I just finished my first of three days at an industry trade show in Seattle. When the jay-oh-bee takes me away from my home territory and dumps me into a convention hall full of old friends, a simple saunter from our booth to the bathroom can end up as a 45-minute trip down memory lane.
I've been doing what I've been doing so I can pay for the things I want to do and live the lifestyle that it takes to get it done for nearly twelve years.
It took me nearly that long to figure out that life is just one big political campaign, filled with a colorful array of loyal friends, adversaries that smile like a friend, and a mixed bag of what I call Burt Bacharach's.
As the song goes; "call me...".
Such a contrived feeling to run into a person that I never really knew or cared for, and after exchanging no more than ten seconds of pleasantries, we abruptly part ways with him (or her) saying, "hey, call me".
Why?
Another example, I suppose, of how I may be far too earnest for the corporate world.
Two more days. I'll just smile, wave and recite my stump speech.
After all, I only need 50.1% approval.
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