Think TV News Has No Hope? Spend Five And Watch This — You Will Not Be Disappointed

From the Daily Show last night: Proof that Jon Stewart may be the only guy willing to not swallow the “24-hour forgetful pill.”

http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=184086&title=sarah-palin-gender-card

If you could drop everything what would you do? — My challenge to you

Answer this: If you could drop everything, without consequence, and follow one dream, what would it be?

Now think about what is stopping you? The barriers that immediately shut down your idealism. Are they able to be breached? Are they materialistic? Are they family based? Are they rooted in fear?

My dream?

The Six Degrees of Separation Project

The Mission: America needs to remember its beauty – The idealism that has captivated millions to risk death just for a chance to succeed. To jump borders. Leave family. Drive a taxi by day, go to school at night. America needs to hear the stories of idealism beyond Disneyesque packaged prime time. The need to see the faces of struggling entrepreneurs. Stay-at-home mothers. Hourly wageworkers. Wall Street wonders. The project will link together, using the philosophy of six degrees of separation, the everyday fabric of our lives.

Execution: I would start out with one person, and listen to their story. That one person would then be responsible for introducing me to the next individual. I would then listen, learn, and document their story. The individual would then be responsible for introducing the next person. The catch, however, is the person cannot introduce me to a person the previous person knows. I also will need to spend at least one night with the selected individual, so I can accurately portray a sliver of their life.

Deliverables: By meshing my love for storytelling with technology, I will produce a variety of multimedia components: video, written word, photography, podcasting, GPS oriented content to name just a few. The project would be available via a website, and social networking tools.

The Crux: Before embarking I would compile a bucket list of goals: be a guest on the Tonight Show, run a marathon in a major city, help a kid learn how to throw a baseball, learn how to sail, and have dinner with the President. That I wish to complete during the trip.

Barriers: Capital. That’s it.

My Challenge to You: If you feel as though reaching your goal is out of reach, help me reach mine. I will make a promise to fulfill on this. All I need is a little help. This does not necessarily mean just cash, though that will put some gas in my tank. A simple introduction may be more than enough.

What would this take? Honestly, I’m not sure. Startup costs would be roughly 5K to get the appropriate equipment and website built. Then it’s a matter of gas, food, and enough cash so when I stay with a stranger I can cook them dinner, or take their kids out for ice cream. Ideally I would start in Colorado, and work east.

It is also important to note that I am not just asking for a handout to travel without risk to myself. I am willing to put my own capital behind this journey, as well as my personal name and time. Several people noted that “this seems a little strange,” and “I’m not sure what my first impressions are,” which is more than reasonable. I will work on answering these questions in a more detailed post shortly, but for now I wanted to just put the idea out there.

Think you can help? Let me know. If I can raise 20k I will hit the road and follow a life-long dream, which will hopefully change one persons life for the better.

Note: 20K is also equal to 200 folks taking a $100 chance. Broken up, anything is possible.

Please feel free to circulate this post to whomever you like.

If you don’t know me and would like to talk, please feel free to give me a ring at 303.406.1876 or email me directly at timshisler (at) gmail (.com) – I will be more than willing to answer any of your questions.

Curb the Bottle Until Noon and Other Advice for Working at Home

Her advice is sharp: “You can work in your pajamas–If you’re not self-motivated and disciplined, this can be a slippery slope. What’s to stop you from having a beer before noon?”

Humorous: “You can have a conference call in your underwear if you want to and no one is the wiser.”

And wise: “You’re your own boss–there’s no one checking your work, asking you to set goals, giving you raises and feedback, or challenging you to raise the bar, so you’ve got to do all those things for yourself.”

And it all speaks to my current situation: Learning how to work at home, as my own boss, on my own schedule, without the pressure of an on-site manager. So far, so good, but that doesn’t mean I’ve had some problems.

Take last week for instance. My girlfriend got back from Europe late Thursday night and I ended up hanging out with her Friday morning. Or this week when the heat reached 100 degrees and the lack of AC in my bedroom drove me to the local coffee shop where I had trouble hearing folks on the phone. But that isn’t to say it has all been struggles; there have been some good stuff too.

Like the fact I can go to the gym at 2 instead of 6 and miss the rush. Or the fact that I’ve cut about 500 calories of crap out of my daily diet since Backpacker’s infamous black cabinet is no longer in the picture. Or the challenge presented that it’s my responsibility to stay on task, at my desk, working.

Personal friend and fellow work-at-home colleague Dewey Bushaw, gave me some advice:

“Working from home is all about figuring out what works. From how you dress to where you sit, those decisions are made by the one person whose goal is to look out for number one…You.”

Dewey went on to include a list of pros and cons:

Pros:

• Your own personal bathroom.
• Refreshments are just a room away.
• Need to take a nap? No problem.
• Blast your music, listen to a movie, or work in complete silence.

Cons:

• Communication is limited to the digital and analog realm and you might suffer from response delay.
• Office politics, water-cooler chat, and camaraderie are severely diminished.
• Degenerative work environment if you do not get dressed and keep your work place tidy.
• The line between work and relaxation might get blurred and you will not be able to do either separate.

Good points to say the least. But it’s the last one that had me thinking. The line between work and relaxation might get blurred and you will not be able to do either separate. I’m horrible at this. Every time I turn on the computer and scan stories, blogs, twitter feeds, or just play around I’m always working. How can this work for my client? How can I write something like this? Who is this writer? Why can they do this and not me? All thoughts that scream through my head just as fast as the 1’s and 0’s appearing on the computer screen.

“Set boundaries,” professional writer Gina Wagner advised me over dinner. “Set blocks of time for work, and then walk away and get out of the house.” Her husband then chimed in. “You are like me Tim. I go into an office to check my email and emerge three hours later. But you can’t do that. Find a balance and stick to it.”

So maybe that is why I’m blogging more. Now that I don’t have a writing outlet (it was Backpacker the last few months) I need a way to express my feelings and continue writing. The only question is if I can continue to improve my prose without the constant watchful eagle-eye of my past editors.

Delayed: Thoughts while flying

There is a huge billboard overhead that states, “Visionary,” it has a picture of Thomas Edison and a tagline reading, “What it Takes”. I can’t help but wonder which idiot made that call. “You think they could be visionaries themselves and find their planes,” I overhead. Pure Genius.

I had my first security bag check today. I guess I wasn’t too surprised, a MSR camping stove and water filter were in the bottom of my carryon. “Um sir, we need to check your bag,” the lady calmly said. “And you need to be honest with me about what is in there before I go digging. It looks like a bomb, I need to know.”

Sitting down writing this one of the most attractive women I’ve ever seen sat down next to me. She delicately laid down her Gucci purse, daintily crossed her legs, and then muttered under her breath, “Ah men…always looking at me, never saying anything.” I turned to her a few seconds later and said hi. She shot me the look of death. Guess it’s no wonder she is single.

Fast food is plentiful. Burger King, Panda Express, Dominos Pizza just to name a few. But what would happen if say the airlines got smart and served light healthy food? “I feel so fat,” a young teenage girl told her friend while eating a hamburger. “I know what you mean,” her friend noted. “No wonder I always feel like crap when I fly.”

Customer service in an Airport is like telling a puppy he can’t pie on the carpet; possible, but highly unlikely. Case in point: “Excuse me, I see my flight is delayed and there isn’t a scheduled departure time. Any chance you can give me an idea of what I’m looking at?” “If it isn’t on the screen, then I can’t help you.” “So you basically know as much as we do?” “You’re a smart guy.” – Wow, this chick knows how to sell.

Money does buy happiness. Whoever said otherwise has never seen the express lane for “private executive passengers,” when going through security. Poor = long drawn out lines. Rich = bliss.

Slow people suck. Seriously. We’ve all flown since 9/11. The no liquids, laptop out, coat off, shoes in the bin, rules should be obvious by now.

Think you’re in Shape? Move to Boulder, and then kill yourself

Overheard while working out at the YMCA.

Ridiculously ripped dude one: “Hey man do you cyclocross?”

Equally Ripped dude two: “No, just ice climb and ski. Going to Jackson this weekend and Aspen in two weeks.”

“Sweet! But you really should try it. Once the road season ends it ‘s a great way to stay in shape. I just did a sick race in Estes Park.”

“Yea? Hard?”

“You know, typical. 30 miles, snow, same old shit.”

“Well I do need a new bike. Maybe I’ll pick one up. BTW, ever want to ride across Colorado?”

“Did last year, it was too easy.”

When I moved to Boulder I was out of shape. Two months on the road had broken me down. I’d run a marathon, competed in a few triathlons and climbed some 14,000 ft. peaks, but besides that the summer had been fairly uneventful.

Back home (Santa Cruz California,) I was the active one among most of my friends. Saturday mornings would be filled with 40-mile rides, 15-mile runs and marathon lap swims.

I would hit the gym at lunch, climb sporadically and hike twice a month.

And then I moved to Boulder.

The town where if you can’t ride a century, run a marathon and bust out a pitch on a gruesome 5.12 all in the same day, you’re mediocre. Worthless. Pathetic. Plane out of shape.

“Just remember,” several people told me when I first arrived. “There is always someone faster, better and more ballsy out there than you. Once you know that, you will be fine.”

I believed them, but it didn’t sink in at first.

My first two months were a blast. Twenty five thousand feet of elevation gain, over 100 miles hiked, a few hundred miles run and even two climbing sessions. I drank beer, lost weight, ate healthier than ever and found myself happier than I’d been in several years.

But as the newness wears off and I begin to become more of a resident in Boulder, the reality is sinking in.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I might ask a coworker.

“Oh you know, same old stuff. Climb a mountain early Saturday, then attend Dave Matthews before heading out to a friends hut trip which I’ll have to ski into at night. Then Sunday ski back, bang out a freelance piece and relax.”

Damn. And I thought hiking 10 miles was cool.

Overheard at Starbucks – So funny, but oh so wrong

A younger girl at the table next to me talking with her mom explaining why she got in a fight the day before.

“So I was driving a little too fast and wasn’t paying attention and rear-ended this guy. Well he gets out and starts walking towards me. It is then I realize he is a little person. So he looks all pissed, and I figure, dude, it’s not that bad, and he walks right up and gets in my face and says, ‘I’m not happy,’ so then I say, ’so which one are you?’ and then he hit me.”

I almost spit out my drink.

Slingshot problems…

Apparently slingshots are not “appropriate” toys for kids these days. The following conversation took place this Saturday at “Play Safe & Happy,” toy store. (Of course I didn’t realize the name until after asking for help.)

Me: Excuse me, by any chance do you have slingshots?

Cashier: Um, no!

Me: Okay….do you know where I could get one?

Cashier: Well we have a marshmallow shooter

Me: I want it to hurt

Cashier: What is wrong with you?

Me: Old school I guess.

Cashier: Or just not very nice.

Running up a mountain

I love where I work.  

For starters, we have a cabinet in the kitchen with free food.  For an Intern making enough to buy three items from Whole Foods a week, the cabinet means breakfast, lunch and a late afternoon snack.

But that is mundane compared to the real reason I don’t dread going to work everyday.  Instead it’s because for nine hours a day I am surrounded by individuals who know nothing about the word “can’t.”

Monday morning discussions are peppered with tales of mountaineering, epic ski adventures, century bike rides and micro-brew drinking competitions. 

Then, around lunchtime the office clears out and heads into the mountains.  Most bike, some go to the gym, but a handful of us head to Mount Sanitas where we walk, hike, slog, run, sprint and live at 1.2 mph.

We even write a blog about it. 

So far it’s been a long four weeks.  I’m barley being able to get my ass up the mountain, but overtime my ultimate goal of 20 minutes should be in reach.  So if you’re board check out the blog where my co-workers are always writing some new fantastic stuff about our journey up a mountain.

Elevation Profile: 

 

 

Joe/Fire update and a great quote

So the headline might be a bit misleading, but new sources—Myspace and a Text Message—have said that Joe and Erin have not lost their house….We think

This means two things.

1) Joe is the luckiest guy in the world.
2) God answered someone’s prayers.

Thanks for praying.

Ps: Great quote from Backpacker Magazine yesterday.

Five of us are in the office when someone asks, “Does anyone here own a yellow Subaru?”

“Nope, just a red one.”
“I have a silver one!”
“Well I have a green one!”
“Damn…all I got is a Mazda.”

Only in Boulder…

The Gore-Tex Vortex — What Boulder Colorado is really like…

One day I will be able to write like this. Originally published in Outside Magazine a few months ago.

The Gore-Tex Vortex
Think life in America’s favorite outdoor mecca would be dreamy? Careful what you wish for.
By Marc Peruzzi

So you want to move to Boulder, Colorado, the perennial best town in America for (circle one or all depending upon your level of outsideness) roadies, rock jocks, organic consumers, backcountry skiers, mountain bikers, trail runners, ultrarunners, whitewater boaters, alpinists, credit-card environmentalists, New Agers, sellers of waterproof-breathable canine accessories, and those who support prairie dog emancipation at the expense of baseball fields. It’s a great place to live, because everyone looks and thinks exactly like you.*

Except they’re better than you. Get that straight and you’ll fit in. But you’ll matriculate quicker if you come with some attitude. Pose if you must. It’s the best town in America, for Christ’s/Buddha’s/Ganesh’s/Chris Carmichael’s sake. Step up.
But what’s it like to live here? Well, Boulder exudes a unique blend of over-the-top liberalism and extreme fitness. How to describe it . . . If Lance Armstrong and Amy Goodman had a love child, the prodigy would drive his Audi A4 to Boulder, buy a Maverick to decorate the roof rack, and then not ride the $5,000 bike because he didn’t want to encroach upon mountain lion habitat. Are you feeling the zeitgeist? Some more Boulder color might help:

A Buddhist monk moved into our condo complex. Shaved head, full regalia, real deal. He drives a 30-cylinder pickup truck named after a subarctic ecosystem where trees don’t grow and frost lingers.

Two strangers have said the word excelente to me in the past four months.

My barista (Oh, dear Lord, what’s happening to me?) to a fellow barista: “Cuba is, like, this paradise. Nothing has changed since, like, the fifties. They drive these old cars and play this great music.” Me: “Cuba? They put AIDS patients in concentration camps and throw journalists in jail for printing the truth.” Barista: “Uh, yeah, but the people are so happy down there. Who had the tall rice-milk latte?”

Need more telling details? The Dunkin’ Donuts went out of business, but the oxygen bar next door to the gay-and-lesbian bookstore seems to be doing well. The panhandlers on the Pearl Street Mall sport $70 sandals and pull in upwards of 25 bucks an hour. Did anybody mention that the median sale price of a home here is $525,000? That’s $302,000 more than the national figure. The best don’t come cheap. If that’s too pricey for you, maybe you should check out Burlington or Santa Fe. Oh, right: bad sushi.

OK, that’s all lifestyle stuff that comes with living in a town that has a large contingent of soft-palmed check- of-the-month-clubbers. Could just as easily be Marin County. Buy a meditation table, slap a GO VEGAN! sticker on your roof box, and you’ll blend. You’re here for the fitness pursuits anyway.

Except that’s where Boulder gets weird. In most American towns, outdoor-sports aficionados are part of an elite counterculture minority. Mountain bikers and climbers have cachet. Not so in Boulder. Recreating outdoors is the norm here, and it’s in your face. There’s always some horse-toothed mountain-town equivalent of Laird Hamilton ready to kick your athletic pride through the dirt. Remember the 2005 Tour, when T-Mobile kept attacking Discovery, trying to break Lance? That’s what a casual bike ride is like in Boulder. Strangers attack. Old guys with gray beards and steel bikes attack. Reach for a shot of Gu and even your friends attack. And women: Women always attack—they’re the worst.

Even slow guys like me attack. The other day I was reeling in a pro cyclist on a brutal local climb. My heart rate was near its max, but I was feeling good. I was in the zone. Maybe four years of living in Boulder have paid some fitness dividends, I thought.

Then I figured it out: He’s between intervals, and once his heart rate drops below 65 bpm, he’s gone. At least he said “No offense” before he accelerated.

It doesn’t matter what sport you do; you will suffer similar humiliation. Go nordic skiing in North Boulder Park and two Olympians shout “Track!” from a meter back. Climb the Flatirons only to learn that someone once ascended in Rollerblades. Get Maytagged in a hole while paddling Boulder Creek and a World Cup champion slalom kayaker will toss you a rope bag. Running? Not me, not in Boulder. Boulderites run like gazelles. Fancy yourself a mountaineer? The waiters at Sherpa’s have summited Everest. But at least those guys are nice. If Reinhold Messner himself walked into south Boulder’s mountaineering shop to buy a carabiner, the sales staff would give him attitude. It’s enough to make you revolt against the blue sky (300 sunny days a year), pull down the blinds, and watch NASCAR.

I know what you’re thinking. If you don’t like it, why don’t you get the hell out? I’ll tell you why: It’s pretty damn nice here, actually. I just bought a German automobile—gonna chip it. My four-year-old has attended two birthday parties in climbing gyms—little dude will be free-soloing soon. Maybe it’s the endorphin equivalent of a contact high, but I’ve never been in better shape. The sun is shining. The prairie dogs in the infield are chirping. One more round of whitening strips and my choppers will be gleaming. Everything’s, like, most excelente.

* If your teeth are pearly white and your resting heart rate is below 45 bpm.