<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891</id><updated>2012-02-01T16:45:38.740-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scott Thoughts</title><subtitle type='html'>Random thoughts with purpose.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-4977959901281028195</id><published>2012-01-31T19:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T19:33:03.158-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"The Cuckoo"</title><content type='html'>My Grampa Sliver (Sly-ver) told stories in great detail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grampa went blind from Glaucoma when he was in his sixties. That might have something to do with it.&amp;nbsp;He always talked about "the house on the southeast corner of Barron and Monfort Street..." the one he inevitably plastered at some point...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Born in 1892 in Eaton, Ohio, Grampa claimed that when he was young, there were still native Americans around Eaton. I have no reason to doubt him... I just wasn't around then to verify his story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His legendary story that he told me over and over, as he turned his head not quite facing my direction, was the story of a plant he called, "the cuckoo."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_1LlbAgtFQA/Tyh6lkWA52I/AAAAAAAAAQk/qK1lYqMzc0s/s1600/Man_wrapping_gauze_around_his_wrist_and_hand_PAA514000036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_1LlbAgtFQA/Tyh6lkWA52I/AAAAAAAAAQk/qK1lYqMzc0s/s320/Man_wrapping_gauze_around_his_wrist_and_hand_PAA514000036.jpg" width="204" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He claimed that this plant had healing remedies... I can still see the expression on his face as he would tell me this story. (Being blind, he wore dark green aviator glasses...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He would look not quite in my direction and say, "You take "the cuckoo" (long pause) and you boil it... and if you had an infection in your hand (long pause) you'd take it... and put it there (patting the palm of his left hand with the back of the fingers on his right hand) and you'd wrap it with a cloth like this (imagine wrapping a cloth around your left hand using the right hand to do so... And in a few days, the poison (infection) would... would... would... come out!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He described "the cuckoo" as a wild plant that had a stem about the size of a pencil with leaves that would grow out of the stem at various intervals... I don't recall him mentioning that it had flowers... I found this while doing some research... &lt;a href="http://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/c/cucko122.html"&gt;Cuckoo-Pint&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;I wonder... Could it be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved sitting with my Grampa listening to him tell stories...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was always folding Puffs tissues into little squares and stacking him on the little medicine cabinet end table that was next to his rocking chair... he also had about a thousand rubber bands around the arm of his chair... I inherited his clock that he used to tell time by opening the decorative glass front and feeling the hands on the clock... The problem was, being blind, in his later years, he couldn't tell AM from PM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QztVg331-o/Tyh54z6QxFI/AAAAAAAAAQc/FELSDbW9wR8/s1600/104317248-260x260-0-0_procter+gamble+puffs+basic+facial+tissues+1+box+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="198" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QztVg331-o/Tyh54z6QxFI/AAAAAAAAAQc/FELSDbW9wR8/s200/104317248-260x260-0-0_procter+gamble+puffs+basic+facial+tissues+1+box+20.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if the Reds were playing, he was listening!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I emptied his little trash basket next to his rocking chair, he would give me a dollar... or two! He would open up his wallet and pull out a bill and ask me, "Is that a one?" Yes... "Is THAT a one?" Yes... (He knew darn well they were ones...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I emptied has basket pretty often, too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this day I still drink my coffee the way Grampa did... because I made it for him just about every morning. One spoon Sanka. One spoon sugar. One spoon creamer... And when he'd drink it, his nose would go into his coffee cup and he always had a drip of coffee on the tip of his nose! (Sometimes we'd tell him... : )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F4iDX_1mOY8/TyiD4gCO8QI/AAAAAAAAAQs/LQ-EtV7O_1Q/s1600/sanka.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F4iDX_1mOY8/TyiD4gCO8QI/AAAAAAAAAQs/LQ-EtV7O_1Q/s320/sanka.PNG" width="183" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;But the thing I remember most is sneaking into his bedroom (which wasn't hard... because he was blind...) and I'd sit at the foot of his bed and wait... for him to pray for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And Lord... bless little Scotty... who was born November 9, 1962 at Grandview Hospital in Dayton, Ohio..." lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I think he gave all the detail just to be sure that God knew who he was talking about.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He would go person by person through our family and pray for each one... laying on his side, hands clasped, whispering his prayers, just loud enough for one to hear... if they were listening...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every two weeks the blogosphere comes alive as a consortium of creatives all blog about the same topic. This installment's LetsBlogOff topic is "My Grandmother Always Said..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/692.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-4977959901281028195?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/4977959901281028195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/cuckoo.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/4977959901281028195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/4977959901281028195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/cuckoo.html' title='&quot;The Cuckoo&quot;'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_1LlbAgtFQA/Tyh6lkWA52I/AAAAAAAAAQk/qK1lYqMzc0s/s72-c/Man_wrapping_gauze_around_his_wrist_and_hand_PAA514000036.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-1445356805998448168</id><published>2012-01-17T07:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T18:03:00.900-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Could Turn Back Time...</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;What would you do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the question being pondered by our LetsBlogOff consortium this week.&amp;nbsp;A LetsBlogOff is when a group of bloggers all tackle the same topic and post on the same day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote class="tr_bq"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"If I could turn back time... If I could find a way... I'd take back those words that hurt you... and you'd stay..." &lt;/i&gt;Cher&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0KjjfBXJK4w/TxXuDBLNP9I/AAAAAAAAAPs/z44kTJA3tDY/s1600/apr231999_482_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0KjjfBXJK4w/TxXuDBLNP9I/AAAAAAAAAPs/z44kTJA3tDY/s320/apr231999_482_lg.jpg" width="248" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Being Mr. Pop Culture, that is (unfortunately) where my mind goes right from the start. (Did you know Cher&amp;nbsp;is the only artist to reach number one on the&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;Billboard&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;charts in each of the previous SIX decades? She has sold over 100 million records worldwide!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;But wouldn't that be nice? If we could actually take back the words we say that have hurt someone? Have you ever said, "Wait, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean that."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXpXRzvxk28/TxXun00s2-I/AAAAAAAAAP0/9UefGR20nTo/s1600/tom_hanks_you%2527ve_got_mail_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="191" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXpXRzvxk28/TxXun00s2-I/AAAAAAAAAP0/9UefGR20nTo/s200/tom_hanks_you%2527ve_got_mail_002.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have found that the reality in my life is I am often the most honest when I am the most angry. I get frustrated or hurt and lash out and it's like in &lt;i&gt;You've Got Mail&lt;/i&gt; when the Tom Hanks character cautions the Meg Ryan character about what follows after you "zing" someone... "I must warn you that when you finally have the pleasure ofsaying&amp;nbsp;the thing youmean to say at the moment you mean to say it, remorse&amp;nbsp;inevitablyfollows."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Don't get me wrong... I'm pretty careful with my words. I'm not prone to being harsh, but I can be a little pointed at times, and my words can have a bit of a sharp edge to them. And I am really good at coming across as smug. And I hate that about me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;The stink of it is more often than not it's with my family. Generally when I'm tired. (I'm better at 6:00 AM than I am 10:00 PM.) I start to get cranky about 9:00 PM, especially if I haven't eaten dinner, usually due to my being overly busy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I refer this phenomenon as, "my filter needs replacing." In other words, I'm tired and I don't have the energy to be as careful as I usually TRY to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EVxXfe3_Qvk/TxXxddbd9DI/AAAAAAAAAP8/khlrK9PN-cI/s1600/6a00d8341bf80c53ef0134845bef08970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EVxXfe3_Qvk/TxXxddbd9DI/AAAAAAAAAP8/khlrK9PN-cI/s1600/6a00d8341bf80c53ef0134845bef08970c-800wi.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;My words get sharper, more off color, less careful, less "filtered."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I do a fair amount of public speaking, doing a similar presentation up to four times in a weekend. I find this phenomenon often happens at the last presentation, too. I'm tired... too much adrenaline, too much coffee, tired of hearing myself blather on about whatever topic I deem to be life-changing at that particular time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Then it happens... often in front of hundreds of people. I say something that I would LOVE to take back. Something slightly off color. Something that came from a place where there is an emotional scar... Something that has a sharper-than-usual edge to it. Or worse... a zinger putting people into their place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lquwr0HIsZM/TxXypAATd-I/AAAAAAAAAQE/VSB8O79yFAQ/s1600/Bad-breath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lquwr0HIsZM/TxXypAATd-I/AAAAAAAAAQE/VSB8O79yFAQ/s1600/Bad-breath.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I have also been known to bring people to an emotionally tender place, then I LIGHTEN THE MOMENT with something funny, because I wasn't sure where to go from there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;The thing all this has in common is once it's "out there" there's no taking it back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Can you remember something someone said to you that hurt you deeply? Perhaps when you were young? I can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Can you remember saying something to someone that hurt THEM deeply and you really do wish you could take it back? Unfortunately...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I once said something to a family member, &lt;i&gt;who was in the hospital&lt;/i&gt;, long, long ago. More than half a lifetime ago, actually. I commented about what was on the tv in their room.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Divorce Court.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Something to the effect of "Wow, nothing like being sick in the hospital and watching Divorce Court..." (DRIPPING with sarcasm...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DQdP9wnDBs/TxXy7fAihVI/AAAAAAAAAQM/GqcHO2H9gAY/s1600/divorce_court-show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DQdP9wnDBs/TxXy7fAihVI/AAAAAAAAAQM/GqcHO2H9gAY/s320/divorce_court-show.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I have relived that moment over and over and over again over the years. Sometimes I'll be driving somewhere and that will pop into my head and I still think, "What an idiot!" Not kicking myself... just still regret ever having said something so ignorant and un-compassionate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Sure wish I could turn back time 25+ years and take that back. Wish I could slap that guy upside the head immediately following the uttering of those words and say, "What would ever make you say something like that?? How unkind and thoughtless can you be?? Just how self-righteous CAN you be??" About THAT much, apparently...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I CAN say at have at least tried to learn from my mistakes... and I am WAY, WAY, WAY more self-aware than I used to be. And I've now had enough practice that I can say I am pretty good at making things right when I do blow it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I have found, a little humility... a little sincerity... and being a little more guarded goes a long way to avoiding (or repairing) these kind of situations.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;If I could turn back time?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Sigh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TE2XfMN48sI/TxVuv5QJmVI/AAAAAAAAAPg/o9FON69lE9Y/s1600/bigstockphoto_turn_back_time_10456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TE2XfMN48sI/TxVuv5QJmVI/AAAAAAAAAPg/o9FON69lE9Y/s320/bigstockphoto_turn_back_time_10456.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/680.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-1445356805998448168?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/1445356805998448168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/if-you-could-turn-back-time.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/1445356805998448168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/1445356805998448168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/if-you-could-turn-back-time.html' title='If You Could Turn Back Time...'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0KjjfBXJK4w/TxXuDBLNP9I/AAAAAAAAAPs/z44kTJA3tDY/s72-c/apr231999_482_lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-6626724056623957174</id><published>2012-01-02T20:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T20:30:26.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Geography has nothing to do with where I am.</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt; &lt;o:DocumentProperties&gt;  &lt;o:Template&gt;Normal&lt;/o:Template&gt;  &lt;o:Revision&gt;0&lt;/o:Revision&gt;  &lt;o:TotalTime&gt;0&lt;/o:TotalTime&gt;  &lt;o:Pages&gt;1&lt;/o:Pages&gt;  &lt;o:Words&gt;438&lt;/o:Words&gt;  &lt;o:Characters&gt;2499&lt;/o:Characters&gt;  &lt;o:Company&gt;Vineyard Church&lt;/o:Company&gt;  &lt;o:Lines&gt;20&lt;/o:Lines&gt;  &lt;o:Paragraphs&gt;4&lt;/o:Paragraphs&gt;  &lt;o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;3068&lt;/o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;  &lt;o:Version&gt;11.1287&lt;/o:Version&gt; &lt;/o:DocumentProperties&gt; &lt;o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt;  &lt;o:AllowPNG/&gt; &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt;&lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt; &lt;w:WordDocument&gt;  &lt;w:Zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;  &lt;w:DoNotShowRevisions/&gt;  &lt;w:DoNotPrintRevisions/&gt;  &lt;w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;  &lt;w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;  &lt;w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/&gt; &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt;&lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pVgXLtc3iKI/TwJHpBLgeyI/AAAAAAAAAOo/yeOEcsrmZ58/s1600/eraser_chalkboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pVgXLtc3iKI/TwJHpBLgeyI/AAAAAAAAAOo/yeOEcsrmZ58/s1600/eraser_chalkboard.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every two weeks, the blogosphere comes alive with somethingcalled a Blog Off. A Blog Off is an event where bloggers of every stripe weighin on the same topic on the same day. The topic for this round of the Blog Off is "What are you looking forward to this year?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;It’s a new year. Just like with every year, January bringswith it the promise of a new way to go about doing things and a new way to lookabout life as you know it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I was perusing my twitter feed on New Year’s Day... One womanposted, “Funny how we view New Year’s Day like it’s a chalkboard that allows usto erase last year and give a fresh start… when really it’s just another day.”Interesting thought.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’m not big on resolutions. Especially when it’s justbecause it’s the new year. Don’t get me wrong… It is an opportune time toevaluate, to look back and to look ahead, to reflect and do some soul searching.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Frankly, I do enough soul searching. Almost daily. I’m notone given to DEEP introspection… I just take life a day at a time and reflectalong the way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fFZZUuq7as0/TwJJgHo7GzI/AAAAAAAAAPA/M61JGPZ2-cM/s1600/bible_psalm23closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fFZZUuq7as0/TwJJgHo7GzI/AAAAAAAAAPA/M61JGPZ2-cM/s200/bible_psalm23closeup.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I performed three memorial services in one week, two weeksago. That will cause anyone to consider the direction of their life and itspossible outcome. I often wonder if anything I do REALLY matters. Not in apoor-me kind of way… but in a way that keeps my head and my heart both headedin the same direction. Showing up is easy. Showing up for the right reasons isa different matter. I can be there geographically, but my heart can be amillion miles away. Know what I mean?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xu_f1piOIt8/TwJIAxloXOI/AAAAAAAAAO0/8PsP40edFmM/s1600/6a00d83516c0ad53ef0120a7c1219b970b-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xu_f1piOIt8/TwJIAxloXOI/AAAAAAAAAO0/8PsP40edFmM/s400/6a00d83516c0ad53ef0120a7c1219b970b-800wi.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I know what I want my life to be about. I’ve got a prettygood idea of who I am and who I want to become… even what I want to beremembered for, and I work toward that in an intentional way.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I know at times, that kind of focus has been at the expenseof my family. It takes a lot of effort for me to stay “fully present” in anysituation, especially as it relates to what I’m doing right now. (Blogging,social media, facebook and twitter updates, FourSquare check-ins, pics fortwitpic, etc, etc, etc.) It’s so easy for me to be busy recording my life, myevery move, that I can miss what’s happening around me.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RNeTlhMxC8/TwJOiXt6U7I/AAAAAAAAAPY/PHJFjZQq2cQ/s1600/IMG_3261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RNeTlhMxC8/TwJOiXt6U7I/AAAAAAAAAPY/PHJFjZQq2cQ/s200/IMG_3261.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;My two daughters (19 and 22) busted me on this one time. Thethree of us were going to a breakfast café in Dayton, when Ipulled out my iPhone to check in, take a pic of the sign, my pancakes, etc,they said, “Are you going to be with US?” My daughter put her hand on my phone,almost begging me to stop. Lesson learned. Sort of...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I still fight this battle every day. This is how I livelife. I see life through the lens of my iPhone and I like sharing those momentswith others. The tension is my family wants me to share those moments withTHEM.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;This idea of being fully present in any situation is whatI’m working on in 2012. To be fully present and “in the moment” regardless ofwhat that moment is. To give my best to whatever I am doing and to whoever I amwith. To give my full attention.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Squirrel!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TKgYbhwegW8/TwJOLZ6sDcI/AAAAAAAAAPM/ZtGq4521S-M/s1600/Squirrel.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="223" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TKgYbhwegW8/TwJOLZ6sDcI/AAAAAAAAAPM/ZtGq4521S-M/s400/Squirrel.png" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/666.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-6626724056623957174?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/6626724056623957174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/geography-has-nothing-to-do-with-where.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/6626724056623957174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/6626724056623957174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2012/01/geography-has-nothing-to-do-with-where.html' title='Geography has nothing to do with where I am.'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pVgXLtc3iKI/TwJHpBLgeyI/AAAAAAAAAOo/yeOEcsrmZ58/s72-c/eraser_chalkboard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-4619666653758171998</id><published>2011-12-19T09:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-21T07:03:33.871-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's the American Way...</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;This is America...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fv5CGQlYTHY/Tu84Y78p1bI/AAAAAAAAANM/gc1jR23PqeI/s1600/bush-obama-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="306" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fv5CGQlYTHY/Tu84Y78p1bI/AAAAAAAAANM/gc1jR23PqeI/s400/bush-obama-5.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;You can have whatever you can afford. And then some...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pwOoASlB6wY/Tu84rWU6lJI/AAAAAAAAANU/A4wQb51uv_M/s1600/creditcards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pwOoASlB6wY/Tu84rWU6lJI/AAAAAAAAANU/A4wQb51uv_M/s200/creditcards.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Don't worry, I'm not going to launch into a political rant about how the current administration has added more to our national debt than all previous administrations combined. (Albeit largely due to a war passed down by the previous administration...) Not to mention a hurting economy with 8.6% unemployment. In actuality it's 11%, since people whose benefits run out are not included in those numbers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-503544_162-57326268-503544/national-debt-crosses-$15-trillion-mark/"&gt;CBS News&lt;/a&gt;, the national debt was $10.6 trillion when President Obama took office. It is now over&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.brillig.com/debt_clock/"&gt;$15 trillion&lt;/a&gt;. And we add nearly $4 billion dollars in new debt per day. EVERY DAY...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--D2o9OPfxss/Tu85Q0A7PYI/AAAAAAAAANk/NDyxi3F8LAI/s1600/3841304624_9a975e6fae_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="126" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--D2o9OPfxss/Tu85Q0A7PYI/AAAAAAAAANk/NDyxi3F8LAI/s200/3841304624_9a975e6fae_z.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Growing up, I never knew it was possible to change the oil in your car yourself. My dad and I would head down to the local Sunoco station and get a pop as we watched them put our old Pontiac wagon up on the lift. That's how we got an oil change. I never knew some people actually did it themselves. The same would be true of drywall and painting, or fixing just about anything else around the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRTrf3XWsgU/Tu9QXmxbz1I/AAAAAAAAAOM/Tlsi3KkpWF0/s1600/Pepsi16ozGlassBottlePaulBrokken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRTrf3XWsgU/Tu9QXmxbz1I/AAAAAAAAAOM/Tlsi3KkpWF0/s200/Pepsi16ozGlassBottlePaulBrokken.jpg" width="80" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It wasn't until my twenties that a friend took me under their wing to teach me how to do such things. I'm still not very good at most things like that, but I have learned a few things along the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's my point? I have always paid others to do things I could have done myself. Wish I had known it was even possible to do those things myself... Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming anyone. Getting that oil change is one of my fondest childhood memories. It involves an old-school Pepsi machine at that Sunoco station. The kind that had 16 oz. glass bottles... when you yanked on the bottle, if it didn't come out, it would leave little cuts on your hand from the cap tearing at your flesh! Remember that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KUQFc7lcVnk/Tu8458HwAII/AAAAAAAAANc/yGo0lKRKyZQ/s1600/diy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="307" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KUQFc7lcVnk/Tu8458HwAII/AAAAAAAAANc/yGo0lKRKyZQ/s400/diy.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm all for capitalism. I was self employed for six years after having worked in several different advertising agencies in my early career. I did a budget for each project based upon an estimated number of hours at my hourly rate. I never charged for changes (if I made them.) And if it took fewer hours than estimated, it worked out to my advantage. They never complained because I rarely went over budget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yjmuaMWfB_I/Tu85fLpieHI/AAAAAAAAANs/DzyvMFIbBJM/s1600/Drywall-Compound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yjmuaMWfB_I/Tu85fLpieHI/AAAAAAAAANs/DzyvMFIbBJM/s200/Drywall-Compound.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have never minded paying people to do things that needed done, whether I could do them myself or not.&amp;nbsp;Everyone needs to earn a living. I'm happy to pay someone to change the oil in my car or paint my house. Even if it's so I don't have to do it. They should get paid for their work. Seems reasonable to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure why people get so bent out of shape because of big box retailers like Walmart. They buy products cheap and sell them at reasonable prices. They employ two million people internationally, with more than one million of them being in the U.S. I know they have taken a lot of heat for certain business practices... discriminatory practices, etc, but make no mistake, Walmart is here to stay. The retailer we love to hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G4OERKcVJuw/Tu86GddGeEI/AAAAAAAAAN8/nMxf1IJYn6U/s1600/walmart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G4OERKcVJuw/Tu86GddGeEI/AAAAAAAAAN8/nMxf1IJYn6U/s400/walmart.jpeg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"&gt;(After you're finished reading this, &lt;a href="http://www.kitchenandresidentialdesign.com/2011/12/if-you-cant-afford-tip-you-cant-afford.html"&gt;read Paul Anatar's take on Walmart...&lt;/a&gt; Well worth the read, he makes the point beautifully about the downside of Walmart.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking about the statement, "You get what you pay for." I'm not sure that's always true. Sometimes you get more, but more often than not, you get less... right? We look for the best deals on the best products. And where do we go for it? Yup... often times it's Walmart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love supporting local businesses. I have a facebook page that I admin called &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/ILoveDaytonOhio"&gt;I Love Dayton!&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;There are several local coffee houses that I frequent and promote regularly. &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/PressCoffeeBarDYT"&gt;Press&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Ohio-Coffee-Co/119544159721"&gt;The Ohio Coffee Co.&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001764625874"&gt;Ghostlight&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then there's Starbucks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0mtB2mk7jzY/Tu858LEPXqI/AAAAAAAAAN0/pS_adVLl8uc/s1600/starbucks_533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="217" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0mtB2mk7jzY/Tu858LEPXqI/AAAAAAAAAN0/pS_adVLl8uc/s400/starbucks_533.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The evil-corporate-giant-Walmart of coffee houses... That we love to hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every two weeks, the blogosphere comes alive with something called a Blog Off. A Blog Off is an event where bloggers of every stripe weigh in on the same topic on the same day. The topic for this round of the Blog Off is "If you can't afford the tip, you can't afford the meal."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" 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/&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/653.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-4619666653758171998?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/4619666653758171998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/12/its-american-way.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/4619666653758171998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/4619666653758171998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/12/its-american-way.html' title='It&apos;s the American Way...'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fv5CGQlYTHY/Tu84Y78p1bI/AAAAAAAAANM/gc1jR23PqeI/s72-c/bush-obama-5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-7819624398133944782</id><published>2011-12-05T17:29:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T07:21:24.074-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What Wood You Do?</title><content type='html'>One of my favorite things in life is building a fire in my fireplace.&lt;br /&gt;I love the atmosphere it creates and the warmth it provides.&lt;br /&gt;And that smell... You can almost smell it right now, can't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/fireplace/ironmaidens/zaby/Fireplace.gif" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket Image Hosting" border="0" height="240" src="http://i484.photobucket.com/albums/rr202/ironmaidens/zaby/th_Fireplace.gif" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;As I held the log I was about to toss on the fire,&amp;nbsp;I paused...&lt;br /&gt;and began to think about that block of wood.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;When one person sees a tree, they are inspired to paint or&lt;br /&gt;take a picture... or write a poem...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Trees&lt;/b&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;By Joyce Kilmer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xeBhDTtG63g/Tt38GEz4XlI/AAAAAAAAAMo/lr9Qz4R3QNM/s1600/ansel-adams-oak-tree-sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xeBhDTtG63g/Tt38GEz4XlI/AAAAAAAAAMo/lr9Qz4R3QNM/s200/ansel-adams-oak-tree-sunrise.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ansel Adams' Oak Tree Sunrise&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;i&gt;I think that I shall never see&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;A poem lovely as a tree.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;A tree whose hungry mouth&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Is prest a&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;gainst&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;The earth’s sweet flowing breast;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;A tree that looks at God all day,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;And lifts her leafy arms to pray;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;A tree that may in Summer wear&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;A nest of robins in her hair;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Upon whose bosom snow has lain;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Who intimately lives with rain.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Poems are made by fools like me,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;But only God can make a tree.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;... Not me. I'm not that inspired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zfeA8YidQo8/Tt4Dt0ixoRI/AAAAAAAAAMw/JIVFeNRRgI4/s1600/Ugly+Drum+Smoker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="146" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zfeA8YidQo8/Tt4Dt0ixoRI/AAAAAAAAAMw/JIVFeNRRgI4/s200/Ugly+Drum+Smoker.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I use certain types of wood in my Ugly Drum Smoker&amp;nbsp;to add flavor to&amp;nbsp;the meat&amp;nbsp;(mainly hickory and apple wood.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That same tree may provide shelter from a storm or a shady place&lt;br /&gt;to rest on a hot summer's day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depending on the type of tree,&amp;nbsp;we may harvest nuts or fruit from it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another person sees lumber for construction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still another person sees a future sheet of paper,&amp;nbsp;or even a shipment of chop sticks. (Did you know &lt;a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/08/23/georgia-china-2-million-chopsticks_n_872333.html"&gt;two million chop sticks&lt;/a&gt; produced in GEORGIA are shipped to China EVERY DAY!?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LNVKTgqEhS0/Tt4HdZErrkI/AAAAAAAAANA/mqldRY-89ys/s1600/2239154926_8dd2f08492_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LNVKTgqEhS0/Tt4HdZErrkI/AAAAAAAAANA/mqldRY-89ys/s200/2239154926_8dd2f08492_o.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A grampa may carve a train set for their grand child. Another turns a beautiful gavel to indicate when judgment has been rendered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not the most philosophical person you will ever meet. I rarely ponder the log I am about to toss onto my fire.&amp;nbsp;But I did this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I should do more pondering...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8pcCVy9wyEI/Tt4EZv7hPcI/AAAAAAAAAM4/0is4rHJhNgI/s1600/large_gavel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8pcCVy9wyEI/Tt4EZv7hPcI/AAAAAAAAAM4/0is4rHJhNgI/s320/large_gavel.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most recent Let's BlogOff topic... Taking a deeper second lookat what appears to be an everyday common object or occurrence where somethinghappens that makes you look at it in a different light. It could be an object,person or place. Or something entirely different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/640.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-7819624398133944782?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/7819624398133944782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/12/what-wood-you-do.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/7819624398133944782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/7819624398133944782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/12/what-wood-you-do.html' title='What Wood You Do?'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i484.photobucket.com/albums/rr202/ironmaidens/zaby/th_Fireplace.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-7329912331539943144</id><published>2011-11-22T05:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T06:19:35.144-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving  =  Dishes</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Iz91BXbWEI8/Tst8a6cu5wI/AAAAAAAAALY/6e90YDESdvU/s1600/13212745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Iz91BXbWEI8/Tst8a6cu5wI/AAAAAAAAALY/6e90YDESdvU/s320/13212745.jpg" width="250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With ALLLLLL the great memories that I have about Thanksgivings-past... when asked about my most memorable memory, here's what comes to mind...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Gosh, I really, really, REALLY wish that one of my other memorable memories would top THIS ONE!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But they don't... Can't. Never will. Ain't possible. Just the way it is...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When asked about Thanksgivings-past... when asked about my most memorable memory, here's what comes to mind...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aRpQaiWRMow/Tst_PzbLDxI/AAAAAAAAALg/imyuiOMhTdA/s1600/Dirty-dishes-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="263" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aRpQaiWRMow/Tst_PzbLDxI/AAAAAAAAALg/imyuiOMhTdA/s400/Dirty-dishes-1.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember one time when I was a kid, maybe 10 or 11, I was assigned dish duty after the meal on Thanksgiving. I don't recall having done anything so heinous to have deserved THAT level of punishment. Whatever happened to the punishment fitting the crime anyway? I swear to you, it FELT like a life sentence of doing dishes. I'm talkin' old school, dish by dish by dish, a-fork-at-a-time, glass after glass, pan-scrapin' dish-doin'.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-QJC1B1Was/TsuE2MfSy3I/AAAAAAAAAL4/4Jif1CCZMQI/s1600/pile_of_forks_by_amaranthussanctus-d42f48c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-QJC1B1Was/TsuE2MfSy3I/AAAAAAAAAL4/4Jif1CCZMQI/s200/pile_of_forks_by_amaranthussanctus-d42f48c.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You've GOT to be kidding me... right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I kid you not... the dishes kept coming. Stack after stack after stack after glass after glass. And, yes... fork after fork after fork.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You get the idea.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When asked about Thanksgivings-past... when asked about my most memorable memory, THAT'S what comes to mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To this day, when I walk into the kitchen and see dishes (no matter how many) I think of THAT day. (Perhaps it's time to get a little counseling?) I seriously think it affected me. Deeply.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love to cook. I "tidy-up" my messes, rinse things off, stack them ever so neatly next to or in the sink.&amp;nbsp;But honestly, finishing the job is very hard for me, and I think it all has to do with THAT day, lo those many years ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jUKKLalB_0o/TsuEZPUBdRI/AAAAAAAAALw/t8QSSH3HkCo/s1600/ChicagoDinerPie_350x250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="141" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jUKKLalB_0o/TsuEZPUBdRI/AAAAAAAAALw/t8QSSH3HkCo/s200/ChicagoDinerPie_350x250.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could have written about my fondest memories of family coming into town or that life-changing piece of still-warm pumpkin pie smothered in Cool Whip... I could rant about how much I HATE pepper in corn. (Just open the can. Couple slabs of butter and some SALT!) I could go on and on and on about how my step mother ruined my life by putting pepper in the corn EVERY TIME SHE MADE IT. (Side note... I don't mind it now, and it even sort of brings a smile to my face... sort of.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2zdeyCMPa3w/TsuD6y2imHI/AAAAAAAAALo/kzv8tDCqYFs/s1600/cooking-corn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2zdeyCMPa3w/TsuD6y2imHI/AAAAAAAAALo/kzv8tDCqYFs/s320/cooking-corn.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could tell you all about our crazy family... how we could entertain for days on the Jerry Springer show...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1vvYIF2YGc/TsuI-wckrbI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/84IyYjmi5Bk/s1600/jerry+springer+show+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="153" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1vvYIF2YGc/TsuI-wckrbI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/84IyYjmi5Bk/s200/jerry+springer+show+22.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could go person by person, going into great detail about their quirks and oddities, yet somehow, through it all, we came out the other side, still loving each other. And how, now our family dinners include L O N G epic games of Phase 10. I'm talkin' for blood...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oTKxwPFOpm4/TsuG4REhMrI/AAAAAAAAAMA/bPFZyclyQ_g/s1600/Phase-10-anyone--4c9dfee1cc716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oTKxwPFOpm4/TsuG4REhMrI/AAAAAAAAAMA/bPFZyclyQ_g/s200/Phase-10-anyone--4c9dfee1cc716.jpg" width="175" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I could tell you about how last Christmas I completely hosed one of our friends, knowing she was about to go out and how my wife needed ONE card and she could go out and win IF she got that ONE card. I had no idea what it was... but I had a WILD card. And I discarded it for my wife to pick up, play it and go out. I hosed my friend, but my wife loves me now more than ever! lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But no... my most memorable memory is doing the dishes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sigh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Having said all that, here's my recipe for after-Thanksgiving Turkey Noodle Soup. It's MY recipe that developed over years. It's simple... not quick, but not hard. It's VERY tasty and will last you for a few days. Add some good bread, a salad and a piece of that pumpkin pie with Cool Whip on it and you'll thank me later! Simply click on the pic of the recipe and hit print!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WlMtlYj9Ba0/TsuIajbrtcI/AAAAAAAAAMI/zk6OrZurQJ0/s1600/quick-and-easy-chicken-noodle-soup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WlMtlYj9Ba0/TsuIajbrtcI/AAAAAAAAAMI/zk6OrZurQJ0/s200/quick-and-easy-chicken-noodle-soup1.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eaw7cssJSWo/TsuRvyHxj8I/AAAAAAAAAMY/4q239UvMTgk/s1600/Scott%2527s+Turkey+Noodle+Soup+Recipe.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eaw7cssJSWo/TsuRvyHxj8I/AAAAAAAAAMY/4q239UvMTgk/s200/Scott%2527s+Turkey+Noodle+Soup+Recipe.png" width="154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/628.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-7329912331539943144?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/7329912331539943144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-dishes.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/7329912331539943144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/7329912331539943144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-dishes.html' title='Thanksgiving  =  Dishes'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Iz91BXbWEI8/Tst8a6cu5wI/AAAAAAAAALY/6e90YDESdvU/s72-c/13212745.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-6538875119819333405</id><published>2011-11-07T23:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-08T06:47:00.435-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When I grow up...</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;What did I want to be when I grew up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V445wq7px4A/Trim4X6HLpI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OeIzUQyznvc/s1600/Adam2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V445wq7px4A/Trim4X6HLpI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OeIzUQyznvc/s320/Adam2.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V445wq7px4A/Trim4X6HLpI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OeIzUQyznvc/s1600/Adam2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Batman?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to be...&lt;br /&gt;"Robin: The Boy Wonder!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Batman was old and pudgy!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 15 I went on a weekend church retreat. I remember sitting around the campfire late into the night... I asked my youth leader, Dave, (who recently passed away...) "How is God ever going to use me in advertising?" I thought maybe I would work at a Christian magazine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I didn't realize all those years ago is that God just wanted me to be a person of faith, walking out life a step at a time. I worked at several ad agencies over my 15 year advertising career, including six of those years self-employed... as my friend Doug and I were starting "a pretty good church."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sya-A9PmW94/TrindNd6_fI/AAAAAAAAAKw/nj-ZZzVl_9U/s1600/0_StateFarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="190" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sya-A9PmW94/TrindNd6_fI/AAAAAAAAAKw/nj-ZZzVl_9U/s200/0_StateFarm.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I knew as a kid, no matter how much I loved animals, that I couldn't handle the years of college to become a veterinarian. No matter how much I loved baseball, that I didn't have the skills to play professionally, or even college ball for that matter. (But I DID once pitch a two-hitter... when I was 12.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad wanted me to become a State Farm agent... He retired after 43 years in the business. I can remember the day I broke the news to him that I wanted to go to art school. I just KNOW the words&amp;nbsp;"STARVING ARTIST" appeared over my head. And I'm sure he thought I would end up selling velvet Elvis paintings at some abandoned gas station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not an astronaut, not a policeman, not president... An artist? Go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eLgOitYYBZo/TrinLwMGHfI/AAAAAAAAAKo/YDDUog6yJHM/s1600/jesus-elvis-velvet-painting-sm-frame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eLgOitYYBZo/TrinLwMGHfI/AAAAAAAAAKo/YDDUog6yJHM/s400/jesus-elvis-velvet-painting-sm-frame.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;To his credit, he supported me and sent me to one of the best art schools in the country, the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. I graduated and went on to have a fairly successful career. Much to my father's surprise, I'm sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I never stopped viewing myself as "The Boy Wonder!" I just kind of like the idea of being THAT!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I grow up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9xk70Ts90u8/TrintKJS8MI/AAAAAAAAAK4/Zydj6iwWWVc/s1600/robin_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="395" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9xk70Ts90u8/TrintKJS8MI/AAAAAAAAAK4/Zydj6iwWWVc/s400/robin_01.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yvyDTb--cmQ/TrkWn9OxQTI/AAAAAAAAALI/byyZuf0562k/s1600/serie_biff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="297" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yvyDTb--cmQ/TrkWn9OxQTI/AAAAAAAAALI/byyZuf0562k/s400/serie_biff.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/613.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-6538875119819333405?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/6538875119819333405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/11/when-i-grow-up.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/6538875119819333405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/6538875119819333405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/11/when-i-grow-up.html' title='When I grow up...'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V445wq7px4A/Trim4X6HLpI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OeIzUQyznvc/s72-c/Adam2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-2005871360471330892</id><published>2011-10-25T07:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-30T18:44:37.071-04:00</updated><title type='text'>There's No Place Like...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;iframe frameborder="0" height="60" id="lbo_frame" scrolling="no" src="http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html" target="_blank" width="200"&gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;The most recent Let'sBlogOff poses the question, "What makes home&amp;nbsp;home&amp;nbsp;to you?"Is it your family? Your mailman? Your neighbors? Your stuff? Where’s home andwhat makes you feel like you fit?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;I'm sure the posts willencompass a broad range of views and slants!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ADPnuZaHuuQ/TqamtlG95NI/AAAAAAAAAJc/_p0C-hemk50/s1600/a+kutcher+john+deere+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ADPnuZaHuuQ/TqamtlG95NI/AAAAAAAAAJc/_p0C-hemk50/s320/a+kutcher+john+deere+hat.jpg" width="248" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;I have lived inBeavercreek,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;O.H--I.O. for eight years.&amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;In Brookville, OH.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;forseven years&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;before that.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Four years in Tipp City.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Two and a half years inCincinnati.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;A year and a half&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;in my&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;hometown of Eaton, OH.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;A year and a half in NewYork, NY.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Two years in Dayton, OH.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Two years in Pittsburgh,PA.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Eighteen years in Eaton.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;But Dayton is my HOME.Even growing up in Eaton,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;I would say I was from Dayton. I never wanted to beseen as a small town kid. Not that I had anything against Eaton... (Cue thesoundtrack of John Mellancamp's "&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPgxay8p8TQ"&gt;Small Town&lt;/a&gt;.")&amp;nbsp;I especiallydidn't want anyone thinking I was a FARMER! I had plenty of friends who were...and don't get me wrong, I did my time bailing hay and straw as a teenager, andmade good money doing it, but that life wasn't for me.&amp;nbsp;(I lived IN TOWNand my dad sold State Farm Insurance.)&amp;nbsp;Even when Ashton Kutcher madewearing a John Deere hat popular, I doubt my friends from Eaton had any idea.&amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yp5N-mNcCTs/TqalLnTwjDI/AAAAAAAAAJU/fzWgXF2BDo0/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yp5N-mNcCTs/TqalLnTwjDI/AAAAAAAAAJU/fzWgXF2BDo0/s200/11.JPG" width="160" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Remember "&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qf6e6dY1F0E"&gt;It's a Wonderful Life?&lt;/a&gt;" Jimmy Stewart played George Bailey, a small town boy withBIG dreams who wanted to "shake the dust of this crummy little town andSEE THE WORLD!"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;That was me.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Funny thing is though, ourfavorite HOUSE was in Brookville. A brand new two story with a full basement.It had a two-story great room with a fireplace and open staircase to theupstairs, and a full finished basement. We STILL talk about that house. (Just wonderingwhere our kids would consider "home?" Hmmm...)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FiDsLhd8tuA/TqaqEH0dqfI/AAAAAAAAAKE/wMlCSbB90fs/s1600/n579425612_5016528_2200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FiDsLhd8tuA/TqaqEH0dqfI/AAAAAAAAAKE/wMlCSbB90fs/s200/n579425612_5016528_2200.jpg" width="187" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;My family! Bonnie, me,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Samantha, Mat, Zack, Natalie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Brookville, Eaton, TippCity and Beavercreek are all within 30 minutes of Dayton, representing four ofthe seven different counties that immediately surround Dayton.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;I am the administrator(the voice) of a facebook page called "&lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/ILoveDaytonOhio"&gt;I Love Dayton!&lt;/a&gt;" We promoteevents, talk about where to get the &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/PressCoffeeBarDYT"&gt;best coffee&lt;/a&gt; or burger, but the greaterpurpose is to promote non-profits making a difference in our community and tobolster the attitude toward Dayton.&amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JgxvO7gLsjk/TqapLziYngI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/0kyt-7nfV1E/s1600/ohio-county-map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="195" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JgxvO7gLsjk/TqapLziYngI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/0kyt-7nfV1E/s200/ohio-county-map.gif" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Trust me, it ain't easy.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Dayton seems to have aself image problem. Somewhat of a "down in the mouth, we gotta get out ofthis place" kind of attitude. We recently lost our last Fortune 500company (NCR) to Atlanta. We failed to land a retiring space shuttle at the&lt;a href="http://www.nationalmuseum.af.mil/"&gt;National Museum of the United States Air Force&lt;/a&gt;. Declining population and taxbase... loss of most of our automotive industry, higher than average crimerates. Need I go on?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jMA4wcp-k3w/TqanPUEuPjI/AAAAAAAAAJk/Sek867G_8-w/s1600/Dayton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jMA4wcp-k3w/TqanPUEuPjI/AAAAAAAAAJk/Sek867G_8-w/s400/Dayton.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;But I still love Dayton!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;We have the University ofDayton, Wright State University and Sinclair Community College. WrightPatterson Air Force Base employs more than 25,000 AF and civilians. YellowSprings (Young's Dairy!) and John Bryan State Park are just thirty minutes downthe road. Our &lt;a href="http://www.metroparks.org/"&gt;MetroPark system&lt;/a&gt; is fantastic. Downtown, we have the SchusterPerforming Arts Center, Dayton Dragons stadium, and a&amp;nbsp;new RiverScapePavilion! Don't forget the &lt;a href="http://www.oregondistrict.org/"&gt;Oregon Historic District&lt;/a&gt;! I could go on.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QoswS9CO-ds/TqaoHyX2XnI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Ribvwvvd2tY/s1600/Coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="148" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QoswS9CO-ds/TqaoHyX2XnI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Ribvwvvd2tY/s200/Coffee.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;We also have some of thebest indy coffeehouses anywhere!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;I thought to write aboutwhat make a house a home... Taking a deeper look at how "home" shouldbe a safe haven from the hectic and, at times, hurtful world out there. How thetimes spent with family sharing meals, laughing together, even cryingtogether... All the holiday events hosted. All the family get-togethers. Allthe graduations. All the send-offs and welcome home events. All those memoriesmake a house a home.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;But you can have all thoseevents in another town, and it's still not "home," is it?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;Oh, Auntie Em, there's noplace like... Dayton!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GXT4iwUE73k/Tqaom19-RhI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/3b0CwsXP0hQ/s1600/oh-auntie-em-theres-no-place-like-home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GXT4iwUE73k/Tqaom19-RhI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/3b0CwsXP0hQ/s400/oh-auntie-em-theres-no-place-like-home.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;script src="http://letsblogoff.com/tables/608.js"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-2005871360471330892?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/2005871360471330892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/browser-does-not-support-iframes.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2005871360471330892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2005871360471330892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/browser-does-not-support-iframes.html' title='There&apos;s No Place Like...'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ADPnuZaHuuQ/TqamtlG95NI/AAAAAAAAAJc/_p0C-hemk50/s72-c/a+kutcher+john+deere+hat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-2214677340565263567</id><published>2011-10-21T16:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T06:15:16.019-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Engage.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I always liked when Captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;(Star Trek) uttered that word. Of course, that was his way of telling the ensign to implement the latest course he had selected on which they were about to embark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-thmhI3h_JsU/TqHnO2iL3DI/AAAAAAAAAIA/mrZcmwPYuMQ/s1600/jean-luc-picard1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="303" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-thmhI3h_JsU/TqHnO2iL3DI/AAAAAAAAAIA/mrZcmwPYuMQ/s400/jean-luc-picard1.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;What do you mean when you use the term "engage?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;“Community engagement.”That’s the topic that my friends at&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/NewMediaDayton"&gt;@NewMediaDayton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;discussed during the mostrecent #NMDchat session yesterday (as I was on my way to a luncheon at WrightPatterson AFB here in Dayton.) It was suggested by @iChrista that this would bea good topic for me to weigh in on. (Flattered, thank you :) I mentioned in passing that Iwould do that later via blog post. Although I simply answered the questions andposted them to the twitter stream and the appropriate #hashtag (thinking thatwould suffice), @vickioneill followed up with this tweet reply… "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ScottSliver"&gt;@ScottSliver&lt;/a&gt; Thanks for the FYI - will there be a follow upblog post? #justasking #nopressure #nmdchat #justlettingyouknow"&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Not that I have anythingmajorly-blog-worthy to add, but I do know a bit about community engagement.Having co-founded a church 20 years ago, &lt;a href="http://daytonvineyard.com/cms/"&gt;The Vineyard&lt;/a&gt;, a pretty good church, inBeavercreek, a suburb of Dayton, I have learned how to engagepeople. I also am Executive Director of &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/Hope4Dayton"&gt;The Hope Foundation of Greater Dayton&lt;/a&gt;, a member agency of our local &lt;a href="http://www.thefoodbankdayton.org/"&gt;Foodbank&lt;/a&gt;. A mobile food pantry providinggroceries to now, nearly 800 households per month in Greene and Montgomerycounties in Ohio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I guess it’s also worthnoting I spent 15 years working at ad agencies in Dayton, Cincinnati and NewYork City, so the creative marketing mixed with engaging people has always been an interesting mix. Six of those years I was self employed working at my ad agency, TheCreative Approach. (I did a lot of work for Kings Island.)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Church is about the people, andproviding an experience that is tangible. If peoplelike your church, they stay because they find connection... with other people.That takes work, and it doesn’t come easily.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tjiy3_QhpAs/TqI7Qcw6_PI/AAAAAAAAAI4/griAnJEjVyQ/s1600/Vineyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="145" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tjiy3_QhpAs/TqI7Qcw6_PI/AAAAAAAAAI4/griAnJEjVyQ/s200/Vineyard.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;There are all kinds ofpeople that attend our church. All ages. All backgrounds. All coming fromvarious denominations. (Catholic, Baptist, you name it.) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I relate to young and old, rich and poor. I have a lot of friends and I like it that way. I don’t oftenget to spend lots of time with most people, but they get to know me and the details ofmy life. I allow them to connect with me through social media.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I gain supporters and castvision for caring for the poor via The Hope Foundation by posting &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.126717767383251.26737.121170621271299&amp;amp;type=3"&gt;pics&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/HopeFoundationVideos?feature=mhee"&gt;videos&lt;/a&gt;,status updates and information. But I also work hard at engaging people attheir point of need. Where THEY are coming from. At what is important to THEM. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzG2ZX2DH9U/TqI6f90UbrI/AAAAAAAAAIw/tegkuEBpr4k/s1600/Bagging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="235" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzG2ZX2DH9U/TqI6f90UbrI/AAAAAAAAAIw/tegkuEBpr4k/s320/Bagging.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Most people love to telltheir story. I will often ask a person, “So, where did you come from?” or “Tellme about your life?”&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;An acronym that I have usedover the course of my life is F.O.R.M.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;F&lt;/b&gt;amily &lt;b&gt;O&lt;/b&gt;ccupation &lt;b&gt;R&lt;/b&gt;ecreation&lt;b&gt;M&lt;/b&gt;otivation. (If you are forced to carry the conversation...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Once you find out if aperson is married, kids/no kids, what they do for a living, what they do forfun (movies, music, hobbies) ask them this…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;“What turns the crank ofyour heart?” I love to help people find their passion.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;In order to engage thecommunity, one has to care. Sincerely care about others. (Or at LEAST make some effort...) That goes for yourclients as well. You have to get involved in their lives, without being nosy…as much as they allow and you have time for. Lots of caveats!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zsDeoevHshc/TqI5UCRSjyI/AAAAAAAAAIo/uWVyVYb8gZM/s1600/VR3XPU0VOPU4GIYSDXHQOUKLHX0UWIF5M2DLVJS55BU0JON4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zsDeoevHshc/TqI5UCRSjyI/AAAAAAAAAIo/uWVyVYb8gZM/s200/VR3XPU0VOPU4GIYSDXHQOUKLHX0UWIF5M2DLVJS55BU0JON4.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I once checked in onFoursquare at a Subway restaurant. One of my facebook friends replied, “Don’tcare.” I sent them a message asking “Why the snarky reply?” They said they felt it was awaste of time... That I should have better things to do with my time. Theyreally don’t care that I checked in at Subway. Funny thing is, some people maynot care, but they seem to keep track! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I simply said, “I don’texpect that anyone really cares.” Then why did this person take the time totell me that? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hR1otK7iH9s/TqI-8UwcHyI/AAAAAAAAAJA/F5YsxAoYXnw/s1600/Keri+and+Kyle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hR1otK7iH9s/TqI-8UwcHyI/AAAAAAAAAJA/F5YsxAoYXnw/s200/Keri+and+Kyle.jpg" width="195" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Yet, I have also had peoplesay, “I eat and drink my way around Dayton vicariously through you!” (I willoften meet people for a meal or coffee. I have been known to do back to backbreakfasts, lunch, coffee, dinner, etc.) Sometimes I check in all the time,other times I don’t. Just depends.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;But just about every place Ihave ever eaten, I have taken a pic and posted it either on twitter, facebookor Foursquare. Sometimes there’s purpose as in telling someone how good my mealor coffee was. Other times it’s just to kill time and have a little fun. I even do a mobile upload of the bride and groom’s first kiss!(With their permission, of course.) Because I have a unique vantage point. (My niece Keri and her new husband, Kyle!)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;The people who want toengage with you, will. Others never will. Who cares? If I try and engage peopleand they don’t respond or act the slightest bit interested, that’s ok. I knowI’m not going to be besties with every person I meet. But I can CONNECT withthem on THEIR terms.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XJIq6aiSgHo/TqI2pOPijWI/AAAAAAAAAIY/n1_XGFTTrsY/s1600/USAF+ASMC+Luncheon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XJIq6aiSgHo/TqI2pOPijWI/AAAAAAAAAIY/n1_XGFTTrsY/s200/USAF+ASMC+Luncheon.jpg" width="145" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I had an interestingconversation with a one-star General at my luncheon yesterday… about socialmedia and this very topic. I overheard him talking about his son leaving hisjob to do social media for "some company.” I interjected that I am a socialmedia person… I engaged him by telling him I worked with the National Museum ofthe USAF to help bring a retiring space shuttle to Dayton. I had his attention.I told him that as a one-star, social media would “humanize” him. I told him hecould give people a glimpse into his life. I told him that I love to smokemeat. I told him I have an ugly drum smoker and that I post pics and videos ofthe process and the ingredients and finished product. I said that it givespeople a glimpse at my life that that wouldn’t normally get. I include them ifthey want to be included. Again, not that ANYONE really cares… &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;He didn’t buy it. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oOwZ-sO9nlc/TqI3WTvzwpI/AAAAAAAAAIg/euNLLtto4qw/s1600/Scott+Fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oOwZ-sO9nlc/TqI3WTvzwpI/AAAAAAAAAIg/euNLLtto4qw/s200/Scott+Fish.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I said, “If you like tofish, post a pic of you holding your latest catch and see what happens!” I toldhim that conversations that USED to start, “What did you do this weekend?” nowstart, “Hey I saw that fish you caught! Where did you catch it?”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I told him it would allow thelowliest A1C to approach him in a more personal way.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Not sure he really wantsthat. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Ultimately he conceded defeat in thisarena! lol&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vOF9HIOe6Fk/TqI2OFmcMsI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/O0F-plEc6hU/s1600/Happy+Hope+Customer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="147" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vOF9HIOe6Fk/TqI2OFmcMsI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/O0F-plEc6hU/s200/Happy+Hope+Customer.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;With my work with TheHope Foundation, I can’t bore people to tears or flood their stream with yetanother pic of bags of groceries… I try to keep a rhythm to the info but mix upthe content. Mix in “Thank yous!” with touching stories about the number ofpeople we are helping in various communities.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I don’t operate out of“need.” “We NEED TEN volunteers!” I simply provide opportunities for people toget involved as much or as little as they are interested and have time for. Iknow if they come once, they will most likely come again, because they will seefirsthand the impact they had in someone’s life. That simply bagging groceriesfor an hour will touch someone’s life in a very tangible way. Including theirs. Someone’s familywill have food on their table thanks to them.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-23eYzamp9xQ/TqHoWhcymTI/AAAAAAAAAII/X4rwtIeZEoE/s1600/Scott+and+Ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-23eYzamp9xQ/TqHoWhcymTI/AAAAAAAAAII/X4rwtIeZEoE/s200/Scott+and+Ladies.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I know that people arewatching me and my life. Some engage on facebook or twitter only. Others want to see firsthand whatit is that I do. Either way, I am engaging with people at all levels.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I invite you to do the sameand see what happens.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;The question of privacy wasalso raised. I’ll just briefly say this, 99% of my life is out there for thewhole world to see. The other 1% is what I CHOOSE to keep private for variousreasons. For instance, if I attended a political rally of some sort, I may notpost ANYTHING about it. I’m pretty private about such matters. When my granddaughter was born recently, I didn’t post a pic of me holding her for nearlytwo weeks. I didn’t want to steal their thunder. It’s their child before it’s MY grand child. They actually posted the first pic of me holding her… while weboth slept.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;It’s frustrating to my kids(18-24) how “popular” I am on facebook. They think it’s crazy that I can post,“Enjoying a bucket of KFC and a 2 liters of Coke!” and I’ll get 50 likes and 25comments. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;But I have worked at it forseveral years. I was among the first to have a facebook page, much to my kidschagrin. I will be the first to admit this all comes very naturally for me, butit also takes A LOT of work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I welcome your comments andquestions!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Engage!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-2214677340565263567?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/2214677340565263567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/engage.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2214677340565263567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2214677340565263567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/engage.html' title='Engage.'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-thmhI3h_JsU/TqHnO2iL3DI/AAAAAAAAAIA/mrZcmwPYuMQ/s72-c/jean-luc-picard1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-1593178707437749659</id><published>2011-10-10T09:13:00.038-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-10T10:15:32.500-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What's in a Blog?</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe id=lbo_frame src=http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html target=_blank width=200 height=60 frameborder=0 scrolling=no&gt;&lt;p&gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q9VTxpQKDuc/TpLyTY78NAI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ZpRuwX1tc3w/s1600/Blank-Canvas-Outdoor-by-Saniphoto.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q9VTxpQKDuc/TpLyTY78NAI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ZpRuwX1tc3w/s400/Blank-Canvas-Outdoor-by-Saniphoto.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661854096483431426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question has been posed, “Are our topics too specific to one industry? Do you like it when we get esoteric, like the topic from a couple of weeks ago, “Thumbtacks.” Or, should we stick to more practical topics? We could have just run a poll but we thought it might be interesting to throw it out there as a topic instead. So what do you look for in a Blog Off?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the new guy, I’m not really sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Writing about thumbtacks… not hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coming up with my own topic? Now THAT is hard… for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IX6KaEahp34/TpL6cbbJnDI/AAAAAAAAAH8/BxEaOwRdocQ/s1600/Bags%2Bof%2Bhope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IX6KaEahp34/TpL6cbbJnDI/AAAAAAAAAH8/BxEaOwRdocQ/s200/Bags%2Bof%2Bhope.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661863047863049266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My career background is advertising. I made a pretty major career change in the mid 90’s after spending 15 years working at various advertising agencies in Dayton, Cincinnati and New York City.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved the challenge of coming up with an effective marketing campaign. Didn’t matter what the product was. A Willibald MZA3500 (composter/shredder), a Merrill Lynch Cash Management Account or promoting group sales at Kings Island… Tell me the product, the budget, the deadline and turn me loose. I can handle that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A blank canvas… now THAT is a challenge for me. Scary stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1LhHHQ33iRk/TpL210OEuCI/AAAAAAAAAHs/hR51F9dDopg/s1600/Peerless%2BPic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1LhHHQ33iRk/TpL210OEuCI/AAAAAAAAAHs/hR51F9dDopg/s200/Peerless%2BPic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661859085969307682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, life drawing and painting class was where I struggled. Keeping a sketchpad of one-hour-drawings per day? THAT was hard for me. Too broad. But an assignment to illustrate a doorknob? THAT I could handle. (Pun intended. Sorry.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so I never had to illustrate a doorknob, but I did once have to illustrate a Peerless faucet… (See inset photo of said illustration that I dug out of my old portfolio unearthed from my basement.) I LOVED the challenge of airbrushing something and trying to make it look like a photograph. Hearing someone say, “That’s an ILLUSTRATION?” or “You PAINTED THAT?” I really liked that. To take a lame assignment and (try to) turn it into something cool? Oh, yea…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deciding what to draw or paint? Not fun for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pPcx3fZgIVw/TpLz72fP8JI/AAAAAAAAAHc/srXMcoQN3Vc/s1600/ef4244e8330c4279b78553e95f5bd41f_6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pPcx3fZgIVw/TpLz72fP8JI/AAAAAAAAAHc/srXMcoQN3Vc/s200/ef4244e8330c4279b78553e95f5bd41f_6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661855891122548882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see life through the lens of my iPhone. I take pictures of EVERYTHING. (Just ask my wife and kids! It drives them crazy!) My facebook (and a new Instagram account) records my daily life. Appetizers, vision pics for The Hope Foundation, glimpses of my day job and behind-the-scenes look at my home life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m also a musician, but NOT a songwriter (I play a Taylor acoustic guitar.) I am content playing other people’s songs, but have written only a few. Very similar scenario in my world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, for me, I don’t mind weighing in on a topic of which I had no input.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BrmG51GyBuM/TpL3dEy9ZuI/AAAAAAAAAH0/gLBg-9hpoCw/s1600/410ce5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 177px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BrmG51GyBuM/TpL3dEy9ZuI/AAAAAAAAAH0/gLBg-9hpoCw/s200/410ce5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661859760433882850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Potential #letsblogoff topics? Anything is fair game... A current event like, “#occupywallstreet: Revolution or Ridiculous?” “The role of the modern day spider” or “my favorite film, fruit or phrase,” any of those would work for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pick a topic. I’m in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script src=http://letsblogoff.com/tables/601.js&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-1593178707437749659?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/1593178707437749659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/whats-in-blog.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/1593178707437749659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/1593178707437749659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/10/whats-in-blog.html' title='What&apos;s in a Blog?'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q9VTxpQKDuc/TpLyTY78NAI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ZpRuwX1tc3w/s72-c/Blank-Canvas-Outdoor-by-Saniphoto.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-2571440816386726619</id><published>2011-09-26T05:52:00.038-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T13:21:51.243-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bye, Bye Privacy, Bye, Bye</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe id=lbo_frame src=http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html target=_blank width=200 height=60 frameborder=0 scrolling=no&gt;&lt;p&gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mAf03AP8SY/ToByvsHw7CI/AAAAAAAAADY/0P8_JL4mMBc/s1600/Private_sign_do_not_read.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mAf03AP8SY/ToByvsHw7CI/AAAAAAAAADY/0P8_JL4mMBc/s400/Private_sign_do_not_read.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656647295600487458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I live a pretty public life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My day job as a public speaker and leader of a reasonably large non-profit thrust me into the (local) spotlight many years ago. Even before facebook (or MySpace.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v7frXdeiIGk/ToB0ErmqylI/AAAAAAAAADg/x7YhFv7e7Ss/s1600/double_loop.JPEG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 189px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v7frXdeiIGk/ToB0ErmqylI/AAAAAAAAADg/x7YhFv7e7Ss/s200/double_loop.JPEG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656648755750554194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I tweet, check in and post my every move. Well, almost every move. I once had someone tell me they "eat their way vicariously around Dayton through me." Needless to say, I do a lot of meetings in restaurants and coffee shops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twenty years ago, the debate about privacy was very different. Now the world in which we live is post-9/11... the era of twitter and facebook. 750 million facebook users worldwide! 50 million tweets per day! (A while back, I successfully got someone to comment to my facebook wall from ALL SEVEN CONTINENTS in ONE day! Just to see if I could do it...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3wYjT3-tJc/ToB5NaBEJJI/AAAAAAAAAD4/LyFWiC6T5eA/s1600/global_connection.jpg_blog.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3wYjT3-tJc/ToB5NaBEJJI/AAAAAAAAAD4/LyFWiC6T5eA/s200/global_connection.jpg_blog.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656654403206390930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it's how much of our life do we &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;choose&lt;/span&gt; to share with others. And how much of our life do Google and facebook have archived? My iPhone's GPS follows me like a shadow. Good or bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the raid on Osama Bin Laden's compound was live-tweeted by an unsuspecting local IT guy (Sohaib Athar, a.k.a. @ReallyVirtual) noting that a "Helicopter hovering above Abbottabad at 1AM (is a rare event)." and joking, "Go away helicopter - before I take out my giant swatter :-/"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dvcIP4RX2xc/ToB0cqqm_QI/AAAAAAAAADo/t-KIcvHaPBc/s1600/Athar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dvcIP4RX2xc/ToB0cqqm_QI/AAAAAAAAADo/t-KIcvHaPBc/s200/Athar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656649167815507202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for covert ops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actors complain about the paparazzi... rightfully so. No privacy there. Yet many actors chronicle their every move. Their first random thought of the day, what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner, where they went, who they talked to, tweeting pics of themselves along the way. Do I think they deserve their privacy? Certainly. Just because they are in movies that millions of people see, doesn't entitle me to invade their privacy... Does it? Can one have it both ways?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But armed with my iPhone, I am now part of the paparazzi. And so are you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently encountered a famous comedian at a local Starbucks. (He lives in a small town outside of Dayton, Ohio.) My daughter and I watched as two high-school-age girls attempted to take his picture without him noticing. He noticed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he waited for his coffee, he turned to us and said, "I wish they would just ASK me if they could take my picture. I HATE when people do that!" (He then reenacted their attempt at being not-so-discreet.) I responded, "I know... I hate that." (Not sure he got it...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He COULD HAVE said, "Hey, come here! Let's do this right!" He could have pulled out HIS iPhone and taken a pic of himself with them and tweeted, "Ran into a couple of fans at Starbucks! Those are some great smiles right there! Great to meet you!" and given them a thrill. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet I am guessing he just wishes he could simply get from his car, into the shop, get a coffee and get out without having his picture taken. (Or someone blogging about it?) Can't blame him for that. Just because he's famous and I ran into him, does that give me the right to invade his privacy? Did they? Just because he was spotted in public, does that mean he has no right to privacy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iHjs1h_d-sM/ToB6XMQwo-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/uuN9iXei9ec/s1600/oval-office-clinton.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 145px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iHjs1h_d-sM/ToB6XMQwo-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/uuN9iXei9ec/s200/oval-office-clinton.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656655670824444898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The debate of one's "public" life vs. one's "private" life continues post-Clinton-presidency. (What happens in the, ahem... Oval Office stays in the Oval Office?) What about Tiger Woods, John Edwards or Ted Haggard? When their private lives were exposed, it certainly affected their public lives, their ability to lead or earn a living. Not to mention the loss of credibility with their fans, followers or constituents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When someone comes up missing and their computer is checked, there is often a wealth of helpful information. When a terrorist plot is thwarted, the intel gathered can be invaluable. Yet people get up-in-arms about airport security... the high-tech invasion of privacy deemed necessary to ensure our safety. Concern is valid as to what happens to those images, where they are stored, who has access to them. What if they were made public by a disgruntled employee? What if TSA gets hacked?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UXOwuoyH1AI/ToBxMcDrjaI/AAAAAAAAADA/j3bVrNaEz9c/s1600/Airport_Scanning_Machine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UXOwuoyH1AI/ToBxMcDrjaI/AAAAAAAAADA/j3bVrNaEz9c/s400/Airport_Scanning_Machine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656645590481341858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's no debate that we are experiencing a steady loss of rights and privacy. What we choose to put out there vs. what is being gathered about us... THAT is the real crux of the issue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is a timeline of my life really necessary? Can I stop it from happening? Does it matter? Where could that lead?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Privacy is becoming a rare commodity these days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny thing is, I think most of my loss of privacy is my own fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-frmKm-PbPNw/ToBx8SGjn1I/AAAAAAAAADI/9p_jYHZ2oBU/s1600/Scott%2BGPS.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-frmKm-PbPNw/ToBx8SGjn1I/AAAAAAAAADI/9p_jYHZ2oBU/s400/Scott%2BGPS.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656646412442771282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script src=http://letsblogoff.com/tables/587.js&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-2571440816386726619?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/2571440816386726619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/09/bye-bye-privacy-bye-bye.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2571440816386726619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/2571440816386726619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/09/bye-bye-privacy-bye-bye.html' title='Bye, Bye Privacy, Bye, Bye'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mAf03AP8SY/ToByvsHw7CI/AAAAAAAAADY/0P8_JL4mMBc/s72-c/Private_sign_do_not_read.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-762063800284948891.post-3684719450985643685</id><published>2011-09-25T16:53:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T09:59:28.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Thumbtacks?</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe id=lbo_frame src=http://letsblogoff.com/badge.html target=_blank width=200 height=60 frameborder=0 scrolling=no&gt;&lt;p&gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXZtkkp0t68/Tn-TH67vXPI/AAAAAAAAACg/fnkHAegnFJE/s1600/thumbtack.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXZtkkp0t68/Tn-TH67vXPI/AAAAAAAAACg/fnkHAegnFJE/s200/thumbtack.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656401421288824050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;While recently having lunch with my friend dwb, he was telling me about a blogoff in which he was participating. About "thumbtacks." After giving me all the background regarding the topic, my wheels started turning. And they haven't stopped since!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I may be too late, I still had to weigh in. I mean, how could I NOT weigh in on such a compelling topic??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After resisting the urge to simply look down the list of already-posted blog headings about "thumbtacks" (to ensure I wasn't simply revisiting someone else's spin on the subject) I decided to dust of my old, mostly-unused blogspot and start writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My question is... "Why thumbtacks?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, with the advent of the staple gun (sorry, I'm a guy...) why would one ever have the need for a thumbtack anyway? While you can't simply place a staple gun on someone's chair for immediate gratification as you watch them leap back to their feet while yelping (dog reference intentional) I have had my share of fun shooting my (step) brothers with said staple gun. I was the oldest...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my earliest and fondest childhood memories was helping my dad hang election posters on telephone poles all over Preble County, Ohio. (My dad ran for County Commissioner a few times... never having won a race.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I sure loved helping him hang those posters! It was the coolest thing EVER to be able to use a staple gun as a little kid. The feeling of that thing going off as I steadied the poster against a random telephone pole out in the country... Whew... THAT was quite the thrill for me. MUCH more exciting that watching the corn grow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't get that rush hanging posters with thumbtacks... do ya? Nope!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indulge me for just a second... After reading this next few sentences, follow my instructions closely... Close your eyes and imagine that feeling... the moment when the staple is discharged from the staple gun. Can you hear that sound?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something like, "chuh-CRACK!!" (I'm open to better suggestions, but "chuh-CRACK!!" works for me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even today, while recently constructing a fabric-covered cornice board for my wife, that feeling... that sound, still gives me a little rush. Certainly not like it did when I was 7 or 8, but the rush remains. And the warm, fuzzy feelings and memories of traversing the countryside with my dad. Just me and him... and a staple gun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am I hearing "What a Feeling!" in my head, from the movie Flashdance? (And, yes... I really AM a guy...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I will admit, a staple gun PALES in comparison to firing a 44 magnum (I recently had the opportunity to shoot one at a range with my son.) THAT was a major rush!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when you're 7 a staple gun is the next best thing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't get THAT with a thumbtack!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qKOCBy3UcQw/Tn-TUsFWSfI/AAAAAAAAACo/yhvr9mxmliY/s1600/TR45STAPLE%2BGUN.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 270px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qKOCBy3UcQw/Tn-TUsFWSfI/AAAAAAAAACo/yhvr9mxmliY/s400/TR45STAPLE%2BGUN.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656401640640891378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script src=http://letsblogoff.com/tables/572.js&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/762063800284948891-3684719450985643685?l=scottsliver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/feeds/3684719450985643685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/09/why-thumbtacks.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/3684719450985643685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/762063800284948891/posts/default/3684719450985643685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scottsliver.blogspot.com/2011/09/why-thumbtacks.html' title='Why Thumbtacks?'/><author><name>Scott Thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00565597267813062834</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='30' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WcBLMyMIsDE/Todj3kj0zgI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZHFx4cK9YZA/s220/275572_579425612_5426154_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXZtkkp0t68/Tn-TH67vXPI/AAAAAAAAACg/fnkHAegnFJE/s72-c/thumbtack.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
