I'm Very Busy

I'm supposed to be writing a presentation for a big meeting on Monday. But I can’t focus on that because I’m supposed to be writing an article for a trade publication about how pizza places should buy media for their advertising campaigns (due tomorrow). But I can’t focus on that because I see something shiny. Okay, I’m over the shiny thing but now I’m distracted by all the fun things on and around my home desk.

For example, I have some stickers of a Buddha looking guy professing happiness, faith, harmony, peace, love and wisdom. What a positive little fucker this sticker Buddha man is! And on the back, it says, “The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, nor worry about the future, but to live the present moment wisely and earnestly.” In other words, the Buddha says don’t worry about those future deadlines.

So then I did a few minutes of an old Wall Street Journal crossword, but I don’t know what the signature song is for Johnny Mathis and I think it’s cheating to go to iTunes.

So while I was on iTunes, I was playing some songs my music addicted friend recommended and then hit shuffle and “I Gotta Feeling” from Black Eyed Peas came on and my kids love that song so we had a dance off and I kicked their asses. Literally. I suck at dancing so I decided to pretend that I was accidentally kicking their asses while I was dancing when in reality I was totally doing it on purpose. Since they are only five and seven years old and they still worship the ground I kick-dance on and they totally didn’t know I was messing with them.

And then everybody knows that after a kick-dance-off, you celebrate and reminisce about all the sweet moves over Oreos and milk. Of course we made double-stuffs out of them and dipped the boring non-iced sides deeply in milk so we could clean our fingernails and make a really big mess. At which point my boys wiped their mouths on their shirts yet again and I had to stop everything because I had really exciting news for them. Their eyes got huge and they gasped in wonder with giant disgusting brown cookie teeth smiles. I said, “hold on,” not “hode on” like some people say, and I picked up a pile of napkins that were sitting on the table in front of their chocolaty faces.

“Boys, check this out. This invention is greater than the creation of the iPad, the automobile, the cotton gin and Pillow Pets combined. Ben Franklin has nothing on this baby. This here square of absolute brilliance is called a napkin. Obviously you have no idea what it is or how to use it. You see, when you are messy little boys that like to save food on their face for later, sometimes it is indeed a good idea to wipe away most of it. Your strategy currently is to wipe your face with your own shirt. Besides the Oreos, I see your lunch and is that a Fruit Loop on your sleeve Drew? Watch.”

I proceeded to smear perfectly good Oreo icing all over my cheek. This demonstration immediately backfired as the boys proceeded to smush milk soaked Oreo sludge all over their faces. On the other hand, they got a good canvass to try out this amazing invention, the napkin.

After that, I remembered I was supposed to be working on my shit so I went back to my desk. And I started reading some of the other quotes I have around. “The core of a man’s spirit comes from new experiences.” Amen movie line that I wrote down a long time ago but I can’t remember what movie it was from. “A daily hit of athletic induced endorphins gives you the power to make better decisions, helps you be at peace with yourself and offset stress.” I kind of scratched myself on my Oreo stuffed belly on that one and then saw “With all the world around us, I’m so glad we found us.” Ah yes, me too. Why is “fungus among-gus” running through my mind now? I think J.D. used to say that all the time. I wonder what he is doing.

A few texts and twenty minutes later aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnd, I’m back. Article and presentation. Article and presentation. Heh heh, that little windup robot dancer guy by my year-round Xmas tree sure is funny. Look at him go. Pizza advertising! Look out the window again. Article!! Oh good tune. It really is hard to pat your head and rub your Oreo filled belly at the same time, but if you start off slowly and really focus, it can be done for quite awhile.

Whoaaaaaaaaaaa, haha. Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, haha. Man, I can really lean back on two legs of the chair and catch myself at the last second really well.

How does a guy with big hands and tiny wrists (it’s so weird) stop writing about procrastinating when that will mean he really should get back to that article and presentation despite the Buddha clearly telling him not to worry about it?

Pencil sharpeners are definitely not meant for pens. Accordion style post-it notes are fun. You can pretend you are shuffling a deck of cards and then make a giant streamer. Whistle while you work. Whistle while you uh, whistle whistle whistle.

Okay, seriously! Back to work!! No more distractions!! “No more peanuts and I mean it.” Hah. “Have fun storming the castle.” “Hallo. My name is Indigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Okay okay okay. “As you wish.” Fuck! Back to work.

Heh heh. That Words With Friends on the iPhone sure is fun. I just kicked more ass!! My handle on there is Bretthead if you want to play me.

Right now would be good. Seriously. Free app. Did I mention I’m Bretthead on there? Hey, they even have chat on the game in case you want to talk about the great words I made. I mean I am really busy right now, but I’d play if you want. I know someone that hates when I say Word With Friends. She is odd.

Okay, back to work. Checking Words With Friends now and then to see if anyone new wants to play. Don’t want to leave a brutha hangin’. Even though I’m really busy, it’s all about you. So I’m here for you. The Buddha says let’s play scrabble.

Back to work. (its bretthead).

Things Aren't Always as They Seem

I’ve been hanging out with my best friends a lot lately. There is nothing like doing stuff with the guys. Don’t get me wrong; I love women too. I love them long long time! But no matter how buddy buddy you are with a chick, it’s not the same kind of buddy buddy as it is with the guys. Usually, anyway.

For example, this past weekend while out with the guys, the following things happened (in no particular order):

• Heavy drinking
• Tattoos
• A bikini clad chick gave me her number
• Farting and burping contest
• Sports
• Culture
• Political discussion
• Wild animal taming
• Brawl
• Truth or Dare
• Horror movie

If there were ever to be a sequel to The Hangover, me and my boys ought to be the stars. And by boys, I mean that literally.

Let’s recap. The heavy drinking was diet coke, chai tea, root beer, milk, orange juice, apple juice, water and kool aid. I’m still peeing every hour.

The tattoos are pretty routine fare for us. I didn’t even take pictures this time. I got another skull while Will got a flower and Drew got a dragon spitting flames.

I took the boys up to the condo pool for some night time swimming and soaking in the hot tub before bed. As soon as we got up there, a fifteen year old girl ran over introducing herself and offered up her babysitting services. Her parents were there too and they live in the building. It was nice to talk to them and know I have a good option to free up some of my night time when I have the boys if I want to go out.

My boys are amazed at my ability to burp the alphabet. I was horrified to watch, listen and smell them trying to one-up me by farting the alphabet. They mixed some real ones in with fake ones from the mouth and/or armpit.

We went bowling. The boys used rails. We couldn’t do a beer frame because they aren’t old enough. I don’t think bowling is really a sport, but we had fun seeing who had the silliest form.



We saw a crazy play on the courthouse lawn at the Fall Festival. This freaky looking bird creature was making us trip out. So we left and got some cotton candy.



Remember the car without handicapped tags parking in a handicapped space in my condo garage? Well apparently we only have to care about the disabled in public. And I like how they request any further communication be directed to the property management firm. I thought writing in the dirt on their car hood worked perfectly fine.



My son Drew is the grasshopper whisperer.



We were at a Starbucks when a big brawl broke out on the couch. I was in line and pretended I didn’t know the guys in the fight. Sometimes when I’m at Starbucks, I like to sit back and take pictures rather than get involved (that was for you, Brother John lover). My cover was blown when I had to act like a Dad once the screams started.



After eating lunch on a patio, I taught the boys how to play Truth or Dare. Which really just ended up being a game of Dare. I had to pay homage to a pine tree, say hi to a stranger and walk in and out of a barber shop three times. The boys had to run three circles around a table full of people, give away one Silly Bandz each and skip around the patio saying, “I’m a happy boy, I’m a happy boy!”

After a wild weekend of mayhem and debauchery, it was nice to settle in to a good old fashioned horror movie. We watched Scooby Doo and Scary Island or something like that. My favorite part was when Fred and Daphne’s spirits switched bodies. Fred was in Daphne’s body and got all excited that he could look at and touch himself. Nothing like family cinema!

I know that as a parent, it is important to be a Dad and not necessarily be the boys’ best friend. But I think that might come into play when they are older and causing real trouble. In the meantime, I am relishing the fun and friendship we have. The boys’ are eager to learn, live, laugh and love with me. I know their mom gets this treatment too. Sometimes I never want them to grow up.

No Moral to this Story. In Fact, There is No Story.

As I sat in the condo hot tub last night, I admired the nearly full moon to the south. It was so bright in the clear sky. There was only one star visible near it, probably because of all the light. At first I wondered if it was the North Star. And then I realized the North Star would probably be more north, than south. So I figured it must be Uranus because that is the best planet name ever and who can say Uranus without smirking?

I got an egg bagel thing at Einstein’s today. I also got an iced cookie and a large Diet Coke. Breakfast of Champions indeed. They ask your name when you order and then you shimmy Uranus on over to the cashier to pay. The dude said I get the Brad discount. His name was Brad. He thought my name is Brad because that is what the order taker heard me say when I said Brett. I get that a lot. Brad, Brent, even Bratt. Yes, my sadistic parents decided to name me Bratt. And they got me a t-shirt for my birthday along the lines of “I *heart* NY” but mine said “I *heart* Uranus.”

Apparently my seven year old son is really into the game show Deal or No Deal, hosted by Howie Mandel. My ex was texting me yesterday that he (my son, not Howie) was on the floor watching and screaming, “Take the deal, take the deal!” I will have to record it and watch him freak out. Kids are odd.

Speaking of smirky things such as Uranus, I own a commercial space that is being filled by a cooking school. During build-out, there will be some caulking involved. Somebody needs to go to Home Depot and get caulk. The owner of the cooking school is a woman. I think she should wear an “I *heart* Uranus” t-shirt and then ask a Home Depot guy where she can find good caulk.

I forgot about a great conversation from last night. The discussion was whether you’d rather take one lick of an old man’s balls or one lick of white dog shit. Neither would be pleasant.

I saw Howie Mandel in Las Vegas once. I was having breakfast. Omelet, bacon and wet toast. No iced cookies. But I probably did have Diet Coke. Howie was at a big table of about ten people. He was wearing oversized shorts and a t-shirt. It might have been an “I *heart* Uranus” shirt – I wouldn’t be surprised at all. But I can’t remember. If I would have known, I would have asked Howie for an autograph to give Will.

If Ben Vareen walked into my office right now, I’d have no idea who he was. But one time in Vegas (not band camp), I was at Red Square (a vodka bar in Mandalay Bay) and Ben Vareen walked in. I knew instantly it was him. Only in Vegas. There should be a joke about a Rabbi, Howie Mandel and Ben Vareen walking into a bar. Do Rabbis go to bars? Maybe it can be a blonde joke instead. Or a blonde Rabbi?

If you are expecting all this to tie together, it isn’t going to happen. I just felt like writing down a few things running through my mind.

That SUV is back and parked in a handicapped spot of my condo garage. Since it had been so clean, I couldn’t write any messages. Dust settles fast in Colorado. There is barely enough to write something. I paused by the elevator thinking about what to say when I saw someone had already left a message. It said, “I *heart* you.” I decided not to mess with that karma. Yet. If it’s still there tonight, I might go with “I *heart* parking illegally and Uranus.”

A panhandler was working a corner near my office yesterday. He looked young, in his twenties I bet. He had a buddy with him. It must have been break time because he handed his sign to his buddy and then walked off. I watched him pull a cell phone out of his pocket and make a call. This is more confusing to me than whether to lick an old man’s balls or white dog poop.

There is no good way to wrap this baby up. I could go on forever with random thoughts that I could very loosely link together. So I’ll revert to something I have spoken about and written about before. When telling a boring story that is going nowhere, cut your losses and immediately finish up by saying, “And then I shit in my pants.” Guaranteed laughs.

So; and then I shit in my pants.

Dude, You Party Hard

(dial phone)

Friend: (extremely scratchy and tired voice) Hello.

Me: Hey, you don’t sound so great. How are you?

Friend: Oh. Well, guess where I am?

Me: The morgue? I don’t know.

Friend: In bed.

Me: Isn’t it past 11am there?

Friend: (crackly laugh) Is it? I don’t know for sure. I put heavy blankets over the windows to keep the sunlight out.

Me: That is a great college trick. Interesting that at age 40 you picked it up.

Friend: I know. It’s so dark in here. Oh my god, my head hurts.

Me: (knowing she mostly drinks wine…) Did you do a ton of shots or something? You sound like hell.

Friend: No, but I threw up.

Me: (laughing out loud for realz) What?! I thought you stayed in last night?

Friend: That’s right.

Me: With your girlfriend.

Friend: Yeah, well she drinks a lot.

Me: Wine? (shaking head) Was anyone else there?

Friend: Yes. My daughter and a couple of her friends.

Me: You got hammered in your kitchen drinking wine with your friend while you talked to your twelve year old kid and her pals?

Friend: (big yawning stretch and tentative crackly laugh) Um, yeah, that sounds about right.

Me: And then you threw up.

Friend: I believe you are caught up.

Me: Nice work. I think 21 year old party boys have nothing on you. Who needs a kegger, shots and debauchery when there are a couple bottles of wine in a quiet townhome amongst friends and children?

Friend: I need some Gatorade.

Me: You sound like a teenage boy.

Friend: You sound like a fucking teenage boy!

Me: Ah, you are waking up.

Friend: You are fucking waking up! I can’t find the dog.

Me: What do you mean you can’t find him.

Friend: I don’t know where he is! Oh wait, there he is, on the bed.

Me: Right next to you?

Friend. Yeah. I need some of that Gatorade stuff.

Me: Do your blankets have album covers on them? Pink Floyd? The Doors?

Friend. Shut up.

Me: Party on Garth.

Friend: You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me!

Me: Did your daughter hold your hair for you while you puked?

Friend: No! She didn't know.

Me: Oh good, because that might have hurt your chance to repeat as Mom of the Year.

Friend: Right?

Me: Call me later when wake you up.


NOTE: Unlike most hungover party animals, my friend eventually did get out of bed and actually did a ton of stuff including a brutal workout. So she says anyway.

Park at Your Own Risk **UPDATED IN COMMENTS**

My condo has underground parking. There is a handicap parking space right by the elevator. Periodically, there is an SUV parked there and it doesn’t have any handicapped tags anywhere. I peeked through the window and I don’t think Mr. SUV driver has any disabilities. There is actually tons of parking down there, but I still think its lame for someone to take that spot.

Which is why it pleased me greatly (my favorite new phrase) to see that the SUV is extremely dirty. Perfect for writing messages on the hood with my finger. My first message was simple and to the point.

“Handicapped?”

It lasted a couple days and then I noticed someone had rubbed it out. I was in a hurry, so I left things as is. But then when I came home later that day, it pleased me greatly to see someone else had written something.

“Handi?”

A couple days later the SUV was gone and I didn’t see it again until last night. Luckily the driver is as lazy as me and doesn’t wash his car when it is desperately needed. And when people are using it as a canvass. The second message was also wiped away. So I rectified the situation.

“How are your legs today?”

The SUV was gone this morning. I can’t wait for it to comeback. Especially if my fellow hood graffitist adds to the fun.

Oh, is there an elephant in the room? Are you hoping that the driver is a paraplegic so that me and the other graffitist are assholes? Shame on you to wish someone was in a wheelchair!!! You should be ashamed of yourself and write, “Insensitive bastard” on your own car hood.

Silly Bandz

Silly Bandz are all the rage. My kids have about a hundred each. We just picked up more over the weekend and then made a bunch of trades at Starbucks. Will is a tough cookie. He doesn’t like to give his stuff up. Drew on the other hand is pretty easy. He gets excited and will do just about any one for one trade. I scored some sweet ones from his Rock n Roll set.



My first pack was a Shrek set. Other than one of the Shrek heads, they were difficult to make out the characters. Kind of like the Bugs Bunny set. Road Runner looks like a dildo and Wiley Coyote looks like a giant tooth. But what’s not silly about that?

I picked up the Beach and Sea sets for myself. Can you tell where my mind is at? I needed more to trade my kids plus I keep giving them away. My boys like it when I wear them and they pick out the colors and shapes for me each day. I tend to forget I have them on and have been asked about them in formal meetings and out and about quite often.

My boys didn’t understand why I give them away. I gave them examples. The first time was here at work when one of my employees saw them and didn’t have any yet. I gave her a couple and she was really excited. She went out and bought some of her own at lunch time. A couple weeks later, I had my boys come to the office and trade with her. They thought it was so much fun to wheel and deal with her. At one point I heard her say, “That is a total rip-off!” My boys are tough, man! My employee still talks about her big trading day with my boys. It has been fun for morale.

Another time I was at a bar having small plates with friends. The waitress asked about the Silly Bandz on my arm and was stoked when I gave her all three. I swear our service got way better after that.

I was at a Rockies game with a buddy. Two high school chicks were sitting next to us with their dad and his friend. The girls were jealous of my cool Silly Bandz. I had four of them and ended up letting the girls have them. Their dad bought my buddy and me a beer.

The most recent example is from Sunday. My boys were waiting in the car while I ran into a Noodles & Company to grab takeout. We had just come from the big trading session at Starbucks so I had about twenty bandz on my wrist. The girl taking my order smiled ear to ear and said, “Are those Silly Bandz?”

I said, “Yes. Is it cool for a 43 year old dad to wear them?”

She said, “Totally. It pleases me greatly.”

I thought that was a weird response, but I appreciated the enthusiasm. Normally, I would have given this chick a bunch of Silly Bandz. But since my boys were asking why I keep giving them away, I decided to show them.

I ran to the car and told them about the exchange I had with the Noodles girl. I told them they should come in and give her one Silly Bandz each, just for the heck of it. They both got excited and jumped out of the car. We went back in and waited for the girl to finish with a customer. My boys were shy so I nudged them forward. They walked up holding out Silly Bandz. The girl went nuts. She yelled at one of her co-workers to take the next customer. Then she said she had to get her purse because she had some in there. She came back bummed out that she didn’t have any in her purse after all. She thanked the boys and then gave them a couple coloring books, crayons and a free rice krispee treat. They couldn’t believe they scored a free dessert.

Even cooler than their excitement about scoring free sweets, was that the boys understood the real beauty of the whole thing. They told me now they get it. They get why I give Silly Bandz away all the time – because it makes people happy. And it is fun to make people happy. Bravo kids!!!!

Plus, I have scored good morale at work, great wait service, beer, and a lesson well learned for my kids. Thank you Silly Bandz.

Ohhhhhh, That Could Be the Problem

I signed up to be a Big Brother back in college. It worked out well as I still have my ‘Little Brother’ in my life. He is married with two kids and lives back in the Chicago area. I was reminded of my bro as a friend was telling me a story about her son’s balls. I believe that conversation started shortly after she told me about her dog’s itchy buzzhole. Which may have been a conversation we had after she told me about her biz partner wanting to ask random Mexicans on the streets if they will clean her house. Which may have been a conversation we were having while she was peeing, since she often calls me, well, while she is peeing. She is an interesting person.

My little brother had pain in his nads when he was around nine years old. It turned out that one of his testicles didn’t drop properly as he was growing up. This caused complications and he ended up having one of his family jewels removed. So I did what any big brother would do – I called him One Nut. He didn’t like that very much but I thought it was freaking hilarious, especially when I called to him in crowded public places.

So my friend was telling me about her son’s balls. Apparently this kid spends a lot of time in hospital emergency rooms and has also been known to make regular visits to the school nurse. School has been in session for like a day and he already had to see the nurse. I might have the details wrong and I’m sure I’ll get corrected in the comments, but I think he complained about a tummy ache because who wants to tell the school nurse your balls hurt? Nobody does.

The son told her parents the real issue. I’m not sure how he did it and I will have to find out this detail. Hopefully my friend will have to pee again and will call me soon in which case I will ask her what her son said. I wonder if it was something like, “Mom, my nut-sack hurts.” Anyway, my friend and her allegedly soon to be ex husband (they have been divorcing for a few years now) discussed the malady and whether or not they should see the balls doctor (like an eye doctor, right?), give him an ice pack, tell him to suck it up or what. But then apparently my friend and her ex were talking to other people about their son’s balls and have perhaps stumbled upon the problem.

The kid is eleven years old. My friend’s business partner who is not a doctor but certainly is an expert on balls suggested a situation that every male at some point suffers from – Blue Balls. The poor kid’s tank is probably full! My friend is no idiot. She immediately told the dad to talk to the kid about his balls and how to lighten the load.

The dad did his job and apparently the kid has been behind closed doors quite a bit ever since.

I can’t really laugh about this too much. My boys are 7-1/2 and 5. At some point, I will have to have conversations about Blue Balls with my boys as well.

In the meantime, we can keep our balls talk about baseballs such as while at the Padres games a few weeks ago. This picture just came in the mail and I like it so much I have to share it. The ex and I breed very well.

Men and Women

Men and women are wired differently. I know! Shocking news. Usually if us men would just shut the fuck up and do whatever the women say, things would be alright. But we are stupid jackasses. And sometimes we can’t let things slide. And also, we can’t read minds even though we are supposed to be able to at all times. And we are supposed to perform miracles by being able to answer questions correctly such as:

• Does my butt look fat in these jeans?
• Which outfit do you like better?
• Have I gained weight?
• Which pattern do you like best for the new curtains?
• Did you hear a word I just said?
• Which of my friends do you think is cutest?
• Can we go dancing?

Sometimes those questions are easy to answer. But sometimes the answer needs to change based on the mood of the asker-er-er. I think this might also explain why at mixed parties the men tend to gravitate to each other in the garage or backyard while all the women drink wine in the kitchen. We just don’t want to get asked anything that doesn’t have to do with sports or tits so we go to the backyard or garage where sports and tits talk can flow freely.

At the end of the evening, the women and men will reunite. On the way home the women will have all kinds of juicy tidbits to talk about such as marriage issues, career changes, children’s successes, deaths and illnesses, major transitions, exciting events, horrible news, etc. The women will ask the men what they found out and the men will mutter a little bit about football picks, the nice rack on the waitress at Red Robin and maybe how one of the guys farted so loud in the garage that it echoed.

The perplexed women will say something about spending five hours with so and so and you didn’t even talk about their trip around the world? Or Junior winning the national spelling bee? Or so and so losing his job or somebody else fighting cancer or the Smiths moving to Guam? The men will marvel that Brett Favre is back for yet another year with the Vikings and debate the authenticity of the boobs on half the well endowed women they see.

Us men get criticized for this phenomenon. But is it such a bad thing to be so simple? I mean seriously, take a typical situation and think about how it plays out among women versus among men.

The situation:
Go out for drinks tomorrow night.

Men’s solution:

• Do a group text to five or ten guys that says, “Hey, let’s go to the pub for drinks tomorrow night. I’ll be there by 8p. Invite anybody else. See you then jackasses.”
• Don’t worry about replies. At least one guy will text back that he will be there and most of the others are bound to show up along with some other dudes.
• Seven guys show up and talk about sports and tits.
• Done.

Women’s solution:

• Woman emails best friend about getting a bunch of girls together for drinks tomorrow night.
• Both women realize it is Mary’s birthday next week, Sally got promoted, and Jane just got elected PTA President. Woman calls Mary, Sally and Jane to get something going. Mary isn’t home, Sally has to check with her husband and Jane says that would be great and she will send over a list of people to invite.
• Woman spends two hours creating an evite and sends it to thirty carefully selected gals and specifically not to forty five other women that just don’t mix well.
• Women start responding and suggest having it at someone’s house instead.
• Date gets changed to three weeks later.
• Women throw around different themes for the party. Eventually 80s party is chosen.
• Woman spends $200 on iTunes making 80s playlist.
• Women spend $300 on new outfits that look like they have been around since the 80s.
• Woman sets up a list of apps, shared dishes and desserts to bring to the party with instructions to check off what you will be bringing.
• Some women complain about 80s theme and suggest changing it. Hosts freak out.
• Women all want to know who else will be there.
• Women from book club decide it is a good opportunity to hold a jewelry and sex toy party and rent tables and chairs.
• Word spreads that certain women weren’t invited. Scandal ensues.
• There is a big run on Yellowtail wine at the local liquor store.
• Hosts of party are majorly stressed out.
• Woman cleans house for three hours to get house ready for cleaning service that was called in for special rush job before the party
• Women spend three hours getting ready for big party.
• Women show up and talk about the ones who don’t show up.
• Yellowtail wine runs out fast.
• One woman gets shitfaced.
• House is trashed.
• Done.

Am I right or am I right?

I know everybody isn’t like this, so don’t get all up in my grill saying its clear now why I’m divorced! But am I right or am I right?

Music at Red Rocks

If I were a musician, I’d know I was at the top of my game if I were playing at Red Rocks. As a spectator, I’ve never been to a more amazing place to see a concert than Red Rocks. The venue makes any band great. I have always enjoyed music and particularly seeing live music. But I have never appreciated music as much as I do today.



I have always been an introspective guy (sometimes irritatingly so with all my questions) and have absolutely appreciated anything that helps my mind wander, whether deeply into something of importance, creatively for an idea or just in a relaxing state of being. Examples of moments I get in this mindset are while in the mountains, on a beach, or even while playing basketball.

Every now and then I will abruptly leave the office and go to a canyon or a hiking trail within an hour’s drive so I can escape and just think. Or sometimes not to think, but rather just be. I started listening to more and more music during these moments. Yes, I may have been cheating myself from the music of Mother Nature, but sometimes jamming JET, The Strokes or The Killers while I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff is better than hearing leaves rustle.

Some of the biggest things affecting my life have occurred in the last couple years. Owning an advertising agency during one of the worst (or worst) recessions of all time was a trying experience. Getting divorced was even more difficult. Raising kids during these life altering experiences was both a savior and also worrisome (all I really care about are my boys thriving). Music helped me get through these times. Instead of just listening, I felt it in my soul.

I met someone that felt the same way or even more so about music. She opened my eyes, ears and heart to all kinds of new (to me) music. I’d go to concerts and enjoy them more than I ever had before. I’d hear new music on the radio and end up Shazaming it and buying singles on iTunes. I don’t just hear music anymore. I feel it.

“Music can change the world because it can change people.” – Bono

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” – Berthold Auerbach

Two perfect quotes from one of the greatest musicians of all time and from a poet-author that died in the 1800s. The power of music is timeless.

Combine the power of music with the venue of Red Rocks and in my opinion; who needs a church? I saw John Mayer last night at Red Rocks and honestly went only because the tickets were free and because it was Red Rocks. I think a lot of Mayer’s stuff sounds the same. But he is talented and I do like his mainstream songs that I have heard on the radio. So it was cool.

But the coolest part was feeling the music while in the mountains surrounded by jutting red rocks, sparkling stars in a clear dark sky, and perfect weather. I swayed to the music with thousands of other people. My mind wandered. The music at Red Rocks isn’t just a temporary respite from the pressures of everyday life. Rather it is a reminder that I can do anything. I was standing there half watching the stage and half watching a bright star high over the rocks. I was letting the music and the setting seep through my body and mind. It gave me energy and peace at the same time. (And may I add that I don’t do drugs or smoke anything; so no wisecracks!).

I don’t care whose body is a wonderland. I think life is a wonderland and sometimes it takes music; especially music at Red Rocks, to remind me what is good.