Games were $30 (THIRTY DOLLARS) and my mother stood in line at Sears for more than one of them. Last Thursday night’s event convinced me of one thing…okay, TWO things:

1) I still love video games.

2) The Wii is dead.

I’ve condensed it into 6 minutes and hope you enjoy.

***Per FCC regulations, I have to disclose that Xbox has not compensated me for the review and information contained in this post. However, I did receive a Flip MinoHD as a gift for attending the event. Thanks to Edelman PR and Xbox for the kind gift! You’ll be powering my video blogging efforts from here on out.

When you’re at a certain place in your business, the 101-level common conference fodder doesn’t cut it. Sometimes the 201 “next step” sessions are even a snore. While we all needed these at one point and I frequently teach them along with several of my colleagues, WE are looking for something to add extraordinary value to our respective businesses.

I was at an all-day conference last week up in Ft. Collins and during the closing session, they had us share our Likes, Improves and Favorites openly with the group. I said that they should price the conference higher, as I felt the information shared throughout the day was worth TEN TIMES the $15 or $25 I’d paid. And then a gal in the audience piped up that she’d paid $30 and that she had to really consider the investment she was making in her business at that price.

So I did The Redhead thing. I said if you have to consider $30 as an “investment-level decision,” then maybe you’re in the wrong business. And if you don’t have $30 to invest in your business, who the hell to you think is going to invest in you? Hey – I’m not saying piss money away willy-nilly, but anyone who considers themselves a business owner needs to stop thinking about the revenue and start thinking about the value.

Revenue will come.

Value is built. Earned. Layered. Instilled.

Value becomes the language you speak and the service you offer. If you don’t understand how to build value, a 101 level “How to Blog for Business” course is just going to leave you with more questions than answers.

Back in March, Shelly Kramer of v3IM told me I was going to SOBCon. Given I’ve been called worse than an SOB in my lifetime, I was still a bit hesitant as it was a “conference.” She asked me to trust her. She introduced me to Liz Strauss via Twitter. I happened upon Terry Starbucker’s blog. These were the organizers. They didn’t suck. FINE! I’ll go, you nag. SOB apparently stood for something like Small Online Business. Sonofa…who knew?

The weekend I spent in Chicago for SOBCon in April of this year was one of the best of my professional life (and it sure as hell beat my first honeymoon by a mile). And now Liz and Terry are bringing SOBCon to Colorado for a 1.25 day event.

I’m not going to try to sell you on the conference. YOU need to decide if you feel the $31 per hour price tag is a reasonable investment for your business. But here’s what you can expect to find when you walk into the room (and I’ll bet it’s different than any other “conference” you’ve attended):

• There’s no one in the room that’s more important than anyone else
• Speakers are designed to spark conversations, not be the Holy Gospel (heck – each panel of two only has 20 minutes!)
• A community of business owners willing to SHARE
• A pleasant lack of poopy penguins trying to shove their business card in your face
• A significant lack of schwag – unless you consider a room full of people who are ready to help YOU move your business forward “schwag.” (For the record, I do.)
• People ready to challenge you to stop screwing around and start clobbering obstacles like it’s a Whack-a-Mole game.

I’m speaking on a panel with John Cushman, CEO of Solany LLC (a Denver-based document management & scanning/consulting firm). There are people from all walks of like and every line of business imaginable. And frankly, I’d love to meet you. I left April’s annual 3-day SOBCon event with the following:

• 3.2 million new contacts I was HAPPY to have in my Twitter stream
• Three people with whom I currently do business
• The understanding of where I want RedheadWriting LLC to go in the next year (and if you come to the conference, I’ll tell you about it – it’s not what you might think <insert Mission: Impossible theme here>)
• Friends. I simply can’t have enough of them. I even met people I’d communicated with for TWO YEARS online in person
• A new understanding of the alphabet thanks to Hank Wasiak (and if you don’t know this man, you should find a way to get that process moving).
• Two guest bloggers who have appeared on Redhead Writing (the no-BS and beautiful Carol Roth and the Apple-addicted Doyle Albee).
• And a boat load of things you’ll have to meet me to discover.

SOBCon isn’t about the “how to.”

It’s about the “how do YOU…”

It’s a dialogue – and I hope you’ll join us on September 17-18 here in Denver (OK – Broomfield, for the Boulder snobs who can’t bring themselves to drive to “Denver!”) It’s time for a business weigh-in.

Such is the way with asshats and defending your honor. I run into the same situation repeatedly, and this week, I’m taking aim.

I spend an inordinate amount of time hanging out and chatting with folks just like me – consultants. Small business owners. The fact that we’re not of epic proportion doesn’t mean we don’t bring value – it just means we foot the bill for our own health insurance. But there are people in my own backyard that ooze their smarm and I’m sick of it.

Check out this dude. According to his LinkedIn profile, he’s been an “expert” on LinkedIn, YouTube and Twitter since 1990.

Ummm…Yeah. Here’s the thing: YouTube was launched in 2005, LinkedIn launched in 2003 and Twitter in 2006.

He’s keyword stuffing, obviously, but it reeks of douche-tastic overtones.

This guy is in my own backyard here in Denver, Colorado. Ew, ew, ew. If you’re going to put yourself out there as a LinkedIn and social media expert, Mike – can I give you a few tips?

• Do your research and don’t establish yourself as an expert in a field before the field or platform…even existed.
• Don’t have a Twitter stream that filled with 90% broadcast-only messaging. Twitter and social media are places for conversations. Or do you charge people for that tasty nugget of knowledge?
• It’s awesome you’ve “figured out” LinkedIn and self-published a book on the subject. After reading your profile, I”m tempted to self-publish a book on the top 10 worst LinkedIn profiles with yours at the top as an example of self-indulgent keyword stuffing in bogus job fields. Fail, my good man. Fail.
• Really – you charge between $1,500 and $10,000 to show folks how to set up social media profiles, a basic WordPress blog (kinda like yours here, hosted ON WordPress.com?), and create Twitter & Facebook pages? Holy hell. Remind me to raise my prices, m’kay?

The reality is this: these people exist. How do you defend your honor against the asshats? Here are a few tips:

• References. If you’re like me and the identity of your clients is often confidential, let your prospective clients know that and offer to connect them with your clients confidentially.
• Best Practices. Follow them. Don’t be an expert – be a continual and willing student. Social media is a slippery slope and the best you can do is develop a solid knowledge base that’s going to morph (and delightfully so) with every footstep.
• Know Who You Are. You’re not going to be everything to everyone. Align yourself with those who cook what you can’t.
• Know Your Shit. In the end, only you can win a client. Clients will buy what they’re willing to be sold. I get clients day in, day out who were sold a bill of goods and then realize things aren’t working. I understand. It’s then we get to work setting them in the right direction.

There is no business that’s purely a number game. Twitter followers, Facebook fans, LinkedIn connections…they’re numbers, pure and simple. What you choose to DO with your network is one thing. How you choose to BUILD it is another. And here’s a hint – if you don’t do one of them properly, then the time you spent on the other is worth…well, jack.

PS: Check out an excellent read about competitors by @ShellyKramer – because really, Mike – I don’t want you to change a thing.

Have an outrageous Monday!

I’ll start off with a little snark: I didn’t expect much. I’ve been to waaaaaay to many charity events that were time sucks and time wasted that I can’t get back. Poor planning, horrific organization, silent auctions filled with crap that no one wants…I was looking at this as a night out of the house and figuring that if Jim invited me, there was something I needed to see.

Capital O.M.G. – Jim was right.

Simply stated and without sounding like I’m blowing smoke up ARTMA’s ass, every charity event I attend from here on out will have to rise to the bar they’ve set. I won three pieces throughout the evening’s silent auctions, and while I lost the brilliant piece depicting three eggs in a nest, I did win a mid-century modernesque wood sculpture that I can’t wait to hang. I’m going to give you a rundown on the successes and a few places where the 2012 event can excel even beyond 2010’s:

Visually Stunning: Whether you’re attending a conference or a charity event, people want to be wowed. It doesn’t take much, just some attention to detail and the understanding of what does and does not matter visually. The event was about the art, and the art auctions raised money for the foundation. When I arrived, I felt glad I’d put on some killer heels and a skirt – and if I hadn’t, I would have wished I had.

Remarkable Layout: Charity events and conferences alike are challenged with “fitting everything in.” ARTMA delivered in spades. Check-in, get your auction booklet, go to coat check and then you’re off to a wonderland of art. I have to share how they did this:

Comp bar inside the exhibition hall between two prominent live auction paintings

The room was comprised of silent auction galleries, beginning on your right hand side. The galleries closed at evenly spaced intervals (7:20, 7:40, 8:00, etc.) and in a counter-clockwise fashion around the exhibit hall. This kept the sense of urgency up to bid, kept people MOVING around the hall and allowed volunteers to quickly clear a closed auction gallery and send pieces off for packing and pickup ASAP.

Food was all the way at the back of the room and just enough to tide you over. The selection was brilliant, especially in the eyes of two gluten-free guests (though I did indulge in a lollicake from Simple Sugar, which I hereby dub the WIN of the evening in the food section).

Seating in the middle – limited, but enough to take a load off for a girl in 4 inch heels (hey – I’m 5′3″ on a GOOD day! I need all the help I can get…)

Cashiers – Ready to go? No sweat. Just give your auction booklet number to the volunteers, they give you a total, run your card. Within minutes, they’ve delivered each and every piece you won – bubblewrapped and complete with a receipt that clearly shows your tax deduction (wow).

The Right Size: All too often, we go to events that are overcrowded or make you feel like you’re a tadpole in an ocean. The event had 1000 guests (sold out!) and while the galleries were crowded, you could always navigate your way around the room. Kudos on this – it’s a difficult task.

Thoughts for 2012:

Second Chance Gallery – LOVED the fact that you took any piece that didn’t receive a minimum bid and placed it in a second chance gallery…but let me give you money! I tried to outbid someone on a piece I wanted desperately and was told “sorry.” Sad face for this redhead. How about 20 minutes of bidding and then before the next closed gallery’s pieces come in, you change the color of the bid sheet which makes it a “last chance” piece for minimum bid?

Eye Level - The pieces on tables between the galleries were often overlooked (I know – I got one for a song). Raise the display tables on these up to above waist level and you’ll have more eyes and more bids, I’ll bet.

Children’s Gallery - While I didn’t win any of the pieces created by the children (dangit), I did love that you had them in a separate area. Make this area in a featured location next year – like the entryway between those two large paintings and the first bar. After all – they’re the reason we were all invited.

Gallery Closings – Upon close, have volunteers go around and immediately highlight the winning bid. I’m pretty sure I lost 2 pieces from after-the-close bidders. While I’m delighted that it raised more funds, it’d be a way to even the score and keep things fair.

Anyone working with a nonprofit, on the board of one or organizing an event that’s designed to be a conference or a fundraiser, you could learn a thing or two from the Morgan Adams Foundation’s website and strategies above. There’s a reason they only do this every two years, and it shows. Simply splendid, I say. And if you can bring in 1000 people, I can’t wait until 2012 when my friend Lisa and I will attend again and see what you’ve done with 2000 people. I have no doubt that’s where you’re headed.

My peeps – what makes an event a success in YOUR book? I was surprised this weekend…tell me how you’ve been surprised.

Go fast, turn left – a descriptor usually reserved for redneck endeavors like NASCAR – is alive and well in Boulder, Colorado and I eat it up like a fat kid with an unattended cake. Welcome to Boulder Indoor Cycling.

About six weeks ago, I alluded to a “covert adventure” on Twitter and Facebook. It was track cycling at the Boulder velodrome. I’d had a jones to try it…well, since I moved here last year…and finally took the plunge right after Veloswap. I figured what the hell? It’s a bike. How hard can it be?

Holy motherfucking shit. And I mean that in the most ladylike way possible.

I let the cat out of the bag a bit earlier this month in my post Dear Guru and/or Expert (aka what track cycling has taught me about social media douchebags), but today I’m going to let you know what your options are if you’d like to come indulge in some track-flavored crack with me.  I never thought I’d say this, but riding around 143m with 45 degree banking in the turns is super freaking awesomeness. And yes, “awesomeness” is a word (a technical cycling term).

If you ride a bike, you can ride at the velodrome. Hell, even if you don’t really ride a bike, there’s an app for that, too. The awesome folks out at Boulder Indoor Cycling (BIC) make it easy for anyone to catch the Fixed Gear Fever. I’ll take you through a step-by-step process on how anyone in the Greater Denver/Boulder area can see what all the go fast/turn left fuss is about:

Step 1: Annual Membership
It’s only $30, people. That’s less than $3/month. And no – you can’t do an “installment plan.”

Step 2: Get Your Gear On
All you need to ride at the track is a helmet, your own cycling shoes (no MTB shoes), and pedals (clipless). And you’re going to want to grab a pair of cycling shorts, too. Just sayin’.

Step 3: Whet Your Appetite
For those new to velodrome cycling, you have three options to see if one gear and four banked turns are for you:

“Oh shit – that looks crazy, but I really do want to try it…just once” deal (aka Just Once)
Well, you can try it, just once.  With every membership comes one FREE Track 101 lesson. This is a one hour long class that will get you on the bike, explain the fundamental differences between road and track cycling, and how to come on and off the track safely. It’s fast. It’s free. You can run screaming after the fact if that suits you, but I’m bettin’ you’ll be back for more track crack. Click here to view the Track Schedule.

“I’ve gotta do this” deal (aka Take A Class)
Beginning January 4, 2010, the next series of classes begin at the track and run through March 14. The session is 10 weeks long and classes one hour each. You have two options to get going on the track: Beginner and Intermediate. Click here to view the Track Schedule

• Beginner – Really only for those who aren’t bike-savvy at all. If you’re not, have no fear – the coaches at BIC will get you accustomed to riding a bike with one gear and no brakes. The 10-week class series is only $149 + your $30 membership. ($15/class – HAWT)
• Intermediate - If you’re a recreational road or mountain biker, this is your deal. Less of the basic “bike” fundamentals yet solid instruction on how track bikes differ in handling and technique from other multi-gear bikes, along with pace lines, proper passing techniques, flying laps (or Ride Like Hell), introductory racing concepts and how to handle your bike well enough across the entire breadth of the track. If you master the skills in this level of class, you’ll have your Membership Card signed, thus allowing you to ride in Open Riding sessions at-will. Having your card signed is a privilege and not automatic, so buckle down and don’t fall down! The 10-week series is $169 + your $30 membership.

BUT WHAT IF I DON’T HAVE A TRACK BIKE? NO SWEAT!
Boulder Indoor Cycling has track bikes for rental for anyone who takes a class! I’m 5′4 and there are bikes that fit me, all the way up to a 6-some-odd-foot dude. On the first day you take a class, show up about a half hour early and the staff is more than happy to get you fit on the best frame size available and show you how to adjust the seat height and position to fit you best. Don’t worry – if you fall in love with track cycling, there are plenty of shops in Boulder that sell track bikes (most are under $1200 off the rack) and if you really fall in love, there are multiple custom frame builders like Tiemeyer Cycles and Primus Mootry that will create a custom, pimp ride for you.

Now, as I get ready to head off to Estes Park for the day for my own Tiemeyer fitting, don’t discount track. If you’ve got a question, pick up the phone and give the staff at BIC a call at 303-CYCLING (303.292.5464) – they’re all passionate about track and will tell you anything you want to know. And ladies – if you’re intimidated about riding with a testosterone-fueled herd, they’ve got an exclusive Ladies’ Intermediate class coming up beginning January 4 as well! (call and ask about it!).

Want to take a virtual ride at the track? Watch this cool helmet cam video and see for yourself!

Boulder Indoor Cycling
3550 Frontier Avenue, Suite A
Boulder, CO 80301
303-CYCLING (303.292.5464)

Follow Boulder Indoor Cycling on Twitter
Join BIC on Facebook (new Fan Page coming soon!)

Directions from Denver:

36 to Foothills Parkway
Exit Pearl St.
Left under the underpass
First left is Frontier
Pull into 2nd driveway on your right (you’re there!)

A year ago today, I packed up The Hoopty, two dogs and two cats and rolled 752 miles from Las Vegas to Denver. I’ve fallen in love with my new home and the exploration process this past year has been nothing short of a comedy of errors. One way streets, alley garages, recycling bins…SNOW. Christ on toast – you people really can’t drive on snow, y’know? All the more reason to stay at home with a book.

I love the smell of books. The sound of a cracking spine and the blurry, ring-shaped watermarks left on the covers. The way an entire corner of a book will curl back after being jammed onto an ill-sized bookshelf and how you have to peel each page apart the next time you read it.

More importantly, I love used books. I’ve long held that when you pick up a used book, you’re getting the wisdom and life experiences of the readers that came before you. I always wonder about the person whose name is scribed in pencil on the inside cover, especially cherishing that cursive characteristic of when men and women all were taught to write a certain way on ruled paper.

I stumbled across Mutiny Now Art, Books and Coffee here in Denver about a month after I’d arrived. Its storefront perched innocuously on the corner of Broadway and Ellsworth, I floated in when I had some time to kill prior to a blind date at Michelangelo’s across the street. There behind the counter, a man with a salt-and-pepper pompadour and Buddy Holly glasses smiled at me and said “welcome.” I’ve felt welcome there ever since.

Meet the man behind the glasses: Jack Jensen. Proprietor, artist and admitted asshole. (On the latter, I beg to differ.) Mutiny Now is a Denver gem: used books across the broadest spectrum you could imagine, classic vinyl and walls lined with thought-provoking eye candy. From admitted bibliophiles to ardent devotees of the bodice-ripper genre, Jack Jensen’s built an artistic empire with something for everyone. Well, almost everyone.

If you’re looking for the latest Oprah’s Book Club selection – fuck off. Save that treasure A Million Little Pieces (which he proudly displays with the Oprah sticker on the cover on a storefront display when he can wrangle a copy – a disc-shaped middle finger to the icon’s discerning taste in literature). Popular fiction is a rare find at Mutiny Now.

Instead, what you will find is a treasure trove of art in words nestled amongst a coffee bar (with sub-*bucks pricing) and an eclectic assortment of pop art that beckons your glance from walls on all sides.

I stopped by the store last week to speak with Jack and learn more about his little book nook. Little did I know it’s not so little:

• A larger philosophy section than the Tattered Cover
• The largest collection of art & art technique titles in Denver, if not the state
• The single largest collection of Black Studies titles in the state
• The largest selection of romance titles in the state
• Many of his sections offer more titles than the Denver Public Library

Holy shit. No shit?

No shit.

Mutiny Now earned its spot on my One Year Denver Anniversary Edition of Things that Don’t Suck column because it’s the first place I ever felt at home when I arrived in my new city. Whether I’m looking for a Stephen King title that I have somehow not read or I don’t know what I’m looking for at all, I go see Jack. He’s the real deal in customer service. Tell him what you like, love and hate and he’ll open your eyes to titles that will blow your mind. When’s the last time you got service like that at one of the corporate book behemoths?

There’s a single reason, however, that this place doesn’t suck: it’s not trying to be anything except exactly what it is. A bookstore, a refuge for those who want to use all five of their senses at once, a gallery that embraces artists and a cultural concierge at the helm to help you navigate. Simply stated, sheep don’t shop here.

I think this is the first time I’ve ever incited mutiny in an effort to get people on a ship. I know that the Kindle and the new Nook have techies all up in arms about the best new way to read a book, but I’ll tell ya:

You can all take your Kindles and whatnot and shove them someplace highly inappropriate.

You can’t crack the spine on a Kindle. The batteries on a book never go dead. The weight of a Kindle always feels the same. If someone else touches your Kindle, I’ll be you cry “thief.” Books are meant to be touched, read, cracked, dog-eared and shared. They’re a legacy. They’re like a dollar bill: one of the rare chances we have in life to hold something, if only for a little while, that’s taken a journey and traveled places we could never imagine.

Tell Jack that The Redhead says hi if you stop by.

Quick Facts

Mutiny Now Art, Books & Coffee
2 S. Broadway
Denver, CO 80209-1506
(303) 778-7579

Hours: 11 AM – 6 PM daily (M-Sun) for the holidays / closed Sundays on regular schedule

• Book Acquisitions: Jack gets most of his stock from estate and private library sales, but if you’ve got something interesting, give him a call. He’d be happy to have a look.
• New Books: Yep, he’s got ‘em. Look for selected titles from greats like Charles Bukowski under glass at the front of the shop (along with a pretty damn complete collection of paperback Peanuts comics!)
• Artists: Mutiny Now does gallery showings! He’d like to express that his store is your canvas and you’re not going to be looking at commissions that will make you wonder why you do what you do. Interested in showing? Give him a call. It’s your show. (He’s been showing art in Denver since 1979!)
• Pulp Fiction: Before your next trip, stop by the store and grab some pulp for the plane, train or automobile. Most mass market paperback fiction titles are a mind-blowing $3 each and there’s always a “blowout” section up front with tons of kickass titles you wanted to grab but never bought.
• Out of Print: Where else are you going to find literary tidbit that the behemoths don’t/won’t/can’t carry? Stop by and tell Jack what you’re looking for. For example: a guy came into Mutiny Now looking for Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle and was treated to a shelf housing over twenty-two different Sinclair titles. Read more “weird stuff.” He’s also great with tracking down titles if it’s not in stock.
• The Holidays: Check out the art. If you have a love for Warhol and disdain for anything Georgia O’Keefe, I’m bettin’ you’ll find something you like.

*All images in this post are copyrighted by Jack Jensen and used with his explicit permission. Don’t be an asshole. Jack’s happy to share his art with you – don’t copy the images or use them elsewhere without his permission.

You have been patient, and for that I thank you. But grab your Google calendars and block out Thursday evenings – you’re gonna be bizzy gettin’ your quiz on with The Redhead!

I’m the appointed Quizmaster for Geeks Who Drink at the brand-freakin’-new Rackhouse Pub. Convenient to Central Denver, Broadway and all that is cool in school, here are the deats:

Thursdays (except Thanksgiving) at 8pm
The Rackhouse Pub

and here’s a MAP for the navigationally-challenged.

Our first quiz is on Thursday, November 12 at 8pm, followed by a big-ass quiz/tweetup/toy drive event on the 19th.

If you haven’t checked out the menu for The Rackhouse, have a gander. All sorts of nummies from burgers to greens and mac-and-cheese. There are plenty of veggie offerings and it looks like the gluten-free fans have some choices as well! For you lushes, there are over 20 craft brews on tap and The Rackhouse features Colorado’s own Stranahan’s Whiskey.

And here’s an insider tip: go to the Geeks Who Drink website (now) and on the right hand side, you’ll see a place to get on the mailing list (Let’s Stay in Touch). Use the drop-down menu to select the Rackhouse Pub. This will send you category teasers for each week’s quiz along with the Sacred Internet Bonus Question. The Internet Bonus Question is only available via email, so get your schiz together and register for the email list now.

The Redhead’s quiz will be sponsored by ToyWithMe.com. For those who didn’t know, I’m their resident sex advice columnist and throughout my Geeks tenure, they’ll be showering you with condoms and other sexy prizes. That means if you suck one week at Quiz, you’re not going to catch anything unsavory.

We’ll see you at quiz! It’s time for Denver to get its geek on…

If you have an iPhone in Denver, or simply service from the craptastic AT&T, you’re in for months of spotty service (read this article from Channel 9 News for details). Case-in-point, it took me 5 (dropped) calls to AT&T’s Customer Service department this past Sunday to get any sort of answers and account resolution. My point? Why am I paying $130 a month for cell phone service I can’t use? I can’t even call another AT&T customer without the call being dropped. I started issuing an over/under at 8 am each morning on the number of calls on average it would take me to complete one call.

In case you didn’t know, a cell phone provider is the only “utility” provider out there that is not obligated to provide service. Per your contract, service may be unavailable at times. Apparently, that’s tough cookies for you – Joe and Jane Consumer. We’re obligated to give AT&T $130 a month for the most technologically advanced phone on the market and in return, AT&T simply says “We’re sorry you’re having problems.” All I know is that if my electricity is out, cable is out, internet is out, water is out…I get a prorated bill. Cell service is big business – apparently cell service providers count on the fact that we love our Apple porn so much that we’ll put up with an endless supply of crap just to suckle at the iPhone teat.

Here are two tips on how to survive the complete crap service we’re enjoying in Denver while they update the 3G network. They are both tried and tested – see what works for you:

• Be blunt. I explained that I wanted to know what my termination fee would be and what the process was for rolling my phone number over to another carrier. I also explained that I was appalled that, as a small business owner, their cell service was the lifeline to my livelihood and their failure to provide a service for which I’ve paid was threatening my ability to generate revenue. Thus, they were costing me business, which impairs my ability to pay my AT&T bill. Helluva catch-22, no? After my 5 calls to Customer Service (4 dropped due to the spectacular 3G service), I was issued a 100% credit for my voice plan month-to-date.
• Kick 3G to the curb until the upgrade is complete. Go to Settings/General/Networks on your iPhone. You’ll see Enable 3G. Turn that to OFF. That switches you to the Edge network. You can still get all your internet, data, SMS messages, etc. The bonus? No more dropped calls. I haven’t had a single one since Sunday where I was previously having about 4 per day.

“Happy” – Martin Sexton

Special note: this blog is being posted on a day where I have sworn to forego caffeine, Twitter hash tags, the f-bomb and all online conversations about food in order to benefit Autism Speaks. Welcome to an alternative breed of Redheaded Fury. It’s like the “softer side of Sears” – without the appliances.
********

Dear Douglas -

That’s my brother’s name. I like it.  Just wanted to dash you a little letter about the article you published in the Denver Post on May 28. Yeah – the one about “cougars.” I believe it had the clever title “Cougars on the prowl in Colorado nightclubs.” Did you think of that yourself or did your older girlfriend help you with the overused play on words? Nevermind – it’s really not important. The last letter I wrote was to Chris Brown after he slapped Rihanna around. Congrats – you’ve made it to the big leagues on Redheaded Fury.

Just wanted to give you my elderly wisdom on a few things before I popped a Geritol and settled in on my couch wrapped cozily in my Snuggie for re-runs of Golden Girls. Won’t take but a sec – I can’t stay awake that long. After all, I’m 36. A cougar, by your definition. An “older woman.”

Now, being a twice-divorced and presently single woman, I think you’ve pegged my “breed” pretty well: running around town, looking for strange and preying on young, unsuspecting boys. Granted, it’s tough for me to find a place to park my electric scooter when I come rollin’ up to the clubs, but the doormen here in Denver always jump to help an old gal and then I’m parked in pretty short order. Now that I’m parked, I can put my teeth back in and have both hands free to flip you the bird.

Your article has done nothing to promote any sort of “investigative journalism” or alert the good citizens of Denver to a wrong in need of righting. What you have done, however, is heartily promote the stereotype of the “woman on the prowl” and put out some pretty jaded human nastiness in the process. Personally, I think your article belongs in the obituary section, as it’s merely a eulogy for the death of human discovery and the collective citizenry’s ability to evaluate another human being based on (deep breath) qualities other than age.

I found the woman in your article who described men her age (44) with a blanket label of “fat and gross” to be simply charming. An iconic example of what the average 44-year-old woman thinks and feels. Wherever did you find her? Ah yes – it was the Entitled aisle at the Safeway in Cherry Creek, I’m sure. Honestly, I don’t know where she’s looking as I see men of that age DAILY who are stunning specimens of what a good dose of testosterone can achieve. Then again, I’m old and my eyesight might be going.

What occurs to me is that your article has successfully achieved the creation of a complete caricature. A caricature of everyone in your article and those to whom you apply the tasteful age-restrictive labels of “cougar” and “manther.” (Personally, I’d always heard the term “Silver Fox” used, but no matter.) From the description of your subjects’ clothing to the venue and the pretty yet vapid boys, it’s all nothing but a superficial take. One thing I’ve learned in my old age is that if people are in search of the superficial, it’s what they’ll find. And honestly, they don’t quite care what designer label it’s wrapped in because it’s bound to end up on someone’s bedroom floor by the end of the evening. But maybe I can shed some light on “cougars” beyond the dim one at the bar at which you conducted your investigation on the mating rituals of the urban feline.

Riding my bike this morning along the Cherry Creek bike path, I found myself purposefully steering into every possible rain puddle I could access. Water splashing up on my legs, my face … I giggled and even openly laughed once. When I took a good look at myself upon arriving back at my car, the sight was laughable. And certainly not “pretty.” I was completely un”hit on”able. But you know what?

I had fun. Fun at 6AM this morning playing in rain puddles. And then I summarily went back to my house, hopped in the shower, got my girl on and headed into the office. Today, it’s a fabulous denim pencil skirt accompanied by a Calvin Klein wrap top and a pair of kick-you-in-the-nuts Charles David strappy sandals.

I’m your cougar.

The people in your article aren’t looking for love. They’re looking to hook-up. And what you fail to mention in the stunning examples throughout your article is that it takes two to tango and it ain’t about a “cougar on the prowl.” If an older man/woman is looking for fun and fun alone, they’re generally going to turn to a younger mate. Why? It’s the “fun factor.” And the fact that they’re not looking for anything serious. Have I done it? Oh, most certainly. And it was fun.

But at 36, I’m looking for more than the “fun factor.” Yes, fun is a huge consideration in the men with whom I choose to spend my time, but it goes beyond that – it’s humility as well. The humble process of opening yourself up to learning about someone (and allowing them to learn about you in return) – their history, their loves before you, their life. Their quirks.

The endearing quirks and idiosyncrasies that take a person from being someone who tells a good joke at a bar to being the person you want to laugh with on a Sunday morning in bed.

Your article brazenly bypasses any and all mention of the things that make us each human, painting a pathetic, two-dimensional view of dating after age 35 for those of us who refuse to settle. I think your piece is the weak antithesis to that Lori Gottlieb rib-tickler in The Atlantic last year (Marry Him! The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough) that chides women for not settling for any one of a slew of Mr. Good Enoughs and holding out for Mr.Right.

But I won’t settle. The lyrics above – one of my favorite songs ever – are what I’m looking for. The daily surprise of discovering something new about the man I’m learning to “fit” with, not really knowing where it’s all going to go but embracing the childlike laughter that escapes my lips each time we splash through one of my aforementioned rain puddles. And laughing even more each time I see him laugh back.

That’s why I’m single. Not because of what “society’s handed me” (as your character Ms. Spuelher believes). I’m lucky enough to have had two men in my life whom I’ve loved enough to take a swing at “forever.” While they didn’t ultimately end up with the fairy tale ending, I’m delighted. The gift of being 36 and single is that I learn more each day what I love, what I want…what I don’t…where to compromise. Why, looking back down my life’s hallway, even two years have changed my perspective on a lot of things. Time is a gift and not the curse or something to battle as your characters purport. I think the man to find me today is a lucky one, and he’ll be grateful for the time I’ve taken to be with myself, to explore my demons, revisit them and emerge a better person.

I’m the cougar you speak of, along with every woman out there who enjoys time with her friends – regardless of their age, gender, looks or financial status. We go to bars on occasion, we carouse and engage in mischief…and we’re delightfully embracing the value of friendship and self-discovery while we look for our own “Happy.”  So take your kitty-cat labels and characters shaped with your superficially glazed pen and step aside. This cougar is looking forward to the day she has a man in her life whose lap she can curl-up on, soaking in a sunbeam as it glides through a window on a lazy Sunday morning. As he strokes my hair, it’s likely I’ll even purr. And I look forward to doing the same for him.

There is one thing you DID get right in your article, however:

…Cougarism is more complicated than the reductive picture forged in TV shows, comedy monologues and the snide commentary of office e-mails.

It’s about being 36, loving my life, and having enough balls to tell you your article was the most ridiculous piece of pulp I’ve read since Gottlieb’s abomination on the inherent value of “settling.” We cougars – we’re snappy little cats, ain’t we?

Now excuse me – I have to pay my bar tab and get my scooter out of valet.

Yours Truly,

Erika D. Napoletano

Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

Antoine De Saint-Exupery, “Le Petit Prince”

I was welcomed home this evening with the gentle snap of my house key breaking off in my door. After some very public ranting followed by some very private swearing, I tapped into my hoodlum skills and ended up pouring myself through a window. The ideal capper to my current array of mental thrashings, it was obvious I needed to find a way to just … deal. Remembering the park a mere block’s walk away, I stepped out of my suburban cocoon and headed out to find myself a swing.

For those who missed the “Part One” in this series, I tend to do my best thinking on playground equipment. It’s been quite some time since I’ve taken a moment to sort some moments out, so tonight was swing time with my demons. They scurried out the door both behind and in front of me, shoving and pushing to see who could get to the park first. It never ceases to amaze me how excited they get at these playground outings, seeing as how the goal of these trips is always to bitch-slap them back into line. Whatever. Let the little fuckers run amok while they can, I thought.

This park had REAL swings – and here in retrospect I’m quite glad. Life as of late has been a whirlwind wrapped in a cluster fuck with a light sprinkling of paradox. And the cuteness of it all? It’s my own doing. A whole lotta working, a weeeee tad too much drinking, a lot more whining than I’d care to be the purveyor of and a shitload less patience than I typically sport. Definitely a situation pleading for some serious face-to-face time with my demons, as I always seem to think more clearly when I let ‘em loose. It’s like shoveling everything out of your closet onto the living room floor just so you can find that stupid black tank top that’s eluding you. And thus it began, here in the midst of my 36th year: with my ass properly implanted on the swing-du-jour, I set my demons loose at the playground.

As they predictably ran off towards the slide (they like slides), I looked down on a glaring reminder of my weekend buffoonery: a brutally skinned left knee, obtained (and much-deservedly so) when some ne’er-do-well swiped my hat and I felt obligated to run after the offender. Or at least who I thought was the offender. Who fucking cares – I RAN. And you could have probably timed it with a 4-3-2-aaaaaaaaaaand cue wipe-out as I careened into the concrete knees first. So there I was, on a swing at 7pm in a park watching my proverbial demons fling wood chips down the slide, and I thought:

I should skin my knees more.

Granted, probably not under the influence of such copious amounts of beer, but I’ll defend my decision to engage in the “Cute Hat Rescue Mission – 2009″ that left me planted firmly face-down on the sidewalk outside of Coors Field. Anywhoo – thought being that I simply can’t remember the last time I fell down and skinned my knee! Though the tight, stretching sensation I felt as I bent it in prep for each push I took to keep swinging was moderately uncomfortable, it’s a reminder of the days when I didn’t give a rat’s ass and took life on full-bore. I’ve been spending my days as of late working 70-hour weeks doing something I truly love with people I really admire, yet I sat there and looked at my skinned knee and…

laughed.

Yeah, I laughed. Laughed so goddamn hard I almost fell off the swing (confident that my demons would have enjoyed that thoroughly and probably found a way to TwitPic the photo). I’m fortunate that I get to laugh every day in the company of the people I work with, but yeah. I apparently needed to get a little schnockered and bust my ass to realize that I need more skinned knees in my life. There’s a strange comfort and complacency in melancholy and I realized this evening it’s a lazy “out” at best. Sitting there on my swing and witness to my ill-behaved demons (who were then on to playing with SuperSoakers – where the fuck did they get squirt guns?), my laughter had bubbled to my heart’s surface the source of my despair.

I’m melancholy. Funny – I’ve blogged about it via my alter-ego yet until I went and drank beer, busted-up my knee, broke my house key in the door and plopped my ass on a swing set … it never really made sense.

I’m six months old in Denver, having picked up my life in less than 30 days and leaving three and a half years of friendships and memories in my wake. Las Vegas – no love lost, but my friends…dear god, my friends. I had 1277.5 days of spontaneous sushi outings, jokes about Marshmallow Peeps, the bliss of cooking dinner for two or twenty, multiple emergency room trips, days on end in kayaks floating down the Colorado or basking in the glow of uncontrollable laughter at one climbing crag or another.

I missed them. I missed my friends.

It’s that freakish familiarity you find comforting when you all know everything about one another (even though you don’t) yet every time you’re together, you learn something new. Not unlike the inner giggle as you learn about a new lover, but sans the fumbling, hormonally-induced missteps, misspeaks and instead, laden with the “take me as I am” freedom that only a friendship can bring. It seems that I’ve been in a little bit of woe-is-fucking-me … and all I’ve really been doing is fucking myself. Working late, skipping invitations, dating with a rate of success that rivals only a certain former President’s mastery of the word “nuclear,” and honestly – not really doing a damned thing productive, inspirational or otherwise beyond the red sleeve of a Netflix movie.

It may seem pathetic to some of my readers – my recent behavior – but, shit. The excitement of beginning one of your life’s newest chapters in a new city with new people can be overwhelming when you forget that it took you 3.5 years to create this life you now miss. So what do we do when the going gets tough? It’s a chapter out of that Psych 101 textbook: we cope. As creatures, we opt for excess in that which doesn’t make us happy, averting the seemingly obvious and incubator-like comfort in those things that would actually…please us.  After millions of years, you’d think we’d get a bit brighter and hone our instincts a bit, yet Stupid is where we consistently turn when Sated perches in front of us with its smug yet less interesting song. With writing in my cache of “shit I do,” I have an extra coping mechanism. I can fictionalize (Throw Pillow) and sometimes not so much (Trespass), purge (The Hallway) and rant (I Left My Salvation in Little Johnny’s Pants). But have I been writing much? <insert obvious answer here> Stories are, for me, gems with more depth than any diamond. When did it become acceptable to shove coal up my ass and wait for the pressure process to spit-out something more palatable?

I’m really lucky to have found some incredible people since moving here – along with which comes the gift of being allowed to be a part of other people’s stories. As a writer, I try to remember that everyone I meet has a story and life’s a curious web created by delicate strands of outside influence – people, places, things and circumstance. Our daily lives weave in and out of everyone else’s and when you’re allowed to be a part of someone’s story – now that’s magic.

So with the realization I’ve not seen the forest for the trees – thanks to the New Suspects (as opposed to The Usual Ones) who got my ass out of the house this weekend and let me add something (inappropriate remarks, albeit) to your stories. Apparently, I needed that. I’ll be getting out more, moping less (hopefully falling on my ass a little less as well). The inappropriate remarks will continue.

And to my Usual Suspects who stop by on a regular basis to read my ramblings and stay in touch, thanks to you as well. We should climb – while eating marshmallow Peeps and riding inflatable animals in Xavier’s pool. And you know who you are - we are long overdue for some Blue Band.

It’s amazing, though – in 36 years, the best way I’ve found to discover what’s digging at my soul is to go back to being a kid for a little bit and … swing. It ain’t rocket science and it sure as hell isn’t intellectual or glamorous. But it works. Well, for me, at least, and tonight did nothing to prove my theory on therapy wrong. As I removed myself from the swing, I was surprised to find my demons sitting at a picnic table (and SuperSoakers nowhere in sight). They’re kinda cute, my demons – and not unlike my dogs when I take them to the dog park. They tear-ass around for awhile, letting me sit and observe with the quiet, yet highly observant detachment of a mother watching her children play. Far enough removed to find a moment to think, yet not so far away that I can’t spank the crap out of ‘em if they start to set something on fire. Then we all go home and I get to watch them snore through an exhaustion-induced sleep on the couch, wondering how I ever got by before they came into my life.

On the walk back home (all three minutes of it), I had a brief pang of disdain as I realized: I was likely going to trash the entire blog I’d already written here in favor of what could only be installment two of the Demons, Swings and Sunflowers saga.

And I did. I killed my darling. It was easy as I walked to the back of the house where my vase of flowers sits – filled with sunflowers.