inspiration strikes - a break from the monotony

Friday, May 23, 2003

GAITED COMMUNITY

I've discovered that I can be quite petty. I don't mean this in the Heartbreakers/Traveling Wilburys sort of way, or in the I-like-to-stroke-things sort of way, I mean it in the little quibbling trivialities piss me off sort of way. An example: I'm a fast walker, and as a rule, if you're a slow walker, it's going to be difficult for us to be friends. If I have places to go and you're galumphing about at a snail's pace, I'll be friendly and nice to you, but deep within my brain, a little voice will be shrieking, "GET IT IN GEAR, FRANKENSTEIN! I'M NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER! DO YOU WANT ME TO GET YOUR WALKER? WILL THAT GET US MOVING ANY FASTER?" I suppose my consulting experience has conditioned me to think that there's always some sort of (metaphorical) fire to put out.

Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. Despite the "walker" comment above, my peripatetic angst doesn't apply to the elderly, or the infirm. It doesn't apply to young children (unless they're those bratty kids that sprawl out on the sidewalk in convulsive tantrums when they don't get their way). If you're a particularly entertaining, witty or charming walking companion, the tempo of your gait is of little concern. The rule primarily applies during the week when I tend to be harried and hurried because of work commitments. Conversely, if it's a beautiful sunny day and we're strolling down Newbury street, ogling the summer cleavage sights, the office work inferno can wait and I don't mind a more leisurely pace. I suppose even firemen stop to smell their hoses.
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mattchun 5/23/2003 10:39:00 AM [+] ::
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MASS MARKETING

An observation: The Coors Light "Wingman" commercial (last post on this topic, I promise) is certainly generating a lot of buzz. I think roughly half of the visits to inspirationstrikes over the past week have been from yahoo/google search referrals, with queries such as "junior investment banker," and "so buy her a beer + wingman." What does this mean for Coors Light? Unfortunately, many of the searches are for "Bud Light and wingman," so I'm not sure if the spots are boosting the silver bullet brand. I suppose a rising tide raises all ships but what does a rising tide of beer do? Well, I guess it probably generates a lot of buzz.
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mattchun 5/22/2003 09:18:00 AM [+] ::
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SWINGING INTO SUMMER

Things are beginning to feel more and more like summer around the Hub, and for me the season started last night. I had the pleasure of attending a matchup of one of the greatest rivalries in all of sports: Yankees vs. Red Sox at Fenway Park. Even better, the ticket was free (courtesy of my employer).

In contrast to the near-freezing conditions of my last Sox contest, it was a balmy, beautiful day for a ballgame. I was seated amidst a score of coworkers, and with a burrito in my belly and a beer in my hand, I hunkered down into my bleacher seat, viewing the bout with rapt attention.

It was a back and forth contest - a real thriller - and the Olde Towne Team was able to pull ahead in the late innings. When it appeared that the victory was well in hand, I made the questionable decision of calling up D, a coworker and Yankees fan, who was seated a dozen seats away. In a frightening example of karmic realignment, just as I began to taunt D, Jorge Posada blasted a solo bomb into right field. I quickly hung up the phone, refusing to further test the spirits of sportsmanship.

In the end, the Sox won the game, with closer Brandon-the-brave-Lyon shutting the door by striking out the side in the top of the ninth. Cue the Standells: "I love that dirty water -- Boston you're my home."
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mattchun 5/21/2003 01:31:00 PM [+] ::
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HOW TO ATTRACT MORE TRAFFIC TO YOUR SITE

I've been blogging for about eight months now, and over this period of time, I've had the opportunity to see some of what it takes to build up a base of readers. From what I've seen, written and read, there are two ways to attract readers to one's site:

Method One: Weblogs with high levels of traffic are tended to like fragile gardens. It is only through thoughtful attention and daily care that an audience is cultivated. The posts to these sites are insightful, witty and sometimes evoke strong emotions. The prose that graces such destinations serves as a touchstone to many readers.

Method Two: If you post the lyrics to the Coors Light Wingman song, you're sure to get a ton of hits.
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mattchun 5/20/2003 10:01:00 AM [+] ::
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GOLF

Each year, my family congregates in our hometown to play in a small golf tournament that honors my father and benefits the medical center where he practiced surgery until his death in 1992. The tournament was originally conceived of as a way to bring together the three things that my father loved the most in life: his family, the medical community and the game of golf. This year's "Classic" was held last Saturday.

The Scramble-style tournament has taken place on the third Saturday in May for the past ten years. Given that my hometown is in northern New England the weather can be quite an adventure, though the conditions have been accomodating more often than not. Last year was a notable exception, when the festivities bore witness to wind, rain, snow and hail. In contrast, this year's participants enjoyed the sun and warm breezes of a radiant spring Saturday.

This year, both family (including a herd of nieces and nephews) and friends were in attendance, and a good time was had by all. Though my game was a bit erratic, I still managed to come away with a prize for 'closest to the pin' on one of the most challenging par-3s on the golf course.

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The game of golf, with its unique blend of nature, competition, concentration and grit, lends itself well to the metaphorical and philosophical. My father was the embodiment of this bridge between golf and life. For him, there was always a right way of doing things and he showed me the some of the simplest and yet most meaningful of life's lessons during moments on the course. While walking the fairways on verdant summer afternoons, he effused the virtues of practice and patience. Holding the pin for him on the green, I could see that his dedication to the game of golf mirrored his drive to succeed in all things, even when the spikes came off.

An example: My childhood home was surrounded by a lush, grassy meadow of a backyard and my dad used to practice various shots with his pitching wedge. On one occasion, I returned home to see that he had put a golf ball-sized hole in one of the attic windows! That didn't stop him from practicing (though he switched from the weightier projectiles to lighter wiffle golf balls). The practice paid off, and my father reached the men's league "A-Flight" at our local course and later hit a hole-in-one.

It is because of this that my relationship with the game of golf is delicately intertwined with memories of my father. Standing watch on the tee box, I can still see the fluidity of his swing, the quickness of his turn, the intensity of his gaze and the strength of his drive. Stalking the rough, he's still at my side, imparting his sage teachings and quiet wisdom. Roaming the fairways, I can still feel his steadying hand, guiding my path from tee to green. Eleven years gone, I miss him dearly; but to this day, he's still showing me how to play.
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mattchun 5/19/2003 06:54:00 PM [+] ::
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