"What would you do if money weren't a factor?" I asked my wife the other day. She hates these kinds of questions. She's much more of a "what are we physically, palpably doing right now" kind of sort. Doesn't care much for deep thinking, day dreaming, or unnecessary mindsets that do not help a situation at that very moment. She's the ketchup to my mustard. I tend to like these types of questions. They help me continue to look for balance...and balance, my friends, is the key to everything. We all go down certain paths, taking our best guess as to whether or not it's the right one for us. I would never, ever conclude that I've gone down the wrong path--clearly, the paths I've taken have lead to amazing things, most notably my wife. But one thing that my paths have not lead to is money--at least sizable piles of it. Blame that on choosing one direction over another, one opportunity over another, or just some ass-backwards gene that I've inherited preventing me from attaining monetary success. If my paths had lead to dollars, I wouldn't be asking this question, and hence we would have no blog post to read. When I ask myself the question, "What would you do if money weren't a factor?", I immediately start conjuring up adventure. Traveling, tasting, seeing, experiencing. I want to go places, see things, hear things, sample things. Money's no issue, right? Let's go to Ireland, Italy, Alaska, no-named islands in the middle of the ocean. Hell, let's go to San Francisco--never been there. Pile it on. The more travel and adventure the better. My kids will be well-traveled, cultured humans by the age of six. Pack your shit, let's go. Then quickly, possibly from being overwhelmed at the thought of constant travel, I think of the polar opposite. A homestead. Land to roam. Room to breathe. Nowhere to be other than our commune de Earl, unless we want to be there. A different experience; one that teaches you to appreciate what you've got and to build on it. Plant roots, final ones. The perfect chunk of land...the perfect house that we've designed...for good. That sounds nice, too. So after the dust settles from all my day dreaming nonsense, the answer to my question that I've presented to myself (because my wife doesn't want to hear it) is...balance. If money weren't a factor, I'd achieve balance. We strive for it now, my wife and I, and for the most part we attain it. But if money weren't a factor, I'd strive for it on a little bit grander scale. More trips and adventure. Then come home to our place on our land. Nothing ludicrous at all. Just some nice, adventurous trips--probably flying first class...maybe a Sprinter van or someshit. Sometimes the kids are invited, sometimes not. Sometimes we fly fish, other times we just eat & drink. Then at the end of the vacay, we go home...away from people. Away from the 'burbs and the cities. We then go back to working hard at whatever we're doing that makes us happy. Then, I'd enjoy a glass of Scotch. Out of a $40 bottle. //re.
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I don't care for mainstream country music. Let me back up a bit. My job, as random and unstable as it may be, allows me the opportunity to go places that I most likely would never go to on my own. Case in point: the Watershed Festival in George, Washington. Yep, that's George, Washington. Like that president-guy. The Watershed Fest is two whole weekends--six whole days chock full of country music, camping...or "camping", and incalculable amounts of light beer consumption. America is everywhere. Hoots & hollers, "Fuckin A" yelled loudly, giant trucks pulling giant campers, string bikinis worn proudly with cowboy boots, and music that caters to 20-30something blue collar, beer drinking, flag waving, gun toting folks from...mainly Seattle? Yes, mainstream country music has no boundaries. With all this said, you probably get that I can be a bit sarcastic about this genre of music and its masses. You can probably see that it's fairly easy for me to prejudge these fans and these artists. Sure, it's very easy. My job at this event consisted of manning a VIP backstage tent for the artists and their crews and representing my company, which sponsored said tent. From the get-go there were folks filtering through the tent that may have been famous, may not have been. I don't know who these stars are, nor do I necessarily care. So instead of standing around all star-struck and acting like an awkward fuck, I sit down on a couch, relax, and start bullshitting with some folks. Just bullshitting. I didn't ask if they were famous. I didn't ask if they worked for famous people. I just shot the shit with them like I would any other regular joe. After some cool conversation revolving around drinking, fishing, hunting, and baseball, I find out that the half-dozen or so folks I'm chatting with are the crew for a country music singer. Then I quickly discover that this country music singer is Jason Aldean (whom I've actually heard of) and we have been chatting for 15 minutes now. Okay, fine. I still really don't care. All I really care about is that this dude, whether he makes a billion dollars or not, is nice as hell. So is his Stage Manager, Security Manager, Tour Manager, DJ, wife, and opening act. All of these folks took a liking to me for some reason. Maybe they thought I owned the company or something, but I think we just all hit it off because we talked about normal shit like normal people. Sure, there was the occasional "...my good friend Luke Bryan", or "...my good friend Chipper Jones", but it wasn't bragging, it was just the truth. I've got a good friend Bryan Foster and a good friend Jeffrey Johnson that I may have mentioned in conversation. Doesn't mean I was bragging, just means they're my friends. I chatted with these characters for hours before Jason's show. We were on a first name basis--all of us. Even during times when I felt I needed to give them their space and maybe chat with others, they'd come get me to pull back into their conversation. It was nice, not necessarily because they were big shots, but because I really enjoyed talking to them all. They were interesting as hell, but also extremely down to earth. Like a big, entertaining traveling family. There was mention at some point from Rhino, the Security Manager, that "everyone's always wanting a piece". I didn't. I just wanted to talk. Now, if they'd like to hire me as their "Beer & Bullshit Manager", I wouldn't turn it down. After the show and after I was officially off the clock and free to do as I pleased, we regrouped at the tent and drank somewhat heavily. Rhino gave me a handle of Crown Royal as a thank you gift, and we commenced to drinking it right there on the spot. More singers and crew members showed up and they were all equally as nice. What this means is that these guys that sing this type of music are not all douche bags. It's their art to a point, but also a business to a larger point. Out of all the country artists that I met over the past two weeks, only one was kind of a doucher. And he was an ex-rock singer with an ego. As far as the music goes, I was able to catch quite a few performances. It's still not really my bag, but I get it. It's modern-day good time party music for 20something beer drinking idiots. I was a 20something beer drinking idiot for over two decades, so I completely understand this big, dumb, brainless musical genre. It's Poison, Motley Crue, and AC/DC for millennials. Big dumb rock from the 70s and 80s has morphed into big dumb country of today. It's pretty much the same thing, only with the occasional cowboy hat and a little twang. This is not a bad thing. At the end of the day, I respect these folks. They've all worked really hard to get where they are, and are still writing, performing, traveling, and entertaining thousands. It's not the country music that I listen to, but it still speaks to droves of people, allowing them an anthem to a tailgate party, tying up at party cove, driving around in their ridiculously large trucks, or just getting shitfaced in George, Washington. And for the record, I did meet Merle Haggard's son, Ben. I acted like a total star-struck moron. He probably has a restraining order on me now. //re. |
AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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