The Face

       Remember old clothes catalogues? The models were in horribly contrived poses, with very forced, very inane looking smiles on their faces, usually accompanied by an equally stupid expression of positively boundless joy. All from doing absolutely nothing except wearing the right shirt whilst they operated the new blender.
       When we were kids, my twin brother and I, being very astute, creative, and silly, picked up on this as we perused through mom’s mail. We started mimicking the ridiculousness and came up with what we call “The Face”.
       The Face actually comprises not only the face, but the pose, attitude, and overall absurdity of what we saw in those catalogues. We still do it today, needing no other provocation than one of us saying “The Face”!
       Those moments, then and now, are some of the most cherished moments I have with Mike. We are intimately sharing a common experience. We are in each other’s heads, in each other’s hearts, in those moments. We are truly connected. And we are having so much fun, both playing in the waters of our own silly yet beautiful little world.
       My life wants to be one long string of such intimate, connected, special moments with people I love. Thank you Mike, for creating the model with me.

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Coffee Insult

This incident happened to me a couple of years ago and got lost in my writing shuffle. Just found it. It made me chuckle. I may have even guffawed.

       At my local coffee shop, The Daily Brew in North Falmouth, I ran into somebody. When I say “ran”, I mean that literally. Not physically, but metaphysically. Who I Am ran smack dab into Who He Is. And sparks flew.
       I had biked from my house a few miles away. My attire was not unusual for an early morning bike ride in mid October. Spandex pants. Skin tight Under Armor top. A couple of ear rings. The ear rings might have been what threw him. Or the colors I was brandishing: bright. Maybe it was that I went to the counter and jokingly ordered a vodka martini and he was in a hurry. I don’t know what exactly irked him. I didn’t ask.
       I ordered my large hazelnut. He ordered his large, maximum density, pitch black ultra dark roast. I added cream, sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon to mine. He added nothing. Maybe that’s what did it.
       At the fixins table, as I’m concocting my cup, he’s grabbing a lid and looks aver at me. He scoffs. I didn’t interpret his action as a scoff at first, so, being friendly I just said “How are you?”. He said “What kind of cup of coffee is THAT!”. Although perplexed by the rhetorical question, I didn’t miss a beat and responded “It’s MY kind of cup of coffee. What else would it be?” He chose not to respond to my question and instead continued with his agenda. “It’s lame”, he said, half under his breath.
       Insults tend to raise adrenaline and testosterone levels. The first thing that crossed my primitive reptilian brain was “The gloves are off.” Obviously, I curtailed this primitive knee jerk reaction. I didn’t say or do anything. The Macho Male Ego part of me wanted to punch him. He was to my left, and my right hand was free. That meant that if I had hooked him with my right, I could have telegraphed it and he still never would have seen it coming. He might have been a real tough guy, I don’t know, but I’ve boxed before and I know how to throw a punch. And this one would have been a haymaker. I’m not proud that I momentarily fantasized sucker punching this guy. And these are not the kinds of thoughts that usually roll around my head in the morning.
       My pause was well rewarded, because my next action didn't come from my amygdala. My response to his “It’s lame” comment was “So am I”, and with that I walked away, sporting a fake but very convincing limp.
       I’m not in the habit of pretending that I’m physically challenged. But something in me had to continue this joke. Who the hell insults someone’s coffee? At 7:30 AM no less? I smiled at him as I limped off, dragging my right foot behind me as though my entire leg was completely inert.
       As I turned away, I could tell he was looking at me. I could also tell that his jaw was a little closer to the floor than it was just a moment before. He didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he wanted to. His pride probably got in the way. I sat down, went to work on my computer, and didn’t pay much attention to him as he practically ran out of the coffee shop.
       The rest of my day was almost as much fun.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Snow Ninja

       Snow: Beautiful. Transient. Magic. More fun, as my friend Ron used to say “than a pair of pants full of Jell-O”. I’m not sure I ever completely understood that phrase, but I use it all the time. Because, as with great song lyrics, the words don’t necessarily have to make sense. They just have to pop and sizzle. They have to evoke an image, create an atmosphere, and have some attitude.
       We had an overnight dusting of snow here in Boston a few days ago. Walking to a coffee shop early the next morning, I noticed the cars along Beacon Street that had been parked there overnight and thus acquired a light covering of fluffy snow. There were hundreds of them. After a few minutes of walking and observing, something remarkable happened. My reality changed. I started seeing my world differently. I stopped seeing hundreds of cars covered with snow. And I started seeing hundreds of blank white canvases.
       Canvases aren’t meant to stay blank for long. They beg to be written upon, painted upon, drawn upon. They beg to be transformed. I heard their calling. And I answered.
       So on this morning, a one mile stretch of road in Boston was littered with dozens of cars with the word “KISS” written in snow upon their windshields.
       At face value, this is a silly little story that could end there. But there’s actually more to it. Some of it I’ve already referenced. Some of it is between the lines. Using this story as a metaphor, I challenge you with the questions, “Why live life on the surface? Why not go deeper and get to the juicy meat of existence? Why just chew on the bone when you can suck out all the marrow?”.
       In my story, I mentioned that my whole reality changed. That I suddenly saw the world differently. And not because of anything different on the outside, but strictly because my perspective shifted. When that happened, new actions opened up. New possibilities emerged. New options were created. And all I did was stop seeing cars and start seeing canvases.
       If I can apply this to all of my life, then I can literally transform any situation, any circumstance, any reality, to a different one. To one that serves and empowers me. To one that creates new opportunities and new possibilities.
       This is much easier said than done. And for each of us, certain contexts allow for easier transformation of reality than others. Most people would never think of seeing cars as canvases and then actually write on dozens of them. But for me, that came naturally and easily.  Likewise, some people in business more readily see opportunity when others see disaster or nothing at all. We all have our natural forums where it’s easier for us to shift our perspective and thus create new possibilities. That means we can all learn so much from each other, if we are patient enough. If we are loving enough. If we care enough.
       I often see the world through the heart of an artist. “What can be created that will add beauty and feeling and connection and fun and depth, to the world?” I don’t ask that question consciously, but it’s always running around in my subconscious. That’s why I eventually see the canvases. Because through those canvases I can create something that’s in my heart. In this case, I created fun. I created humor. I created a smile on my face. And I created a good story that has so much more to it than meets the eye.
       I call that a good morning.

From The Icarus Deception:

"Art isn't pretty.

Art isn't painting.

Art isn't something you hang on the wall.

Art is what we do when we're truly alive."

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights reserved.

It's Raining Women's Clothes

Over the past few days, I've come across totally intact articles of women's clothing lying around my neighborhood. There's absolutely no evidence of foul play, as the clothing is in perfect condition.

I would love to know the stories behind these pieces of clothing. I guess I could make stories up and post them as fiction. That's a whole 'nother blog though. Which I very well may undertake, in addition to this one. Food for thought. Actually, clothing for thought.

I don't know what this women's clothing strewn around my 'hood is about, but I'm all for it.

Clint's X's and Big O's (And I'm talking football, not former girlfriends)

        This is my first post in many moons, so I wanted to come back with a bang. A big crazy bang. A big crazy really different bang.
        Every fall, myself and millions of others catch football fever. It’s an affliction that those who don’t catch can never understand. But those of us who have it are thrilled to be infected.
        As a passionate football fan for most of my life, I have a fairly good understanding of the game. What appeals to me most is the strategy involved. Coming up with innovative schemes and plays is a big part of the game. The X’s and O’s, as it’s called.
        I’ve been making up plays since I was a kid. Drawing the X’s and O’s and creating all sorts of chalkboard mayhem. I don’t care how feasible or effective the plays would be in real life, because the juice is in making them up, drawing them, and explaining how they function. Or dysfunction.
        Recently, I’ve been coming up with completely insane plays, delving into their absurdity, and explaining and analyzing them like they do with real NFL plays. It made me laugh enough to want to share them.
       To all you football fans out there who can’t get enough analysis, breakdown, or discussion of football, I present to you an absurdly delicious feast.

SUMMARY: This offensive play is designed to exploit aggressive defenses. Basically, the offense gets turned on it’s head. The line of scrimmage is manned with horrifically undersized special teams players. The huge offensive linemen line up in the wide receiver positions.

DIAGRAM:

BREAKDOWN:

The Offense lines up four undersized special teams players as offensive lineman.  They load the strong side with three offensive lineman, but in receiving positions: two in a tight wide receiver set and one in the slot. One tailback.

STRATEGIC ANALYSIS:

This is an absurd line up. So absurd, that the defense is genuinely shocked. Their focus is immediately drawn to the grossly undersized personnel on the line of scrimmage. When they see who’s defending the quarterback, they positively salivate. Especially an aggressive defense that likes to blitz.

They are also shocked by the three enormous, relatively slow offensive linemen with bad hands in the wide receiver and slot positions. They are hence not concerned in the least with a downfield threat.

An aggressive defense will see only one thing: an opportunity to maim the quarterback.  They call an all out blitz, unable to resist this opportunity to knock the quarterback out of the game. Or the season. Or his career.

The defense is in fact so obsessed with sending the quarterback to the intensive care unit that they don’t even notice the lone tailback.

When the ball is snapped to the quarterback in the shotgun, he lets the pocket collapse just enough to suck the mongrel hoard of blitzing defenders into the backfield to a point of no return. At the last second, he dumps a quick pass to the tailback behind the line of scrimmage, who purposely botches his blitz pick up, but makes it look like he made a mistake, so that any defender suspicious of him forgets about the bozo who blew his assignment .

Ball in hand and picking up speed, the tailback now has three offensive linemen and a tight end in front of him. The only thing between them and six points is a combination of cornerbacks, safeties, and maybe a stray linebacker. Who they should completely flatten on the tailback’s way to the end zone.

PLAY NAME:

Like every play in football, this one needs a manly, obtuse, cryptic name latent with secret code words and cool phrases:

SUICIDE JERRY 32 RIGHT CONVOY ONSLAUGHT

Here’s how the name breaks down:

SUICIDE JERRY: Jerry is the code name for the quarterback. Suicide tells a group of special teams players to line up on the line of scrimmage as offensive linemen and offer minimal resistance to the rush.

32: The number of the tailback who gets the pass from the quarterback.

RIGHT: Tells the team which is the strong side.

CONVOY: Tells the three offensive linemen to line up on the strong side in the two wide receiver and slot positions, and to form a wall with the tight end as they head up field, right ahead of the tailback.

ONSLAUGHT: Instructs the offensive linemen and the tight end to immediately obliterate the first person they contact and then continue downfield, laying waste to any other body foolish enough to get in their way.


©2010 Clint Piatelli. Positively Offensive Amount of Rights Reserved.