to partake in the "running of the bulls-esque" parade of white trash that takes every Walmart and Target by Storm the first Friday after Thanksgiving.
1. I'm still in the process of working off a gnarley turkey hangover.
2. My idea of fun does NOT include being trampled by morbidly obese Texans (usually named Bertha or Leroy or something along those lines).
3. I HATE standing in lines.

I don't care what it is I'm buying, or who I'm buying it for - lines drive me crazy. I usually have nowhere important to be, but I usually find myself criticizing the hell out of people for everything from what kind of shoes they wear, to which groceries they've decided to buy when I'm stuck in a line. I promise I'm usually not a cynical person (despite the tone that many of my posts may take) but waiting lines can bring the worst out in me.

I'm a product of my generation. The "Y" generation is noted primarily for its need of immediate satisfaction. Call it what you want, but if you want to harp on this trait, then I'll deem you nostalgic and thwarting progression. I can't have it. Luckily, the "Black Friday" circus has gone digital for the people like me who don't see the point in waiting 45 minutes for a Chipotle burritio when Freebirds is half a block away. Enter, "Cyber Monday."

No, I know what you're thinking: Cyber Monday has nothing to do with chat roulette or live webcams. It is simply the culmination of the anger from a multitude of people who share the same sentiments about Black Friday that I do.

Google "Cyber Monday," and watch what returns. The first two sponsored results are for Walmart (the hell spawn responsible for the dimensional tear that occurs every Friday after Thanksgiving) and Amazon (what I would consider the online version of Walmart, minus the low grade groceries I wouldn't give to my dog).

And rightly so. These two online storefronts, along with Target.com received the most traffic on Cyber Monday, and offered the most coupons (Google it).

Beware of "Identity Theft Tuesday."