6/100: Gender Swap

Day 6: You wake up as the opposite gender. What are your immediate reactions? What do you notice that’s different, and how do you experience the outside world differently? Word Count: 500

Gender Swap: 
Walking effortlessly along the back of a mighty blue whale, high above the clouds, as I––then, cries.  Soft and muffled at first, then sharp and desperate.  My eyes burst open, the dream is gone.  I adjust to the dimly-lit rays of the dawn, streaming through the skylight above me.  It is morning, and our one-year old child is letting us know he's awake.

I roll to my left to wake up my wife, and nearly fall out of bed.  Catching myself on the nightstand, I push myself back onto the mattress and let out a chuckle.  Somehow we switched places in the night. I turn back around to let her know when I suddenly realize I'm in bed alone.  She must have woken up early for a morning run. I feel a twinge of resentment come over me as another cry fills the hall space between our bedrooms. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and look down towards the floor. That's when I notice it.

My toenails are painted.  ...my toenails are painted?  What the hell?

Another impatient cry.  He heard me, the sly little devil. He'll be relentless now. Any chance of drifting back off to dreams of riding Falcor across the sky of La-La Land is a lost cause. I'm awake, I'm awake...and apparently someone had a bit of fun with me while I slept.  As I stumble out of bed and down the hall to little Damian's room, sweet thoughts of revenge swell up through my mind.  I can't help but wonder, what other stunt did she pull while I was dead asleep last night?

I open the door to our child's room and am greeted with huge, eager smiles.  Usually he's more interested in seeing his Mommy first, but today appears to be an exception.  I gleefully pick him up out of bed and carry him downstairs to prepare our breakfast. Strangely enough, he seems heavier than usual.

We proceeded through our normal breakfast routine of cereal and sliced bananas as the white noise of the morning news played in the background. It wasn't until I reached for my coffee, that I truly noticed it––my hand. It wasn't mine. I stared at it, not sure what to think. It seemed surreal, but there it was; my wife's left hand, wedding ring and all, clear as day. My stomach lurched into my throat.  "What was happening?  How could this be?" I thought.  I rushed into the bathroom and flipped on the light, only to find that I was staring at not myself, but my wife's reflection in the mirror.

Panic set in. Beads of clammy sweat formed above my brow. I felt sick, nervous. I didn't know what to do. That's when I heard it.  One, simple word.

"Mommy?"

Instantly, my reflection didn't matter. The panic was gone. Our son needed his Mom. Stepping out of the bathroom, we exchanged smiles. Only his needs mattered.  Everything else would be sorted out in time.

5b/100: I Can't Believe I Just Said That

Consider this entry a Mulligan of the previous. One, because I didn't really obey the directions last time. Two, I didn't explain any feelings of mortification, or any feelings in general about it because, well, I didn't have any.  It was mainly written for entertainment value and now that I think of it, didn't really apply to the assignment outside of being a puff piece of entertainment. So let's disregard that last one and start anew.

Day 5: Write about a moment when you said or did something extremely embarrassing or accidentally insulting. Go into detail about the feeling of mortification, and how you felt after you said it.

Does this help exorcise the guilt/embarrassment at all? Can you imagine a fictional character going through the same process? Length: 350 words

 I Can't Believe I Just Said That:

"I have the keys to the Chief Marketing Officer's penthouse suite."

This is one of those situations where a seemingly innocent piece of information snowballs into a shitstorm that I couldn't have reined back in if I tried. It nearly got me fired, cost me hundreds of dollars and even lost me a few friends.

I was in San Francisco for our company's annual conference.  Since I was to conduct interviews with some of the attendees, our CMO graciously provided me with the key to his penthouse suite in Union Square's Westin Hotel for the set. After the conference, a few of us went out with the the remaining attendees, where I mentioned to our lead sales associate that I still had the keys. I was firm that only our immediate group was to be invited, and was assured that all would be okay. An hour later, that room held nearly 100 people and growing. Four cash bars were completely emptied. Furniture was broken. Prostitutes were invited up by our own employees, leading to the theft of my phone and three other company laptops. At 4am, I began to survey the damage. I was absolutely terrified.

I didn't want to return to work. I didn't want to look my boss in the eye and explain what I did that night, how it got so far out of control. I was ashamed, embarrassed. I betrayed his trust, something I can never take back. I wanted to impress everyone that night. I wanted them to know how cool I was for having access to the top of the world. I could barely apologize to our CMO, I was so mortified. ...HR spoke with me about what happened. There was an investigation over the stolen equipment. It was an awful experience, and I still get sick to my stomach thinking about it.

In time, it would all fade away. I learned a harsh lesson from that experience, one I still carry it with me to this day. I have my own reputation to uphold now and much more at stake. Call it, perspective.

5a/100: I Can't Believe I Just Said That

This is a hard one.  Though, not because I'm unwilling to divulge some story of how I've embarrassed myself in one way or another, but by all accounts, I have way too many to share. Those that know me understand that I've said and done many-an-embarrassing things in my day...so many, in fact, it's a hard pool to choose from.  Do I tell how I learned (on multiple occasions) that I can never drink Jägermeister again? Or, how about that time I found myself streaking through the midnight streets of Downtown Chicago while broadcasting to passers-by (with a rancid Scottish accent, for extra effect) that I was running to Michigan?

I think the majority of people go through a time in their lives where parties and recreational drinking is a priority, real-life responsibilities take a backseat and the momentum gathered to embarrass oneself approaches terminal velocity.  Following a few failed relationships and a general disconcertment towards myself, this period in my late-twenties maybe lasted little longer than it should have.  I wish I could take a lot of it back, but it was a learning experience for me and in retrospect, necessary for my path in life. This provides ample material for stories of embarrassment. Ample. But, I'm going to pull a special one out of this bag.  This tale is about the time I got wasted at a funeral.

Day 5: Write about a moment when you said or did something extremely embarrassing or accidentally insulting. Go into detail about the feeling of mortification, and how you felt after you said it.

Does this help exorcise the guilt/embarrassment at all? Can you imagine a fictional character going through the same process? Length: 350 words

 I Can't Believe I Just Said (Did) That:

Growing up, our next door neighbors Chip and Sue had an annual party called The Big Chill. They made t-shirts, screened movies, brought in beer from all over the world, and partied unapologetically for a full 48 hours straight with friends from all walks of life. In December of 2003, Chip died from cancer. Without hesitation, his family decided to turn his funeral into the Final "Big Chill."

We danced and laughed long into the evening. We were all drinking heavily, but I remember a particular moment when Chip's youngest son handed me a glass of milk mixed with Jäger he had smuggled over from Europe. It was the most delicious concoction I had ever tasted. Of course I drank three of them. I later discovered that this particular variation of Jäger had been infused with opiates...and that's when I took off to Neptune. Let me break it down for you:

1. I tried to climb the outside of the house like Spiderman, claiming I was, yes, Spiderman. 
2. I drunk dialed my parents. They were still at the party. 
3. I hid silently under a table for 45 minutes. 
4. I crawled into the fireplace and shouted, "Look, I'm a gnome!" repeatedly.
5. I accidentally broke into the neighbor's house, thinking I was returning to the party. For ten minutes, I walked from room to room, wondering where everyone went. Said neighbor came downstairs in his bathrobe and politely asked me to leave, baseball bat in hand. 
6. I danced like an absolute maniac. 
7. As I was leaving, my friend's mom asked me if I broke into her neighbor's house. I had almost completely forgotten about it by that point and just responded, "Yeah, I think so." She laughed and hugged me. 

It wasn't my proudest moment, but we've all had plenty of laughs about it since, considering the events that surrounded that night. It was a hell of a way for Chip to go out and I'd be honored for my friends to celebrate my life with half that enthusiasm.  ...maybe just without the Jäger.

4/100: Post Secret

There are two places I could've left this note. In one, the note would be protected from the elements, collecting dust. In the other, fully exposed. I thought it more interesting to place it in the latter, if only for my love of the outdoors and the fascination of discovering the condition of things once left behind.

Day 4: Leave a Post-it note in a secret place. One sentence only. What does it say? How does the placement affect the message?

The Brook

3/100: Self Destruct

I want to mostly refrain from posting photos during this challenge, but as I learned today, that may not always end up having to be the case.  This was more of a hand-written exercise that explores not only paper real estate, but the connection between the flow of the hand and of the mind.  The result is fairly interesting, if not somewhat artistic and beautiful in form.

Day 3: Rip off a piece of paper and turn off the lights. Begin writing on the paper, but make sure you cannot see what or where you’re writing it. After 25 minutes, destroy the paper completely. 

What did you write on that paper that you couldn’t write before? Did the “anonymity” of the writing help you bring out things that you previously couldn’t?

Riddles in the Dark

2/100: Zombie Invasion

Oh, look.  I made it to Day 2.  This reflects mild proof that I'm holding myself up to this commitment. Though I probably shouldn't even mention the word 'commitment' until I at least hit Day 10.  Better yet, Day 25. You don't tell a girl on the second date that you want to commit yourself to her, no matter how cool and/or relationship-hungry she is.  That's dating suicide.  A quarter-of-the-way milestone is something to be proud of, and mighty presumptuous of me.  I'm going to stop there before I blow my load too early and disappoint nearly everyone in the room.  ...Because that was a porn metaphor.  ...and I would be the actor in the porno–nevermind.  I'll get on with today's bit.

Day 2: At this moment, the area you’re in is suddenly ravaged by zombies. With the internet and phone lines cut off, all you have at your disposal are things in your room. What sort of strategies do you use to get out? How do you see things differently now that they can be used for your survival?   Length: 400 words

Zombie Invasion:

They're coming. Hordes of them. Zombies. ...and they have us surrounded.

Looking down from our 5th Floor office into the chaos unfolding across the streets of Downtown Portland, the feeding frenzy we witnessed just a short few hours ago has now evolved into a large herd migrating slowly through the city. Across the way, other survivors have retreated to the rooftops, with little to no means of survival. For them, it's only a matter of time. For us, it's a different story.

All the doors into our space have locks, but the glass can be broken. Using our desks, we've successfully sealed those exits. There's 17 of us here, with enough resources stored to keep us alive for the immediate future.

What we don't have are means to defend ourselves. This is an advertising agency and the only sharp objects here are Exacto Knives; creative problem solving at its finest. And not a minute too soon.

The old stairwell has been compromised. We're safe in here for the moment, but they're in the building. With their numbers growing, it's only a matter of time before they get to us. We need to get out of the city, and fast. Nigel takes charge, orders everyone to grab what they can and follow him. The screams from the stairwell are getting louder. We think the floor below us has been attacked. The zombies are close.

"We're trapped!" someone yells, while Nigel utilizes a metal bar from the coat rack to pry open the elevator doors.  

With a final heave, the elevator doors spring open and Nigel desperately gestures everyone to climb inside. Just then, the stairwell barricade begins to buckle and the snarls of the horde's insatiable hunger echoes into the room. They're nearly here. Nigel turns to the group.

"This building was once one of the oldest breweries in Portland," he claims. "and this shaft leads directly into the old Shanghai Tunnels. We can repel down and follow the tunnels to the river.  Getting to the water is our only hope."

We all nod in agreement and two at a time, begin to slide down the cables.  Nigel and I are the last to go, just as the barricade collapses and dozens of undead pour into the room. I grab the pry bar and the doors slam shut behind us.  With a sigh of relief, we descend into the darkness below.  

The 100-Day Challenge: 1/100

A friend of mine at work recently read my last post on here and suggested I take up a 100-day writing challenge over the course of the summer.  As I've been feeling a bit blocked recently, creatively speaking, I took some time to think about this.  Today, during a particularly slow few hours at work, I decided to go for it.  As I've done 100-something creative exercises before, I've never actually committed to a writing challenge.  I used to write quite a bit back in the day and then at some point, I just stopped.  I'm not sure why; phases of life may have something to do with it, but it was always a past time that I enjoyed.  Maybe it's time to fire that back up, sans photography.

So, I'm using Qwiklit.com's 100-day writing challenge as a guide.  If you haven't used it, you can find each exercise here: https://qwiklit.com/  My first task reads as follows:

Day 1: Where are you? Your room? A hotel lobby? the top of a burning building? In the finest detail possible, describe everything you possibly can, from the sound to the smell to the temperature. Be extremely specific.  ...And, we're off.

Location, Location Location:

6th Floor Office, 1120 NW Couch St, Portland, OR, U.S.A, Earth.

I'm sitting on the left end of a couch. I decided to leave my desk earlier today and try out our new office space that we just acquired. I'm sitting now, as opposed to lounging as I was before. Due to a particularly vexed email from HR, my shoe-laded feet now rest firmly on the newly-finished cement floor. My dog Kino is resting on the floor to my right. His twitching foot and soft, punctuated whimpers tell me he's dreaming. He at least has the sense to keep his feet off the couch.

The newly-renovated, 5,000 sqft. environment is extremely open and sterile. The whiteboard walls create a vibe that could use a bit of color and personality, to be honest. The window to my left looks over Burnside, Old-Town and the northern end of Downtown Portland. The interior hills of NE are slightly obscured by a chilly drizzle. It feels like mid-fall.

In front of me is a rustic, wooden-block coffee table that intersects the space between the couch I've claimed and two leather chairs.  To my right is a large, conference table-sized work station surrounded by seven white, netted-back chairs.  They look somewhat comfortable.  Beyond that is the kitchen, which consists of an island and counter-top, sink and cupboard area recessed into the wall.  It looks clean and untouched.  Eight elegant white desk lamps stand proudly on the island, waiting to be placed among the workstations. Behind me are two arm chairs.

The workstation table to my right is one of four, each being separated by a divider-wall that holds a Plasma screen on one side and a whiteboard on the other. At the far end of the room is a glass-encased conference room that has yet to house a table, further driving home the feeling that this space is still a work-in-progress.

Beyond the kitchen to my right is a short hallway that branches off to three other team-designated areas.  In one of them, a presentation is being given to a client right now.  With the lack of rugs around us, their voices carry across the empty space. I can hear every word.  Privacy is not an option.

Above me, fluorescent lighting and paneled ceilings span the room, what I'm told is the result towards the high cost of exposing the ductwork and structure of the building. This is unfortunate, as the dropped ceilings take away from the creative energy the space needs.  I can't help but feel sadness here. The exposure would've united the transition between the old and new.  Here, I feel as if I'm within the confines of a completely different company.  Maybe, that's the point.

It smells new, yet at the same time...doesn't. It feels new, yet there are traces of Portland that help accent the design.  Minimal, but rustic.  Not cozy, but not uncomfortable either.  Warmth is non-existent.  Ideation is encouraged.  This is our new creative space.  This is AKQA.