How I Met Your Bro...

I am a huge fan of the CBS show, How I Met Your Mother. Somehow, it manages to take the tired idea of an ensemble cast of twenty-somethings and make it fresh again. The chemistry between characters is priceless and the writing is...wait for it...are you ready...legendary!

Followers of the show know that Neil Patrick Harris plays the womanizing character named Barney Stinson. In a couple of episodes, he references the code of conduct by which he lives his life: The Bro Code. When Barney recites an article of the Code, it's always good for a laugh. However, in the spirit of all things awesome, Matt Kuhn has released a book entitled The Bro Code that breaks down the history and individual articles of the Code in hilarious detail.

Yesterday, my wife and I each opened up an early Christmas present. You guessed it...she got me The Bro Code! How awesome is this woman? She sees to my very core of geekery and knows what it needs to thrive. I'm a lucky, lucky bastard.

I've had it for one day and have already learned valuable lessons regarding my conduct towards and around bros, dudes, and all other members of society. You'd be amazed how many people do not know the appropriate method of the exploding fist pump!

Anyway, if you're up for a good laugh, check out the show and the book. You won't regret it, except right after you click Buy on the Apple TV and suddenly own all the episodes at great expense.

So...Dori...if you're reading this. Thank you for this awesome gift. It really demonstrates how well you know me and how much you love me. The Bro Code prohibits me from publicly returning the sentiment, but...um...you're okay, I guess.

Identity Crisis

Who am I kidding? I'm a salesman. Computers, software, storage, servers...that's my day to day. My clients recognize my voice and respect my knowledge. I'm their consultant, their adviser, and their account manager. I'm a salesman.

But what am I, really? Over the course of my life, I've been a lot of things. A manager, a mechanic, a soldier, a boss, an employee, a father, a son, and a husband. So, what am I? A salesman? Because that's what I do now? That's how I pay the mortgage. But does that define me? A salesman? I don't know that I can accept that. I need to be something more, if for no other reason than to satisfy my ego.

So, what am I?

In my early teens, I discovered I had a knack for writing things down in an interesting fashion. It started with sappy teenage poetry, with no real focus except that of a couple teenage girls I was trying to impress. And it worked! My writing has been an asset that has always counterbalanced the standard issue geek attributes genetics gave me.

So, what am I? A poet? An author? A salesman?

There's a shoebox in the closet to my right, filled with a couple thousand pages of my writing. My work. But it sits there, collecting dust and waiting to disappear in that house fire no one ever prepares for. My poetry...in a shoebox sitting in a dark closet.

Does that box define me? Thousands of words locked up in irrelevance? An imagination, propelled by the world's inspiration, desperate to create new things, but drowned out by the apathy of real life. Is that me?

Maybe...I suppose that's why this is to be the first in a long list of entries on this blog. I expect that I'll find myself somewhere in the words.