Halloween revival

October 31, 2007


It’s Halloween night.

For the past several years, I’ve gotten used to gazing upon Halloween night from afar. I went to college, and I pushed it away, no longer understanding its allure and confused about why adults went to great lengths to create a spooky environment for 25 of their closest drunk friends. It was an overnight thing - one year I was excited and celebrating and being a goofball with all of my friends as well; the next, I was rolling my eyes and staying inside to watch something decidedly not Halloween oriented.

I begrudgingly dressed up when asked, or I did something in the spirit of Halloween, but I always did it because I was supposed to. I didn’t look forward to it by any means. I simply said to myself, “I’m too old for this. Whatever. Halloween is just not my day - more power to everyone else.”

I convinced myself that I was over Halloween.

Tonight, I realize it wasn’t that I was over it. I just had the scope all wrong. Halloween isn’t for adults.

It’s for our kids.

Well, truthfully, it partially is for us, but only by association.

Driving home tonight from a friends house - where three other babies were dressed in Halloween costumes and three other pairs of parents giggled and oohed and ahed - I saw trick or treaters everywhere.

And I remembered back to my days trick or treating. The doling out of candy, the early morning outfit check, the long lasting linger of sugar and chocolate - spreading itself out over a three week period, one piece per day in a school lunch. I remember dumping a pile of sweets on the floor and trading them with my friends as if I had just dumped out a bag of 1986 Topps rookie cards.

I remember the darkness, and the ingenuity, and the excitement in guessing what my friends might show up as. Most of all, I remember that, above everything, there was a buzz throughout the city. Every child of trick or treating age was champing at the bit, struggling to keep the joy inside, and then when darkness fell, the entire lot of us burst out onto the Sioux Falls landscape to beg for candy from strangers. That’s right. It was the one night we could buck conventional wisdom and accept a strange Resee’s peanut butter cup.

For one night, the world was ours. We overtook every house we could find with the lights on, and we pounded on the doors of those who thought they were safe, save the foolishly lit basement light or the flicker of a television. We were in charge, dressed like vandals, stealing through the night in search of better prey.

I thought back on my younger trick or treating days and realized I was all wrong. It wasn’t that I grew up too fast. It was that I didn’t bother to leave things in perspective. I forgot that Halloween was a day for kids.

Now, through the eyes of a father, I can begin to understand what makes it so special.

Tags: On... |

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Jump ball

October 30, 2007


Another year.

Another basketball season.

Another 82 games of excruciating horribleness.

Another season of rooting for the Indiana Pacers, my arbitrarily chosen team, picked because I loved Reggie Miller and held on to because I still love Jermaine O’Neal.

But this team - the one that was just two wins away from an NBA Championship in 2000 and the only one to ever knock the Jordan-led Chicago Bulls out of the playoffs between 1991 and 1998 - is in horrible shape. Bad trades. Bad personnel. The loss of a great leader and a culture still reeling from The Fight and The Retirement.

The Pacers could be the worst team in the league this year.

Or, they could surprise the hell out of everyone and succeed. They have some of the tools - a bright young forward in Danny Granger, a new energized coach, a lack of distractions and a multiple-time All Star in O’Neal. I hope they do. I hope they’ve filled a team with under-the-radar talent that can at least make a playoff run and prove everyone wrong.

Either way, I’m happy. I’m not watching basketball for just the Pacers this year. I’m watching basketball to watch basketball, to enjoy the game and hope for classic match-ups, great games and spectacular performances. I’m watching LeBron as he tries to follow up a tough NBA Finals. The Suns as they try to leap to the front of the Western Conference. The Spurs as they try to repeat. The Mavs as they try to put last year behind them.

I’m watching new rookies with phenomenal hype. I’m watching superstars in new locales, All Stars in new roles and role players in new races for starting minutes. I’m watching Kevin Garnett find a renewed sense of excitement in a basketball-rich city, and I’m watching Kobe Bryant as the pieces fall apart around him on that basketball-rich city’s biggest rival.

With the Pacers slotted to be horrible, I’m free to accept it and enjoy the game for what it is. And with a new digital cable package, I’m free to watch 85% more games on TNT and ESPN. So if the Celtics are playing, you’ll know where I’ll be. Or the Warriors. The Cavaliers, the Suns, the Spurs or the Mavs. The Pistons. The Bulls. You know where I’ll be.

Another year.

Another basketball season.

And finally, a chance to be a fan of the game. Not just a fan of my team.

Tags: Basketball, Indiana Pacers, Sports |

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Teen Mommy Darci

October 26, 2007


Here’s a great PSA spot from a few years back out of Boise for teen pregnancy - Teen Mommy Darci.

Teeny-tiny trailer!

See kids - teen pregnancy can be fun! Check out Action Teen Father too, with Diaper Action Grip!

(Thanks to adfreak for reminding us how great this is.)

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Random YouTube |

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Details, details, details

October 26, 2007


Today, I fudged a small detail to make an idea work. It was caught, and we all laughed about it. It was harmless, a leap of logic that no one would make, a trifle that doesn’t hurt the idea, but the absence of leaves the idea incomplete.

The big picture was enhanced. Without it, it was killed - it didn’t make sense. It was a detail that, in the long run, added up to nothing - a giant zero on the scale of relevance. Or at least a 0.1.

I’ll admit. I’m not detail oriented. It’s a death knell for me as a professional proofer, I’m sure. I force the details as part of my job, and it’s become second nature to find mistakes in other people’s writing, but I’m sometimes just not that interested in details.

It puts me in a difficult position.

It’s evident that, many times, I miss my own errors. But that’s merely a by-product - it’s the idea-killing details that bother me - the details that bring down a monster concept. Obviously, crucial details are important, like the minor nerve endings and white blood cells in a body of work. But the nitpicky details? They’re like birthmarks, skin whorls that are ultimately useless.

And critiquing them does nothing but drive an idea off course.

Some great ideas have been killed by details, cut down and left for dead by a billion small pin pricks. I’ve put together brilliant plans and incredibly creative concepts, only to watch then torn apart by the nitpickers - oftentimes, middle management marketing managers who are paid, apparently, to ask for creativity and then slowly sap every last ounce of it out of a project.

It’s one of the perils of working small - of living in the Midwest where very few businesses want to be edgy. Or, in that case, can afford to be edgy. There’s no reason for simple marketing to become uber-creative just because, I understand that. But the micromanaging? Please.

Forest for the trees, my friends. If the overall concept works, and it’s fun and it gets attention and highlights everything that’s good about a business, then so be it. Don’t bring a baseball eye to a prize fight - an eye trained for OBP and WHIP and ERA will find flaws in anything, if given a chance, and the overall thrill of the fight is lost in the shuffle.

I will overlook a bad turn of phrase if the overall story is brilliant. I will overlook an unusual spelling if it’s used in context. I don’t believe the details should run the overall theme, the rats not fleeing the ship but overtaking it, steering it in the wrong direction and driving it into an iceberg, forever killing the idea.

I see this every day. The logo is a half-inch too small, the wording should be switched around like this, the headline is too big, the picture doesn’t show enough staged diversity. These aren’t critical details, like a wrong phone number or misspelled web site. These are the things that a person with too little control changes because it’s all they can do to make the project theirs.

I’m not wired to take every small part of every day into account. My head has always seen the positive or negative of an overall series of events, not the battles therein. I’m a war guy, willing to lose a skirmish in order to better life as a whole.

I’m a big picture guy. Or at least, I try to be. I might not be very good at it, but at least I’m not nitpicking as much as I could.

And that idea I talked about fudging? This post is it. That scenario has never happened to me.

But it sure illustrated the point, right? Big picture wins.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Annoyances, Blogging, Writing |

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Twitt’rin’

October 25, 2007


Okay, so I’m giving Twitter one last chance.

When I first signed up, it seemed pointless. So I let it sit. I ignored it, as it deserved to be ignored. But now that more people are using it, I realize it could be an interesting little time waster.

Like I need more of those.

“What’s Twitter?” This might be what you’re saying if you’re one of those without knowledge of the inner social networking secrets abound on the Internet.

Well, it’s a site/program/network/thing that allows you to type what you’re doing. Like “MrVilhauer is typing.” or “MrVilhauer is wondering why his wife decided to tell the entire office it was his birthday yesterday, resulting in an off-key rendition of the popular ‘Happy Birthday’ song as sung by the employees of HenkinSchultz.”

That’s it?

Well, yeah. There’s more, I guess. Um, you’ll just have to go to Twitter yourself. I can’t explain it. It’s a pointless exercise in Internet connectivity. But since my 9rules profile page has a Twitter feed, and since Aaron at Charisma:18 seems to post something every 15 minutes, it must be the cool thing to do.

If you’ve got an account, let me know. I don’t use Google Mail, so I can’t import my contacts and invite them all.

Again - Twitter. My Twitter page is here. Go. Become superconnected like the rest of the cool kids. I’ll see you there.

Tags: Blogging, Random Links |

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Dear Future

October 25, 2007


I’ve always felt, in times of supreme longing for purpose in my yet immature life, that this blog is more than just a collection of random thoughts.

I’ve looked at it as an extension of my life - a personal journal for the masses to peruse and a healthy release of pent-up diatribes. It’s my personality, in writing, piece by piece, from my hobbies to my innermost desires. It’s an opening up of my mind, my thoughts spilling out into the unforgiving void of cyberspace.

Since Sierra has entered into my life, Black Marks on Wood Pulp has taken an even more important position - it’s a glimpse from the past, a way for future generations to know who I was. It’s a preservation of my life, albeit an egotistical self-driven preservation.

Abi of HeatEatReview fame (and fellow 9ruler) had the same idea. She wanted to preserve her life - and the life of her relatives - for future generations. So Dear Future was born.

In her words…

Dear Future is a vanity project inspired by my ancestor Charlotte Matheny Kirkwood. She wrote about emigrating on the Oregon Trail in 1843 and her experiences as a pioneer. My life involves considerably less butter churning.

There’s just one post up right now, but it shows great promise. Admittedly, I’m jealous. Of the name. And of the idea - of focusing on that one highlight, on nostalgia, not just for nostalgia’s sake but with real purpose. But regardless of the small jealousy, and with so many new blogs populating what little space is left in the blogosphere in an effort to catch up with the times, it’s refreshing to find something so heart-felt.

Kudos for Abi for bucking the usual trend of blogs as single-subject, informational tools and embracing the world of personal blogging, where emotions and thoughts can be captured and thrust upon the world. For whatever that’s worth.

Tags: Blogging, Meta, Writing |

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Drifting away from the music

October 23, 2007


I might go to the Bright Eyes show this Thursday.

Then again, I might not.

This is how all of my concert decisions are made nowadays. I’m impartial to the act of going to a show - an act that I once respected and looked forward to unlike any other act in the history of acts. I’d go to every show - EVERY show - because that’s just what you did. You went to see Napalm Death even if you hated them. And you damned well enjoyed it.

In those days - for me, ages 16-25 - music was a deity. It was an ever-changing look into what life was supposed to be. My friends and I lived our lives for music - most of them playing music, me listening to it and critiquing it. Music was so integral to life that we filled every moment with sound, carefully choosing the right notes to play at the right times, as if coordinating the sound waves in a perfect organization could somehow make us into better people.

In college, the love affair continued to an almost obsessive level; an album would occupy my life for months, every song analyzed and every lyric memorized. Music drove the world; opinions were ripe for arguing, words sharpened for opposing tastes and praise heaped upon similar interests. My friends turned me on to new bands, and I did likewise to them. It was a time of discovery, for new sounds, for refining tastes and developing trends in listenership.

And then, eventually, I found myself a stranger - a hopeless piece of driftwood lost in a sea of rock music; aged and hollow, I floated along with the same currents I had always followed. When you excuse yourself from that culture of constant discovery, you end up falling farther and farther behind. It’s impossible to keep up without a sudden infusion of new music, and even then you spend so much time catching up you lose track of actually enjoying the music.

Every week, hundreds of albums are recorded, somewhere, and it’s impossible to keep up with them all. When I finally realized this, I found myself relieved. It’s as if I could relax and turn my back on my formerly obsessive nature. I was no longer in the discovery stage - I could now lie back and be blissfully ignorant of new music, catching it only on the radio or in a random new release sent to me by a friend.

Music has taken a different shape as I’ve grown older. It’s become more refined, more selective. Shoved into the background, music has become more of the clichéd “soundtrack to my life” - a backing track likened more to John Williams than Iggy Pop, quietly whispered throughout life, no longer taking center stage.

Music. I still love it - Kerrie will tell you that I still have moments of utter obnoxiousness when it comes to new music - but I no longer idolize it.

So it’s no surprise that, with a Thursday Bright Eyes show approaching in our dusty little villa, I’m still torn about whether or not I’m going. Simply put, I’m bored with rock shows. I go, I stand, I watch, and I leave wondering whether it was worth the time, the money, the halting of life to watch another life perform. Often times, it hasn’t been. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a really great show, and every mediocre show I see sends me further and further away from the scene.

There are bands I’d still like to see. Built to Spill. Radiohead. Bruce Springsteen. But I’m just not into that scene anymore. I’d find more fulfillment in an author’s reading, in a cleverly written television show, in a good book or even a brisk walk through the constantly changing fall foliage. Those things are more comforting. More my style. Dare I say, easier.

And that’s how I know I’ve changed. I used to plan all of my life around music. New releases. Shows at the Pomp Room. Trips to Minneapolis to drink and see great bands in their heyday, a weekend spend driving home in contemplative silence as we disengage from the extent of our overstimulation.

Now, while I still sing along and I still get excited about great bands and new albums and brilliantly worded lyrics, I don’t obsess. I realize it for what it is - music, a necessary element of life, so crucial I don’t know if any of us could live without it, but a function that’s as natural as breathing or walking - things not worth analyzing and obsessing about. I need music in my life. But I can’t focus on it anymore, not like I used to.

Music has become a true soundtrack, background driven instead of interactive. And if I miss a few shows because of it, I know life will continue.

So maybe we’ll see you Thursday, at the Bright Eyes show. Or, maybe not. Truthfully, I’ll just go where the music leads me.

Tags: Concerts, Music, On... |

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