Being in the pile

Crocker came out to dinner with the wife and I last night. Went to Frank Papas and enjoyed good conversation and Italian fare served nicely from the family owned restaurant in Brentwood. Frank Papa is a Johnson and Whales grad, but I won't hold that against him. The Rhode Island culinary school has cranked out some of the best chefs in the country. Nice meal, great company, a nice way to end the week, blah, blah, blah. The two parties (Crocker and my wife and I) got in to their European cars with roof mount bike wracks and drove away. Us back to the county, Crocker back to his home in Maplewood. I like Crocker, for his intellectual capacity and conversation skills. That is important when dealing with issues like Ann Coulter, the Health Care worker crisis and BMX.

OMG, vacation won't happen soon enough. My attitude is bad because of this knee issue. Can't really exercise, the rain will keep that from happening this morning anyway. I think I need some controversy, other than work, something real, something tricky, a full monty emulsion-submersion. I need Lewis Greenberg to help me get back on track.

In one hour I will call Lewis Greenberg to check in. I haven't seen him in a while and I need an attitude adjustment anyway. He is good for that and I have some time to write this week coming. He keeps things wacko, though right on track with his art and his progression. There is controversy lately with his artwork spilling into the lives of his neighbors home values. He has been the topic of a couple TV reports. It is funny how many have come to his side, backing him up on his authenticity. His life is his canvas now, there ain't no holding back. It is for all to see. There is something pure about Lewis, his authenticity, I need a dose of that. We all do.

Fact is, I have been getting too caught up in all the conformity and plan to take a break, for fear of going off the deep end and tossing whatever patience I have left for this "career thing" in to the Current River, the White River or the Eleven Point River . I have a kayak, I will go and do it, stay for a while, until my face grows full of hair and my white t-shirt turns muddy brown. I will emerge from the jungle with the medallion, a Shawnee arrowhead hanging from twisted feral hog gut, around my neck for all to see.

There is a certain cleansing effect that comes with this sort of realization--that I am sick of it all (again) and that I will soon go up to the mountain top, see the guru, glean the wisdom, peace, heavenly body. I will "poof" myself into a silly glow of color-happy. Now, I am not sure that Lewis is capable of all that, but he combined with my trip to Colorado on Monday, might be enough to get me to shave my head and wear some toga. I am so bringing my Regal Blues guitar to Telluride. At the very least, I will get an attitude adjustment by just getting out of town.

I was even looking through my posts on this blog, and frankly, I have not been living up to the original mission. So the Ralph Account has provided me with what I needed to know, during this experiment. I am not being radical enough and, to truly find a release, to really become authentic, you have to go underground, for fear of....stuff. When I started writing, it was in an effort to get to the edge a bit, free myself from the conventional "isms". Go to the ceiling on some stuff. I think that is where I shall go from here. Is it necessary to go underground to achieve the maximum release of energy, that which is totally authentic, too risky for some of those who rely on my stable ability? This blog is dead. I will see to its resurrection.

Fathering Knee Injuries

Here is how stupid asses mess up their knees:

The first time it was also my daughters fault. She and a friend wanted to go to the track up at Parkway West High School, to train. Track season was right around the corner, they needed to do some distance, some intervals, some build up stuff. I put on my best Balboa sweats, some Converse high tops, a headband, pulled my boom box down from the refrigerator, cause I couldnt find my headphones. I had a hellova time conceptualizing "the runner look" so I went with a collage, interesting combinations of fabric and color, for style. After all, there would be others up there, with 75 dollar running kits, minus the cost of shoes--others running in circles, to burn the fat. Not me, I was fit, been riding bikes for 7 years. I felt very comfy with my fitness. I figured I could sprint, jump, hurdle, do some agility, I was feeling pretty good. I was pumped for speed.

At some point I looked over and saw Natalie and her friend standing quietly at a stack of low hurdles. They were neatly pulled to the side of the track beckoning thier use. I couldn't hear what they were saying but figured that they were wanting to give it a go but needed that extra push, the confidence only found when an expert can provide sound advice, when embarking on something new. One was daring the other to set up two or three of the hurdles for some sprint intervals.

I was thinking:

"Hell, I had run hurdles in High School hadn't I? I remember the training, the positioning, the technique".

So I said:

"Ladies, why don't you two novices stand quietly over to the side? I, the expert, will demonstrate the greatness of what once was".

This bubble popped up over my shoulder, and inside it was this:

I was back in 9th grade, the warm up, high stepping pre-race mantra that got my head right before the start of the 100 yard hurdles. I had bangs. I was as skinny as a pole vaulter, high kneeing it, half skipping, arms flying.

I visualized the old glory.

I was ready for the pop of the gun. I even had them start me like in the old days, just like they did at the meets. I was there, back in my element, at the blocks, ready to go. Runners take your mark.....

Now apparently, and from what I could remember, approaching the first hurdle is the hardest. If you were off a bit, you have to stutter step if you had not pre-determined the strides. Stutter stepping is not an efficient method of approach and typically indicates a true lack of proficiency. The best hurdlers didn't stutter, they timed it so they fluently cascaded over the hurdles, one by one, until the finish line approached and the race is won. I would visualize success, just like that.

So upon approaching the first hurdle, wind in my hair, accelerating quicky, it occurred to me that I maybe I really didn't know WTF I was doing at all. Maybe I was no more a hurdler in high school than a cheerleader. Maybe I had only watched from the sidelines my hurdler friends-- that they were the ones who were experts, not me. Hell, I am sure that I sucked at hurdles. Come to think of it, I stayed the hell away from them. I was scared of them, didn't want anything to do with them. I was way out of my element, flying towards the first of three jumps, stuttering, flopping, skipping grunting, losing control. I accelerated, threw the left leg out and "POP".

Both girls were extremely helpful getting me from the red clay track surface, up the stairs, out of the fencing to the car. It swelled up pretty good by the time I got home. Surgery later followed. She is as good as new now.

Folks, the bike fitness didn't do "jack squat" for me when it came to the hurdles. Rather, gave me the confidence that I can do things that I might not normally do, if I weren't fit at all. I might not have been at the track with my kid at all that day, I wouldn't have this stupid family story to tell, nothing to reflect upon. Maybe my kid will appreciate that someday, that regardless of skill, no matter what, I gave it a go, sacrificed myself for her benefit? Go for the gold, no matter what.

Same kind of thing with Tennis injury to my other knee. Sure its another story to tell, but was it worth it? I am thinking not and I am so done trying to impress teenagers.

Cultivating Entrepreneurs

I was asked recently to join a group of entrepreneurs to help mentor start up businesses in the St. Louis area, Innovate St. Louis Venture Mentoring Service (IVMS). IVMS follows a template and set of rules developed by the Venture Mentoring Service of MIT, which was identified as a best-practice mentoring program by the Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation of Kansas City.

Flattering as all get out to be invited to do this sort of thing. I eagerly accepted the appointment, looking forward to working with some like minded youngsters (or not), getting ready to make a go of it in business. I could relate to what was ahead of the entrepreneurs, and I had certainly made enough mistakes to pass on to anyone wanting to look for warning signs of...not-yet-success.

Being a late entrepreneurial bloomer myself, I figure that, because I stayed in the "pit" so long, working for somebody else's idea, somebody else's mission and purpose, I had gathered quite a few do's and don'ts from those I now call my hero's. My hero's can accept my label of them or not. People have influence on others, it is up to the subject to do with what they may. My hero's are the people that I have worked for in the past, in the pit; those who put up with me, were most likely frustrated with me from time to time, those who would calm me, yell at me, reflect with me, consult me. I was always the one who could be counted on. My secret to success: accountability. It's why I was able to learn, borrow and intellectualize ideas garnered from my hero's and their hero's before them. It just works that way. Failure to learn from the mistakes of others is a bit dangerous.

Our first meeting was at Washington University, at Simon Hall at the Skandalaris Center for Entrepreneurial Studies.

Sitting around the tables of the newly formed group, I counted the seconds before I would stand, offer a brief description of my experiences in an effort to justify my reason for being there. In my mind, I was the only one of my kind: stupid, undereducated, less impressive, less experienced, less of a list of accomplishments, under classed, under dressed, balder, shorter, dirtier, less tan and any other "less than" that I could come up with. These men and women were heavy hitters. Me, just a food guy who uses daily that which was given to me by a handful of hero's. I could hardly keep my heart rate under control, too much coffee, can't....breathe....

It was my turn to tell my story.

I figure I am the token boot strapper, the one who will tell it like it is to the folks who need to hear it. There are a hand full of books that I live by. Write them down if you wish. The Art of the Start, The Tipping Point and Blink. (I have provided links to Amazon, buy them, read them, be them). These books provide an unconventional understanding of the process by which I run my business. They might be cliche by now, so be it. I am not even sure the concepts were new. I think they are captivating. Even though I have a tough time getting through any book.

There are reasons for these choices. First, I didn't have any money getting started and, while my particular situation did not require me to write a check, so to speak, rather guarantee the financial situation upon my getting involved. I was in a situation that required me to think on my feet. As things came my way, I would react, intuitively. My business plan was in my head, I didn't have to prove much to anyone, other than my employees, who I needed to believe in me as we set out together to change the world with our version of Food Service. The Art of the start pretty well describes the process that one can subscribe, if boot strapping is the method.

There are ways to reduce pre-marketing costs, start up costs and other business plan things that, if put in to creative perspective, anyone can start the process of taking an idea and seeing it through to fruition. You have to listen to people because everyone has a perspective and they matter. You also have to create, cultivate and persuade audiences to let you in to their circles. There are audiences and there are cultures within. Understanding the cultures, the methods, actions and functions of a group, an audience, can yield results when building a brand. The Tipping point provides an understanding of what is called the epidemic marketing process, putting in to perspective how sinuous relationships between groups and the six degrees of separation can ultimately put your product at the forefront of the target culture (audience).

Blink talks about adaptive reflex, which I think has mostly to do with intuition, experiential training, that which becomes automatic. My mother always had a good intuition, her adaptive reflex is incredible. Mine is too. I think it has something to do with having to overcome learning dysfunction of the 70's. I adapted to certain things, created a process that allowed me to absorb information based on experiential training. For example, Blues man Jim Sullivan has been teaching me guitar, I can not "get" reading TAB. He has written out all this stuff, given me clear instruction. Hell, my daughter reads TAB. Am I just too stupid? No, I don't learn that way and I have to experience the sound and pattern of the chord, then run it over and over until it becomes some sort of tempo, or better yet, a connection to something else, a degree of separation from something else, an experience, pleasure, pain or other. Over time, your mind just sees things that way, reacts intuitively, like the blink of an eye, when something gets in it.

I should have said all that, when given my turn to talk to the group. But I suppose they already trust me to give it my all, to be a good custodian of the enntreprenurial fostering process. I wonder how much I will learn from these folks? What things I might garner from knowing them, what friendships might come of it. Who knows what might come out of all this. One thing is for certain, more six degrees of seperation, more adaptive reflex to interesting situations, and for me lately, more paying it forward.

I started out writing about Organic Foods today, and about Tessa Greenspan, a true entrepreneur who invited me to her Farmers Market in Webster Groves the other day. Lots to learn from her, a new hero, a new culture, a bigger, brighter audience to sell stuff to.

Organic Trade Association

International Federation of Organic Agriculture Movements

Wapiti Texas Style

My knee is a little bit better and I am able to walk now, at least without the instability. My trip to Dallas Wed. left me with the sudden reality that I wasn't bitching as much about it, so I suppose I am getting better. I noticed this when stepping in to a hole while carrying a cooler at 2:00 AM in the morning. No, not out on a stupor. Instead of a boring dinner at a local restaurant, our hosts, Summa Group, in Dallas responded to the needs of the Wapiti, and offered up a Stiped Bass fishing excursion, at Lake Texoma, north of Dallas right on the Texas and Oklahoma line.

So here is how it played out. We grind all afternoon on business and eventually arrive at Mike's property just up the lake from the "put in". It was a two hour drive from Dallas, but there was much to talk about and it went by quite fast. When we hit the driveway to his lake house, a tornado (what seemed like one anyway) comes through and wipes out the rest of the daylight. Since the fishing was to be had between the hours of 10:00 PM and 1:00 AM in the morning, we had time to burn some meat, play some cards and resume the rest of our negotiations, the way Texans, do it I reckon: Malt Beverages and games of Texas Hold um.

I lost ten bucks on several "all ins" as usual, getting bored with it all. I was thinking that it was getting late and looked at my watch. The rain had stopped and it was nearing 1:30 AM. Time to put the boat in and get some fish. The next hour was spent navigating a 30 foot pontoon boat into the lake, in the dark, in the rain, which hadn't truly lifted for more than an hour. And did I mention, we had to hunt our own bait. Yes, casting nets for shad, to use as bait for the Striped Bass. This is big ass bass country, say the experts. You can't buy bait in the rain at 2:00 AM in the morning. And I am not sure about the legality of netting shad, but I caught some and it was quite the thing. You shine the light in to the water, wait for the school of shad to appear, then flail a net like one of those third world fishermen down off the coast of Guam. What comes back is nothing, for thirty of forty throws, then bingo, enough shad to drop the poles in and get some stripers to bitin.

Never happened. Another tornado happened (what seemed like it) and it was nearing 3:00 AM. We were soaked and our hosts needed to think about their meetings the next day, their travel, there lives, outside of the entertainment of the Wapiti masters. We had worn them down, figured out a way to get out on the water, into the outdoors, baited them with letting them win at Texas hold um, to get a taste of their outdoors, borrowing there land, their territory, their Wapiti.

I love being out on the water like that, smelling the fish, baiting the hook, rain or not. Who cares if the big bass didn't come. We "got" Wapiti in Texas. I will write a song.

Spupid funny. On the plane on the way home I sat right next to one of our Wapiti clients, the Human Resource Director for Sara Lee Corporation. What a coincidence. It was like fight club, he was one of us. We are everywhere, shrouded by our day to day work method, our regimen, the day to day grind. So I ask the guy, when he woke up (he had no idea I who I was). I asked him if he had been fishing lately, he said no. I asked him if he was sure and looked deeply into his eyes. He lightly nodded, smiled and looked to his left and right, checking to see if the coast was clear. Off we went into a conversation about bass fishing at Taneycomo, from a Missouri Wapiti, a few weeks ago.

Doug

Will you look at that piece of manly goodness? Never has a Baldknobber joined the ranks of the Wapiti tribe, but we lassoed one in on the first Wapiti Adventure at Taneycomo in Branson last week. Doug Thomson was honorary chief guide of the week, taking Bald Guy and myself for the days trout fishing. We barely had room for the fish we caught, flapping and jumping in the bottom of the boat, getting my legs all slimy as Kevin reeled in a couple tropheys. Funny, the camera jammed.

Zombie's

Thrasher said, in response to the Hilton piece:

"My mealy-mouth co-workers are either talking about pro sports or this kind of drivel because they have no lives. This vacuous existence of these Midwestern zombies is enough to make you want to go on a killing spree sometimes".

Oh good lord man! Get a hold of yourself. We live in a world filled with Vampires and Zombie's. The trick is outing them. Carefully exposing them, correcting them, making fun of them, recounting stories of their exploits, providing contrast in our own lives, for the sake of mankind. And Craig, a little less coffee?

Best Zombie movie ever go here. 28 days. After an infection from some monkeys, havoc wreaks. I think there is a sequel, 28 weeks coming out soon. Looking forward to that.

So we covered Vampires, those pesky individuals who try and suck the blood out of anyone who thrives.--those who capitalize on the occasional ill fate of others to increase their position--those who aim to look good at the expense of someone else looking bad. Zombie's are different. Kind of a bunch of losers, not really coy enough to be a Vampire. They didn't make the Vampire team, or made the team but didn't play. Zombie's could merely be "B" team Vampires. A pain in the ass, but less of a danger, less cunning.

Candidates for Zombie's often find themselves in a lurch and seek fulfillment through the modern media, that which is driven by popular icons, pillars of controversy, sporting teams, virtual experience. Their perception is that which is given to them, from other zombies, others who subscribe to the "process". They are the humdrum and siphon more and more pre- manufactured information from the tanks of refined influence. They eat it, inject it, swallow data, large amounts of uninteresting information and seek more, more, more. They suffer if not exposed to that which is mainstream, falling in to the spell of popular culture, conformity and general uninteresting drivel.

I saw a zombie on a bike once, a stack of National Enquire in her basket.

Quotable:

"Yep, I am going to Wapiti my butt soon. Rise up to the upper elevations before hunting season. Me and Tecumseh have some talking to do. Then I'm a comin back to do me some Zombie huntin, try and convert a few, take a handful of Vampires and a couple Zombies out on a mountain bike ride. Cause they say you got to go low before you get high".

Jerome Fest 2007

I guess I live to experience things in life my way. Don't really care if it is conventional anymore. Un-conventional is where it's at. I don't want to be told what something is like, won't "get" things unless truly immersed into the spirit of what "it" is. There is no adequate lecture, no book, no movie or photo that can truly express a culture other than living and breathing for a short while within the culture itself. Last Saturday was a first, a learning experience in many ways, a venture into something different, simpler, liberal, green, bohemian, friendly. Jeromefest 2007 in Lupus MO.

I made it a point to take some pictures of those living and/or camping there. Interesting enough I only encountered one guy who didn't want his picture taken. Hey, I knew why, but I wasn't asking. The gentleman above sat and played Gin for 4 hours with his friend. Alan and Dennie were so inspired by their playing skills that they played Gin later, through dinner, at my favorite restaurant in Columbia MO, Trattoria Strada Nova.


Lupus MO! Can't say that I had ever heard of it up until Saturday when I accompanied my friend Alan Blau to celebrate some of Mid Mo's legendary musical talents. The late Jerome Wheeler, who inspired the Missouri River Cultural Conservancy, was a singer songwriter and member of the Celebrated Renaissance Band, popular in the late 60's and 70's. The remaining members get together each year in commemoration of Jerome's contributions to music and his inspiration.

Musicians included Jesse James and Patty Nash, John and Pam, Violet Vonderhaar, Patrick and Anion, Il-MO-CA All-Stars, Celebrated Renaissance Band Reunion, Lee Ruch and Batholomew Bean, Lizzie West and Baba Buffalo, Naked Dave and SRE.


Now, I have not attended this sort of the thing before; sat in at a music festival open stage type thing. I simply jumped in the car with Alan Blau, the epicurean. He'd invited me to go, to hang out with his old college buddies who had formed a band around the time that I was say, eight years old. They came in from all over the place, Redondo Beach CA, the East Coast. Since Alan and I occasionally indulge on a bit of the grape, a culinary experience here or there, and we both like music, I jumped at the chance to go and be a part of his day.


There was much to learn about playing and jamming with professional musicians. And why Alan thought it appropriate to convince (bearded) Jesse James, the guy who seemed to be running the show, that I should be included in the line up is beyond me. Regardless, I sat in on several songs, bluegrass mainly, some really awesome original work. I had no clue as to what I was doing. Then they asked me to go it alone, then I butchered my first official gig. Not exactly a tough house. But again, I enjoyed the experience, getting up there and sharing, no matter how crude or rough or nervous, and no matter the fact that I couldn't remember the words to each of the songs that I played. For a second, a small moment in time, I was one of them, a player, singer, expressive. Jerome had done his work, I am inspired to do more of this someday.


Lupus is quite the confine, situated at the end of a long winding road, south due west of Columbia MO, along the Missouri River Banks. Everyone was authentic, although it occurred to me that I likely wouldn't know the difference between the real thing or paid actors in this case. Maybe I was on a movie set of some kind and it was all choreographed for my experiential pleasure. There were lots characters surrounding me that way. It was surreal. Lupus is a town filled with non-conformists, hippie, laid back, call it what you want, but there was something quite peaceful about the way they live there lives there. The train came by so often you didn't even notice. I liked Lupus and plan to return there someday. For the rest, relaxation and music.

Paris Hilton

While searching for a suitable photo of jailed Paris Hilton, I came across this sexy pic of her dog. I was afraid that an actual photo of Paris might compromise this blogs standards of "keeping it clean". I reviewed about three hundred photos of Paris, none possessing the quality that I was looking for, this one is perfect.

So when I returned home from work yesterday and found my daughter Natalie and Janie sitting on the couch watching CNN, Fox or MSNBC, the ones with the ticker running below the screen and all the constant updates on the worlds troubles, I was a little concerned. The Paris story was at the forefront, her return to jail, her breakdown. The Reverend Al was there soaking up the limelight, as was every expert yo-yo lawyer, retired judge in LA, vying for media attention, taking pot shots at the glamour girl, all trying to make sense of the media hype, the phenomena, waiting for...hell, a suicide, I guess. They had one of those aerial copter followings like back when OJ went on a low speed car chase. The cops yanked her out of her manse and hauled her in to jail, again.

So I mumbled something relatively innocent, under my breath, like: Man, that Paris is one hot number". Or maybe it was: "Dude, I think I saw a boob on that last piece of footage". Or it might have been: "I wonder if her mom is hot?" It didn't matter what I said, really. The girls were armed and ready.

Out of nowhere Natalie says: Dad, I can't believe you think she is pretty.

So I say back to the two women sitting, staring into the ticker tube like robots: "Who wouldn't think she is pretty"?

And off we went into a twenty five minute argument about Paris Hilton, her life, her troubles, her magnificence. It was truly sad that I found myself pulled in, engaged, intellectualizing that which is of no real significance to anything other than a post for the media to hang a hat on.

I am so going to the mountains. Leaving for Telluride on July 2nd. I may stay there for good and sell tie die pfoodman t-shirts out of the back of a Vanagon to finance some new XTR.

Laythom Bing

Man, I have not had much time to do much of anything. There are no bike stories because I have not ridden my bike for a couple weeks. No worries, just means you cycling guys will be kicking my butt, when I return. As for my employees, it will be worth the effort. I usually take a brief period training break around this time each year. It just seems to happen that way, with work being a little more busy nowadays, and cycling taking a little less of a focus than prior years. I needed a break to get fat again, then work it off, repeat.

The good news is that I have been enjoying my new Kayak, thanks to the great people at Alpine Shop for hooking me up with the Pungo 140 at their tent sale back in February. I have been doing some 3 hour (boat) rides up river, on the Meremac, occasionally getting out and exploring new perspectives on Castlewood and Chubb, not seen from the river before. Pretty cool stuff. Going to do a couple epics soon, on the Eleven Point and White Rivers in Southern MO.

I have also been playing tennis and buying a bunch of cool pastel colored sweaters that I can "buffy" hang over my shoulders when sitting at Starbucks with my new friends Dirk Farnsworth, Laythom Bing. Not really, but my daughter is really upping her game and she wants some of this 45 year old tennis goodness, so I bring it, and kick her A out there. Word to the 15 year old tennis geeks: don't think you can kick my A.

Pfoodman/Silverset landed a new account in the Kansas City area with a new client, which will be our next imprint into our mission to be in multiple metro markets and grow in each community using our unique strategy used in the St. Louis region. Soon we will be in Denver, last month we started in Indianapolis, with another client, also a senior living community developer.

Pfoodman, which started as an idea forged out of necessity to generate brand identity back in 2002, operates three divisions as our managment company, Hospitality Services Inc. Hospitality Services, Silverset and Execuserve comprise our position in the market, each servicing a segment of "lifestyle" in the institutional food service market. Our consulting company, Hospitality Marketing Associates, seems to be generating a load of new business, due to our approach to business incubation and unique partnerships with our vendors and clients.

Pfoodman/Wapiti is now up and running and our first client, Sara Lee Corporation is scheduled next week. We have multiple presentations taking place with this company in the next several weeks. It should be a good time and our employees are looking forward to being a part of this new exciting "outdoor event management" endeavor.

Some pretty exciting stuff taking place for our family of Pfoodman. There is much in front for all employees. But that doesn't mean we don't take time out to do what matters the most, outdoor stuff, meditation stuff, hiking, cycling and whatever makes you feel good. I have to schedule it in now, for the sanity of it all. I suggest everyone do that too.

Interesting Perspective

Some interesting perspectives while in my kayak last Sunday...


Who can tell me where the above is?

"It" is about fun

I am encouraged by photo's like these. Not because of the obvious health benefit to our friend. But because of smile on her face, and the use of a bicycle in the form of self expression. Hat's off to you, whomever you are.