I just had another epiphany. I realized why this blog exists, and I how my friend and I have become Visionaries. 

It all goes back to fifth grade. Fifth grade is when the Visionaries met. But people meet people all the time. This was extraordinarily different. 

I don’t necessarily believe in love at first sight. I’m too logical and too analytical for that. Particularly in this instance, because I identify myself as a heterosexual male.

But I do believe in fate. And there are people that you meet that you were just meant to know. For whatever reason. This person was meant to walk through the door when they did. It falls in line with my theory that life is like a quilt, and individual moments, people and events make up the patchwork of the quilt. Without that person; without that particular patch, whether the patch is large or small or seems meaningful or not; your life’s quilt is incomplete. 

I can’t help but feel like my co-Visionary would love that analogy. An important facet of the two of us is that we think similarly, but articulate those feelings differently. He tends to use analogies and speak figuratively about pipes and roads and bricks to divulge his thoughts. I tend to speak in more concrete “this is what’s happening and this is what I think of it” terms. 

It makes for an interesting dynamic when we collaborate on a piece of writing. He comes up with these wonderfully insightful concepts and ideas, and I elaborate on them and flesh them out. The dreamer versus the thinker. I’m at odds with the world because I’m constantly trying to rationalize it, and he’s at odds with the world because he constantly tries to conceptualize it. 

“A Pinch of Salt” is an example of me desperately trying to rationalize and apply concrete logic to an abstract bit of advice he gave me. It’s interesting to note that “A Pinch of Salt” was another collaboration - the second half of it was literally written line-by-line. He would write a line, and I’d write a responding line. Could you tell?

We were introduced to each other by a mutual friend in fifth grade. I remember the first day of school clearly. I was wearing a lime green polo shirt, a matching lime green digital watch, and a pencil case with everything conceivable in it. My pencil case had an assortment of pens, pencils, erasers, White-Out, tape, a mini stapler, pencil tops, etc. It had markers, highlighters, crayons, colored pencils. Everything. I had never given it much thought. I just liked being ready for anything that could happen. 

To this day, I don’t leave my house with my cellphone, watch, wallet, some cash, a pack of gum, lip balm and my keys. I keep a wind breaker in my car in case it rains. 

Not long after meeting me, the future co-Visionary asked me why I had all those things in my pencil case. No one had ever asked me that before. I couldn’t come up with a logical reason. He laughed at me. This is one of the earliest examples of what would become a lifelong habit of second-guessing myself and having self-doubt despite being self-assured. 

Also in fifth grade we had a huge crush on the same girl, as did the mutual friend that introduced us. Naturally, we competed for her affection and we did so by trying to be funnier than the other guy. Our line of reasoning was that the best guy was the funniest guy, and the funniest guy would win her heart. And then we would go on the swings with her. Or something. It would take a few more years for us to iron out what you do with a girl that likes you. I’m still ironing. 

In the midst of all this, I decided to confess my feelings for her to a close friend of hers. I was always the romantic of the group. My self-assurance confirmed to me that she probably liked me, and the best way to find out was to put it all out there. But then, my self-doubt kicked it, and I realized that she might not like me, and that would be embarrassing. To deflect the embarrassment, I decided to also confess the co-Visionary and mutual friend’s feelings about her as well. That way, if she liked me, she liked me. If not, then it’d just be funny. 

The co-Visionary was not amused. 

“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!? WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!”

This set in motion another lifetime habit of mine. I seek his opinion and his approval for everything, much to his chagrin.

At the end, neither of us got the girl. This set in motion another lifetime trend that I find disturbing, but on the whole, not insurmountable. But what we did learn was that we complemented each other. Comically and personally. 

When all is said and done, whatever is said and whatever is done, the two of us will laugh and blog about it. 

And that is the reason why I am a Visionary Visualizing. 

This is a term that I may have just coined right now.

No, it’s not a low-grade pornography film.

But if it does hold some linguistic significance, it is sadly overlooked.

We encounter many women who appear to be assholes - doing asshole things, calling other people assholes, chewing with their mouths open, and licking things that shouldn’t be licked.

When any of these instances take place, we may find ourselves with the urge to call this particular woman a Son of a Bitch.

But she’s not a male. Isn’t a son a male?

Daughter of a Bitch doesn’t flow like Son of a Bitch does, but together, if we raise awareness for this term, it will gain significance in our verbal lingo.

1. Observe everything.

2. Question everything.

Humans are simple creatures, really. You do something well and you get positive reinforcement. So you do it again. I wrote the original one mired in a horrible writing slump. I credit that post with helping me get back on track. Of all the posts that are on this site and all the posts that I’ve made personally, I am approached and complimented about “Productively unproductive” more than any other. 

So without further ado..

Productively Unproductive. The sequel. 

Your direct superior pulls you aside to his office to speak with you. He wants a trustworthy employee to handle a special situation. Clearly, you’re one of the best, if not the best that he has. Entrusted with such sensitive information, you further impress your employer by putting a notation in your smartphone’s notes and calendar. You appear like a diligent worker; a man who takes his job seriously and prioritizes. 

What were you actually doing? You were wondering how flies breathe. You took our your phone to Google it, and learned about insect respiration. You conclude that it must be easier to drown an insect than it is to choke it. Freshly enlightened, you tweet your newfound knowledge. 

Your boss thanks you, tells you that you’ve been doing a great job and sends you on your way. You straighten your tie and head out of the office, greeting customers on your way. You just stole a nice pen from his office and you’d like to put it in your car, so you offer to help an elderly woman unload her shopping cart into her car. You do, and she promises to call the corporate hotline to compliment you. The nice pen makes it to your car and is now sitting in your glove compartment. Today is a good day to be a Visionary. 

What just happened? Fifteen minutes went by and you accomplished everything, and nothing. You had the outward appearance of a shining star of an employee. When, meanwhile, your actions were all motivated by doing everything in your power not to actually do your job. 

This is deplorable behavior. But it is also genius. And this genius behavior is known as being productively unproductive. 

The best productively unproductive employee is a quick thinker, and knows exactly what needs to be done in order to do as little work as possible. They are amateur actors, as touched upon in the original manuscript. 

Did I just refer to something I wrote as a manuscript?

Quite possibly the most important tool in effectively being productively unproductive is your ability to act. Act like you care about the future of your company. Make the right faces when talking to a supervisor. A good expression for a serious talk is a look of mild concern. Bosses love when their employees are concerned about things that should not matter to anyone.

The other day, I walked circles around my workplace. For about ten minutes. I accomplished absolutely nothing. How was I able to get away with this? Because I looked like I was doing something important. I was utilizing the Stride of Importance. 

Any person in power anywhere knows how to walk. There a special something in the stride of an important person that tells everyone that he is the dude in charge. Imagine you are a model walking down a runway. Now take the spirit of that and infuse with a soccer mom’s power walk. After a little bit of practice, you’ll be utilizing the Stride of Importance. An invaluable tool. 

It helps to have your hand in your pocket and to have keys jingling somewhere on your person. A carrier of keys is the carrier of solutions. When walking in this manner, it looks as though you are on a mission. And if you’re on a mission at work, then you’re working. Right?

Well, there you have it. Your second lesson in being productively unproductive. 

I just want to get something straight here. 

Having a Facebook account or a Twitter (though I’ve noticed that it’s more prevalent on Facebook) does not make you responsible for the day’s weather report. 

I am more than willing to tell anyone that I’m crazy. I’m a head case. But despite all of this, I am more than capable of looking outside, seeing white flakes falling and determining that it’s snow. Or dander. But more than likely snow. Like a good 78% chance. 

I don’t need everyone on Facebook to let me know that it’s snowing. In general, the weather is pretty apparent. All you need to know the weather is a window. 

The other day #heatwave was trending on Twitter. This irks me, not because I dislike the term heat wave. Not even because I hate hash tagged words (though that’s true). It irks me because Twitter, which I have developed a profound affinity for over the last week and change, was being flooded with people discussing how hot is it. 

The weather is the pinnacle of useless small talk. How often have you had interesting conversations IN PERSON about the weather? Now compare that with how many times you’ve resorted to speaking about the weather when you have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING else to talk about with someone. 

Why are we using social media to make statuses and 140 character tweets about something as painfully obvious to anyone not living under a rock as the weather?Even people small and paranoid enough to live under rocks can tell if it’s hot or cold. 

And here’s the real kicker. No one predicts the weather. I honestly have never seen a tweet or a status telling me what the weather will be like tomorrow. Now that would be sort of useful. Sort of. More useful, at any rate, than just telling me what I can find out simply by existing in a conscious state. 

Ramen Noodles are the pinnacle of satisfaction for late night hunger cries, writer’s block, and sodium withdrawals. 

As a college student, I’ve eaten everyone’s combined share of Ramen. It’s nothing to be ashamed of - it’s cheap, it fills you up, and it tastes.

But when do you know when your 1071st bowl of Ramen should be your last?

Here is what I like to call the Ramen Regimen Termination Checklist:

1. Does your Ramen taste like cardboard?

2. Is the chicken flavor packet really even necessary anymore?

7. Could you have thought of reasons 3-7 on your own?

8. Did you stop cooking your Ramen in boiling water on the stove only to resort to heating it in the small radiation box?

9. Do you cough while eating it?

10. Have any rashes appeared on your body?

11. Can you taste a difference between Top Ramen and Instant Lunch?

12. Are you uncomfortable when the words “Instant” and “Lunch” are in the same sentence? 

http://www.tubechop.com/watch/173477

I saw this this morning and thought I’d share it with two other Visionaries I know.

I experienced sleep paralysis today.

Both Visionaries decided to do our high school band director a favor by performing with them during their graduation ceremony. A small favor, right?

Until last night, we both overlooked one very important aspect of doing this favor. Band rehearsal is a first period class. It starts at 7:15am. The last time either of us had to be anywhere at 7:15am was the last time we were high school students. 

I planned on waking up at 6:30am. I have not seen 6:30am in months. At least not for more for a few seconds while I roll over to fall back asleep. 5am to 7am are unknown to me. I have stayed up until around 5, and I have woken up around 7. But in between those hours, I have no idea what happens in the world. For all I know, everyone could turn into fiddle playing crickets that specialize in bluegrass music at 6am every morning. 

I set my alarm for 6:30am, and had an agreement with the other Visionary that when I woke up I was to call him repeatedly and with increasing urgency and intensity until he answered. I don’t know how to make a phone call urgent. But I was instructed to try. 

At 6:15am, I was in a dead sleep. A hair separated my level of consciousness from a coma. I probably wasn’t breathing. 

I was awoken by a text message. For whatever reason, the purring of my vibrating phone penetrated deep into my slumbering mind and caused a severe amount of panic. 

A sleeping person that is scared shitless wants to wake up. They actually want to wake up, scream and fire a gun. Firing a gun would release all of the tension and psychological trauma that resulted from being jarred awake. This is why I agree in principle with sleeping with a gun under your pillow. 

But where was I? Oh, yes, my phone scared me, so it woke me up. However, for some bizarre reason, I could not wake up. The following occurrences are extremely hard to describe. But I will try my best. 

I opened my eyes (or at least one of them). I could see and I could partially hear. The dream I was having about eating coconut cream pie with Katy Perry was slowly dissolving away as I regained consciousness. I experienced my first semi-coherent thought of the day:

“Something just made a noise and I’m scared. I have to wake up to find the noise, or I’m going to die. Katy, I hate sunflowers. Please put the banjo away.”

It was semi-coherent. But the basic idea that I needed/wanted to wake up was there. But I could not. I couldn’t move at all. Not a muscle in my body. I was stuck. I tried to move my arm and it would not move. So naturally, I panicked more. Here’s my second semi-lucid thought of the day:

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD! It’s actually happening. I’m having a stroke. I woke up in the middle of myself having a stroke. Forget it. I’ll just go back to sleep and worry about the damage done to my central nervous system later. Damn it. I hope I can still tweet.”

This went on for another few seconds before my phone vibrated again. I got an email from the Gap. That vibration was enough to drag me out of that final stubborn stage of sleep and into full consciousness. 

The text message was from the other Visionary. It read: “Im awake.”

There are millions of smokers on this planet.You go to the grocery store…  see somebody smoking before walking inside.
You’re waiting on line at Starbucks, and you smell someone’s Preique flavored breath over your shoulder. 

After exposing myself to”smoker culture” (I will write a piece on that one day) my countless observations have lead me to the ability to pinpoint and classify the many different types of smokers:

1. Chronic spitters - It may seem this type of smoker has an overly productive salivary gland. Instead, they secretly skeeve out when smoke enters their mouth. So they feel better by spitting up a baby elephant.

2. Confused Cigarette/Cigar Smokers - Smokers who “puff” on their cigarettes. Don’t mistake these people for “I smoke but don’t inhale” smokers. They are a totally different category. See #4 for more information.

3. “I smoke but don’t inhale” Smokers - This mess of individuals try to play it safe around other non-smokers. Of course, they change their habits once they’re around real smokers. Could it be multiple personality disorder?  Could it be a side effect of closet-smoker syndrome? See #7 for more information.

4. Alcohol induced “social” smokers - It is extremely easy to find these types of smokers. They spend more time outside of the bar than inside. If you sense you’re around an “only when I drink” smoker, ask them to bum a cigarette. If they refuse hastily, they are probably Jewish.

5. Cigarette bumming smokers. “Hey - mind if I bum a cigarette?”
Since you used that goddamn word, no. You cannot “bum” one. You are not what I consider a bum. If you would have kindly asked, “May I have a cigarette?” I would have said, “Sure!” But since you use a term that seems more socially acceptable, you’ve made an effort to impress me with your culturally relevant lingo. That pisses me off. Don’t make an effort. Just ask normally.

That aside, these smokers are probably Jewish as well. They probably have a lot of money and smokes but don’t feel like reaching into their pockets and grabbing any of the two. Or they’re closet smokers with MPD, alcoholic social smokers, etc.

6. “Strictly American Spirit” smokers - These smokers claim not to be ordinary smokers. Because what they’re smoking… is not a cigarette? That’s bullshit. Of course it’s a cigarette. Don’t think your hipster self is cooler than me because I don’t smoke bright-colored classy tobacco.

“Well, there’s less additives.”

Cool. Because I certainly participate in the fewer-additive contest.

And don’t try to say that these cigarettes are healthy for you. It’s a cigarette. And you’re smoking it. So that makes you a cigarette smoker.

7. Insecure closet smokers - Smokers who hate to admit that they smoke. They feel self-conscious, and like they will destroy their carefully polished ego in front of anyone who is against smoking. So typically, when they’re seen with a cigarette, they like to claim they smoke, but don’t inhale.

I like to associate these smokers with my mother.
My mother doesn’t smoke. But she drives.
Yes, they have nothing in common.

 Yet.

See, my mother drives very fast. When I question my mother about why she speeds down one-lane roads, she tells me,

“Son, you don’t get it. I drive fast, BUT I’M CAUTIOUS.”

As opposed to what? How does that make you a safer driver? And what qualifies you to be cautious?  How do I quantify your safe-driving?

“Well, as opposed to YOUR FATHER, (wow, didn’t see that coming) yes, he is a very SLOW driver. But he is not cautious.”

So if you can see where I’m going with this, you can probably see the relation I am trying to point out. 

Being a fast but cautious driver is the same as being a smoker who doesn’t inhale.

Go figure.

8. Determined smoke-trick smokers.

You’ve smoked with a friend who’s persistent top-priority is to entertain you with the capability of their mouth. 

“HEY WATCH ME BLOW SMOKE RINGS!!1!”

“I CAN FRENCH INHALE CAN YOU CAN YOU ?”