Re-Post: Sacrifice Self for Service

I spent the last six years working for a large electronics retailer and most of that time was as a Store Manager. In the last year I worked there they changed the title to Store Leader to try to infuse some ownership or enthusiasm into the role. The company was constantly changing terms, role definitions and performance evaluation standards in an effort to create impactful "cultural" changes but it mostly led to inconsistency and confusion. Frequently redefining evaluative tools, job descriptions and philosophies indicates a lack of central vision and understanding of psychology. Ambiguity and inconsistency muddy the waters of an organization's central goals and frustrates managers.

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Re-Post: Shrooms: A Good Trip and a Bad Trip

This is the story about the first and the last time I ate magic mushrooms.

It was Halloween, some time ago when I tasted my first magic mushroom. A friend of mine had invited me to a party at his friend's house nestled in the forested hills somewhere near North Bend, Oregon. As the sun was coming down the five of us made our way to the back room where we each took hold of a piece of pizza on top of which lay two or so grayish, dried mushrooms. We ate our slices, some in silence and some with childish glee. My nerves were peaked but I was committed to the experience and I ate my slice with all its foul flavors. As it hit my tongue I was compelled not to continue but I forced it down, the pizza barely masking its rotten impression.

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I'm not a workaholic!

"Your grandfather died on a toilet at work at 55. He had a heart attack because he was a workaholic."

Someone told me that once or at least that is how I remember it. The idea of the dangers of being a workaholic has always stayed with me and I became sensitive to the idea of "working to death" at an early age. My grandfather was a successful businessman and inventor. Supposedly he helped invent the first color printer or something like that. In attempting to write this out I realize that my knowledge of the man is muddled and I am probably making some of this up based on old memories of conversations with my mother. None the less it is a related memory.

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