Morning Imperfections

The race is on. I gotta make it to the middle of Brooklyn by 10am. Now, that may not be such a tough thing to accomplish for a resourceful and well-conditioned 40 year old. But when you want to drop off your first grader at school in the morning, it’ll key you up a bit. 

And how does that anxiousness manifest itself? Well, everything bothered me. Any small detour from my “planned” path to success irked me. Any small request from the kids was met with a short honk. Kylie was in the middle of a “pay attention to me, or else” moment, and nothing would calm her down. Her uncontrollable screeching happening while I’m pressing a razor to my face. 

Let the unravelling begin.  

My own indecision on what I was wearing kicked it up a notch. Then I boiled over when Cam and Aidan were taking pictures of Jill and I dressing with our iPhones. 

Door is slammed. And I immediately regret it. How many times have I told the kids not to slam doors, and there I go doing it. Nice one, Greg. 

Looking back at it now. My reactions to these situations were completely senseless. I will make it to Brooklyn on time, as a matter of fact, I emailed my prospect telling her that I might be late. Kylie just needed a hug. Cam and Aidan were having harmless fun. And who gives a crap what I’m wearing? 

I want to apologize to everyone in my path this morning. I aim to be a better, bigger person than that. 

Let Sleeping Raccoons Lie

After a dirty, scrappy, miserable loss to a rival team on a cabbage patch of a soccer field, the Monagraham 5 went with our close friends and neighbors to Weir Farm in Wilton. Just the antidote, my friends. Communing with nature fills you with light and life, getting kicked all morning by stinky 40 year olds doesn’t.

They call this joint a farm because, well, that’s what it once was. Nowadays you won’t find a chicken anywhere on its rolling, rocky acreage. What you will find is unspoiled forestland, lakes n ponds, a stream or two, mysterious stone walls, swampy, reedy plateus and trees, trees, trees. Millions of gorgeous trees. 

This is what I love about CT, gorgeous freakin trees. 

So the Weirs turned their summer residence into an artists’ refuge. Today, everybody can take part in plein air painting and sketching. To be honest, I didn’t know what plein air was, but basically it’s you and your uncoordinated hand vs. nature. They give you a satchel full of watercolors or pastels and you go at it, recording what you see. You’re free to hike the trails, kick over stones, climb a tree, whatever you want—but they encourage you to paint and sketch like Sir Weir once did. 

The kids were all over it, tearing through sheets and sheets of paper. Showing off their creations, talking excitedly with pastelly hands and faces. Cam, Aidan and Kylie’s three different styles are quickly emerging. Aidan loves saturation. He will color with intense ferocity, making sure every square millimeter of negative space is filled big, bright, bold color. Cam is has a more delicate touch, allowing figures and shapes to float in space with light washes of color. Kylie prefers the abstract colorful lines weaving within and without each other. 

We hiked through the woods and found a 30 foot high ancient rock formation, the kids climbed all over it. The adults attempted to corral them. We also came across some wild life. I scooped up a painted turtle and let the kids touch it. The kids found a “sleeping” raccoon. I told them it was a good idea to back away, so as not to disturb his extreme slumber. 

Ridin the Bus

Spent a good portion of this whirlwind weekend in Mill River MA, at a friend’s country home with the intention of shaping a project we share called “Spiritbus.” This powerful group of entrepreneurs is coming together to change business on a global scale. That’s right. I said it. Global scale. 

“If you transform business, you transform the world” is a quote from one of our founding members. 

And I think we’d all agree that this world could use a little transformin’, right? We came up with a very simple purpose statement: “Spiritbus is here to bring spirituality and business together for the benefit of all.” Benefit of all. Think about that for a second. 

That means everybody and everything. People. Planet. The whole moose, friends.  

Not the just the big-gun shareholders. Everyone. The employees, the families of the employees, their children, and their friends. The cleaning crews, and the day laborers, the desk jockeys alike. The benefit of all. Even—dare I say—the “competition.” 

We are one. We need to support one another, not take each other out. 

Nobody But Us

Winter’s arrived. Nov. 8. Woke up to heavy, icy clumps falling from the sky. The kind of snow that hurts when it hits you. You can can hear it smash into the ground and shatter. An unexpected meteorological treat. 

The weekend was a fantastic one my friends. In low-40 degree temps, we packed up the kids to the beach for a photo shoot. Which sounds like a terrible idea, but it wasn’t so bad, I guess. Our good friend Yvonne, who happens to be a very talented photographer, offered to take some shots of the Monagraham 5. 

The beach looked abandoned—the burger stand boarded up, the playground eerily quiet, lonely swings swaying by themselves. Aidan and Cam loved having the beach to themselves. They tore their jackets off and ran around aimlessly, laughing and screaming. They are immune to weather. While my fingers were going numb, they had not a care. It could’ve been 80 to them.

Like a female pied piper, Yvonne managed to charm Aidan and Cam into settling down enough to snap off a few shots. Kylie wasn’t in the mood for the camera. She wanted to be with Jill full time. The second there was one inch of clearance between her and Mom, her mouth would open good n wide. 

After the shoot, we went for pizza and hot chocolate—but not at the same time. Pizza first. Hot chocolate later. I love my weekends with my family. 

Bum Wine

First day in three that I’ve been in the office. Unusual for me to be absent from the HQ that long. But in my new role as the new business department, I’m usually babbling on the phone most of the day. And I suppose I can do that from most anywhere. 

The days do get a bit lonely though. Kinda miss the office conversation. 

If you were to be a fly on the wall at Monaco Lange you’d hear a remarkable range of office chatter. Theology, celebrity gossip, politics, anatomy, technology, physics and, on the rare occasion, sports. And it’s only Jenn and I who talk sports, the rest have zero interest. 

We spent quite a few non-billable hours gawking at the de-evolution of Amy Winehouse, gaping at Madonna’s sinewy arms, waxing on about atheism vs. agnosticism vs. nihilism vs. whatever-kinda-ism, and investigating the finer points of bum wine. For a full week, I couldn’t get this inspired jingle outta my skull:

What’s the word? Thunderbird

How’s it sold? Good n cold. 

What’s the jive? Bird’s alive. 

What’s the price? Dolla twice. 

That’s poetry, man. If you go to bumwine.com, you can read a story about how Julio Gallo used to cruise down the skiddy sections of town shouting at bums “What’s the word?” Without thinking, they’d reply “Thunderbird.” Now that is marketing success, abeit a horrifying marketing success—and an exploitation of another human being. But I'm sure it made the shareholders happy.  

According to lore, Juilo made the wine specifically for drunks—cheap wine he could sell by the truckload. Something I wouldn’t have known about unless I walked into the office one day.