- Powerogre -

Long Walk

Josh Allen — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 14:00:01 +0000

The old truck roared under the strain as it crested the last hill, it’s battered and rusted hull blent into the desolate landscape, just like one more derelict piece of junk left to deteriorate in the windswept plain. In the distance hills rose in a ring around the valley, seemingly within reach, but a full days walk in actuality. As the truck shuttered to a stop, the whistle of the wind came into focus, an overwhelming wail, streaking across the short grass and dried mud. It was cold out as evidenced by the small clumps of scattered snow and the frozen water in tire tracks. He opened the door of the truck, pushing it through several sticking points, the creaking noise being carried off by the wind. His tattered boots and faded jeans did little to block the piercing wind and he shivered a little in spite of himself.

Walking rapidly away from the truck he headed toward the broken wooden shack which stood nearby. There was a time it had been relatively weatherproof, but that time had been long ago, and no one had bothered to keep it in good repair. The grass grew right up to the edge of the building and as he got close he noticed some of it had recently been trampled down. He paused for a long second, his jaw flexing and unflexing, a disturbed look on his face. Whatever inner conflict had caused him to pause quickly passed and he charged towards the broken door of the broken building. Flinging the door aside, he disappeared into the dark hole. A second later he reappeared, carrying a small wooden barrel. Dropping the barrel on the ground he grabbed a nearby rock and bashed it to pieces. Digging through the broken wood he pulled out a long thin metal rod. It was smooth and polished, cleanly cut at each end. It glistened, even in the dull light of the winter morning. Muttering to himself, he jumped to his feet and then froze, coming over the rise in the distance was another truck. It was large and looming, newer than his own, with tinted windows and oversize tires. He paused for only a moment, then turned and started to run as fast as he could. The wind howled past his ears and caused his eyes to tear up till he could barely see which caused him to stumble and trip over the uneven frozen ground. He resisted the urge to look back, but kept up a dead run towards the distant hills. He came upon an old barb wire fence, stopping in order to duck underneath, he stole a glance behind him. No one was there. The new truck was gone and so was his own. He recalled how he had left the door of the truck open and the keys in the ignition. The wind whistled and howled, the grass whipped around his legs, the metal was cold in his hand, it was 30 miles back to the main road. He headed towards the hills.

Smarter, Sexier, Smell Goodier

Josh Allen — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 14:08:39 +0000

Have you ever wanted to be smart, sexy, smell good, and have the ability to read peoples minds? If so, you’ve come to the right place. Don’t worry, you’re the only one who will get this special deal. You will be unique among your friends, elevated among mere mortals. You will have it before it’s popular. A trendsetter, yet still aloof and individualistic. Not mainstream in any way, yet coveted by the mainstream. Not convinced? Check out these other people who have it, they look happy. Look how many friends they have. Do you smell that? They sweat yet still smell like roses, spend money yet still have piles in reserve, drive fast yet never get tickets, drink like an 80’s hair band yet never get hungover. They have it. You want it. Bad. You can’t live without this. You will literally not be happy until it is yours. It’s a small price to pay for eternal and ultimate satisfaction. This will reshape your life, turn your garbage into gold, place a crown upon your head. You will float on clouds, read peoples minds, live a charmed life.

You need this in order to be happy. Trust me.

Back to reality.

The above is my best attempt at mimicking the marketing I (and you) am bombarded with daily, hourly, secondly(sp?). It has made me increasingly cynical, increasingly suspicious, and increasingly sick of the non-stop barrage. Things don’t bring happiness. Is anyone still unaware of this? Michael Jackson had his own theme park and zoo…at his house. Do you think he died happy? The marketers must go to increasing lengths to keep selling us the old lie. Now they have to resort to marketing that does not appear like marketing less we realize they are up to their old tricks. Where does it stop, when does it end? I’ve stopped paying attention to the rampant and blatant product placement in films and television. Is there anything that’s not brought to us by the makers of something? Even fruits and vegetables are branded. Thanks for reading, now I’m going to turn off my MacBook Pro, plug in my iPhone, get my Starbucks coffee ready and hit the road in my Honda filled with gasoline provided by the Shell company and drive to the mall brought to me by American Express to buy some more cheap plastic crap that I don’t need. Just kidding…sort of.

This post brought to you commercial free by Google and Comcast.

Thanks For Thanksgiving

Josh Allen — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 14:00:26 +0000

Once a year comes a day when we are specifically reminded to give thanks (at least in the United States). Hopefully most of you out there are thankful more than once a year, but if that’s all you can manage then it’s better than nothing. I want to take a minute to list in no particular order some things I personally am thankful for.

My beautiful wife
The people who surround me and support me (You know who you are)
Employment that pays the bills while letting me do something I love
Al Gore – for inventing the internet (Actually, that’s a joke)
Modern medicine
Freedom – It wouldn’t be possible without the sacrifice that many have made
Role models – For taking the high road when it wasn’t easy
Bicycles
Choice – The absence of choice is tyranny
Sight (it makes it all possible)
Genuine conversation with another person
Positive people – We wouldn’t have Thanksgiving without them
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream

This list could go on and on and for that I’m thankful.

Thanks.

The Old Man By The Sea

Josh Allen — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 14:00:58 +0000

It was the middle of summer, sometime in July. The three youngish friends had met at the donut shop to wolf down some empty calories and then transitioned down to the beach for some people watching. Leaning against a vehicle they gazed out at the water and talked about the old days, the glory days, the “better from a distance than they actually were” days.

As they relaxed and chatted, an old man approached from the north. He had a purposeful stride and a focused gleam in his eye. His pants were high waisted, his shirt was tightly tucked, his white hair perfectly parted and firmly held in place with some kind of hair spray. As he drew near to the three he let out a cheery “Hello!”. The youngish men replied in turn and continued talking amongst themselves, or at least they tried to for the old man had joined their circle. Gesturing toward some houses in the distance he loudly told the three that he had grown up in one of the houses, that he used to play on the railroad tracks that ran nearby, and that the town was a lot smaller back then. The taller one of the three youngish men politely engaged the old man in conversation, asking questions and uttering exclamations of amazement at appropriate intervals. The other two listened with reserved interest, wondering when the old man might finish his stories and move on. But any interest in his stories only encouraged the old man, and he proceeded to tell his life history, condensed into 20 minutes. He had been in the military (thanks for your service), liked blueberry pancakes, and drove a blue Cadillac XLR with the top down. “Boys” he said, “let me tell you how to become a millionaire like myself. Put everything you can out of every paycheck into your 401k. But be careful, it’s a lot harder to take money from your paycheck and put it into investments than it is to have it automatically deducted from your paycheck. The automatic deductions also get the money put away before your wife starts spending it. I never made more than $25 dollars an hour in my career and now I’m one of those millionaires you hear about on TV. I did it all through compound interest” With that he was gone. Words of wisdom hanging in the air.

The three youngish friends looked at one another with puzzled smiles, amused at what had transpired. While he may have unfairly stereotyped the spending habits of women, there were certainly pearls of wisdom in his tale. As they stood and discussed the old mans advice, a beautiful blue Cadillac XLR whizzed by, top down, perfectly parted white hair not blowing in the wind, but held perfectly in place by some kind of hair spray.

Hair spray not included

You Are The Reason You Fail

Josh Allen — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 13:00:54 +0000

Do you have an idea but doubt anyone will be interested in hearing it? You’re right, they won’t. Are you content with being mediocre at everything you do? That’s good, because you will always be mediocre at everything you do. Are you envious of what others have earned but assume they got what they have because they know how to work “the system”? You’re right, they do know “the system” and you obviously don’t. Congratulations, you are the reason for your failure. You are the one holding you back.

Successful people don’t waste time thinking about reasons why they won’t make it; they spend time thinking how they will make it. Successful people don’t waste time wishing they were more talented; they spend time learning and training themselves so they become talented. Successful people don’t waste time wishing they had what someone else has; they work hard and earn it for themselves.

If has been said before, if you look for a reason not to succeed you will find it, and failure will follow. The unhappiest people in the world are the ones who predicted their own unhappiness because they have no one to blame but themselves. Stay positive, work hard, be successful. That’s all.

Change Is Scary

Josh Allen — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 13:00:09 +0000

Change is a part of life. You change jobs, living situations, cars, cell phone providers, the list goes on. For some, CHANGE is to be avoided at all costs. Change is scary. Who really needs those fancy cell phones anyways, rotary dial phones work just as good, right?

Change happens, and dealing with, and processing it are important. There are 10 words that I like to use to sum up change.

Not this kind of change...

They are…

1. Difficult
2. Scary
3. Forever
4. Sad
5. Necessary
6. Inevitable
7. Unstoppable
8. Commendable
9. Conscious
10. Positive

Change should be embraced. There are negative changes, true, but those can always be changed too. A person who adapts (changes) is a person who can bear any hardship, push through any difficulty. Yet change doesn’t mean giving up on core principles or who you are as a person. Rather, it is the ability to adapt who you are to the changing conditions around you, the ability to process and move forward.

Rather than run from change, meet it head on, use it for your advantage. Change is scary because it’s unknown, but it’s only unknown as long as you choose to keep it that way. Do you like being scared?

Hungry To Work

Josh Allen — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 13:00:42 +0000

The mud on his boots was thick, thick and slimy. His pants were tucked into the tops of his boots at mid-calf, duct-tape sealing the boots to the jeans for the frequent instances when the mud got deeper than the boots got high. The faded denim hung loose around his bony hips and streaks of dirt changed the color to a dull brownish hue. The old t-shirt he had on was equally the worse for wear and was covered by an orange reflective vest, the two bright yellow vertical stripes on the vest clashing with the dull worn look of the rest of his wardrobe. On his head was a rust colored hard-hat covered haphazardly in stickers from the various jobs he had worked over the years. Each sticker a badge of honor, like the campaign ribbons on a soldiers uniform. The hard hat itself was spattered with mud and concrete, a testament of the long hard days it had seen. Under the hard hat was a faded blue bandanna which was wrapped around the sweat band. Out from the back of the hard hat hung a pony tail of brown hair streaked with grey, thin and ratty and held together with a rubber band. The face of the man was guant and craggy, deep lines creasing across his forehead and from the corners of his eyes. Despite his world weary appearance, his demeanor was upbeat and friendly. Approaching the door of the restaurant he stomped his feet a few times to remove the excess mud. At the counter he ordered fish and chips to go, then moved to the side and waited patiently for his lunch to be prepared. It was his second month of consecutive employment after two years with no job and he was hungry, hungry to work. The long days, the deep mud, the uncertainty of the next job, he did not mind. It was all he knew and all he could do. He was happy and a thin smile was on his lips.

The Girl At The Beach

Josh Allen — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 11:00:39 +0000

The girl sat on the beach and gazed out at the horizon, a long blue line stretching from left to right, fading away as it passed the limits of the human eye. In the foreground a few fishing trawlers slowly plied the waters, their nets like giant wings stretched out to either side just like a giant ungainly bird. The waves broke where the water met the sand, sand so fine it looked and felt like sugar, “sugar sand” the locals called it. Up and down the beach people were scattered in small groups, each group trying to maintain their distance from the next, causing new arrivals to hike progressively further to stake out their own plot of sand with enough buffer from the adjacent group. This wasn’t the kind of beach where people went to lay side by side like hot dogs on a grill. The beach was vast, and outside of the highly trafficked areas a few miles up the coast. When the tide was out, the beach seemed as wide as it was long, that is to say – limitless.

The sun baked down on the sand, on the beach, on the waves, on the girl. About 10 yards away from the girl, a small crab popped its head out of a hole it had dug in the sand. It looked warily around, searching for the least sign of danger at which it would dive back down and reappear 5 minutes later only to repeat the cycle once again. The girl didn’t notice the crab, she was now flat on her back with her eyes closed. Next to her was a beach bag with a half empty bottle of water protruding from the top. The bottle was covered in condensation and the label on the bottle had started to peel away as a result. A slight breeze stirred the top of the beach bag, the girl didn’t move. The crab poked it’s head up for the 5th time, the girl didn’t move. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, the girl twitched her toe.

A quarter mile down the beach, two surfers sat straddling their boards in deep water, waiting for the next set. Their feet lazily hanging beneath the water, like tempting morsels for a passing shark. They had been surfing for the past hour, and the current was taking them steadily down the beach until they could barely see the pile of clothes they had left on the beach. They talked about surfing and about the beach and about their mutual friend Brian. Realizing they were thirsty, they paddled back towards shore, half-heartedly attempting to catch some small waves on their way in. Hitting the beach they put their boards under their arms and started walking towards the pile of clothes they had left, the leashes on their boards trailing behind them. As they drew nearer, they could see the girl laying on the beach next to their clothes, almost on top of their clothes. The two girls sped up, their boards banging against their legs as they went. Approaching the other girl, the two surfers hailed her with a greeting to which she slowly raised her head. “Those are our clothes” one of the surfers said. The other girl looked at them for a moment, “Oops” she said, “I thought the owners had drowned”, and with that she lay back and closed her eyes. The two surfers looked at one another, then at the other girl, but the other girl didn’t see them because her eyes were closed. The two surfers grabbed their things and hurriedly pulled them on, and tried to put as much distance between themselves and the other girl as possible. The other girl didn’t move. The crab poked it’s head up for the 10th time.

Garage Sale Diehard: Live Free Or At Least Get It Cheap

Josh Allen — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 11:00:24 +0000

One man’s junk is another’s treasure; I’m sure you’ve heard that before. Well it’s true; believe it. How else can you explain people waking up at 5AM on a Saturday so as to be the first to arrive at the garage sale that starts at 6AM in the next county? Is there really any reason to roust yourself out of bed at such a painful hour in order to have the first shot at someone else’s castoffs? If you are a true garage sale diehard than the answer is YES! Who knows what might be waiting for the first lucky one to arrive. A gently used trampoline that the kids kept falling off of? A working lawn mower that Uncle Bud doesn’t push anymore since his back surgery last spring? A set of snow tires even though this is Arizona? There really is no limit to what might be available (Sasquatch?).

I bought this toupee at a garage sale!

You can spot the garage sale diehards a mile away. They will be driving an old pickup, generally with the tailgate down (or missing) and an old bicycle that they picked up at the sale a block over lying in the back. They will slow at every intersection looking for the telltale signs, “G-Sale this way!”, but to them the sign might as well read “GOLD sale this way!”. They will stop anywhere that people have stuff in the front yard, keep this in mind if you are moving, you might have to shoo people away who have stopped to browse your “sale”. “No Ma’am, the chairs aren’t for sale, they are stacked in the yard because I’m about to load them into this large moving van you see sitting here”.

For the garage sale diehard, no price is low enough, unless its free, then they don’t want it. You can ask $10 for a couch and be sure someone will offer you $5, but put a “Free” sign on the couch and it will sit all day. “I bet someone peed on it, that’s why it’s free…”.

Beware of the garage sale diehard who tells you they will come back later to pick it up, you can be sure it will be sitting where they left it for the next 11 days until Cousin Gerald gets back into town and can come help them move it. It might even be worth creating a special section at your sale where you can move these items, preferably close to where you set the garbage for weekly collection so you don’t have to move it there later. After all, it’s just junk to you, right?

Just Do Nothing

Josh Allen — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 11:00:29 +0000

Jamie realized she had to do something. The man was pointing the gun at her head. It was not an accident she was in this situation, she had known the man was there, in fact a friend had warned her just a few minutes earlier that “the crazy guy” was in the park again. Being impatient, and not wanting to take the long way home, Jamie had cut through the park to save a few minutes. She knew full well that the chances of running into the gun toting lunatic were very good. Now here she was, facing what she had been warned of and considering her options. All the man wanted was everything she had. Everything Jamie had meant everything to her and parting with it was not an option she was willing to consider. But was ignoring the man and continuing on her course a better option? What about reasoning with him in the hopes he would let her go? Jamie had seconds to make a decision, a decision which would have lasting impact upon her life, a decision she might or might not live to regret. But she couldn’t make a choice, she was bogged down in self doubt. Every choice she might make had a consequence, and she didn’t want to have the ownership of that consequence on her shoulders, thus it was easier to let the man make the first move. He might take what he wanted and let her go, kill her and take what he wanted, or take nothing and miraculously let her go. Jamie waited to see what the man would do. He squeezed the trigger.