On the road again; My Western PA day-long Rotarian Tour rocks!

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I wrote last week about how Bruce Springsteen flies a private jet home after gigs so precious can sleep on his own pillow. Tramps like, him, baby were born to skip long TSA security checkpoints.

I don’t begrudge him his imperial trappings, but I’m sure even he is self-deprecating enough to know indulging them sets him up for snark attacks from jealous guys like me

See I’m on tour, too.

I’m writing this from the road. Three cities in 18 hours. Last night was Butler, breakfast in Holidaysburg and after I bang this one home I’m bound for Altoona.

Like Bob Seger, I’m singing about turning the page.

Only with me, the page I’m turning is within the vivid covers of “Use All The Crayons! The Colorful Guide to Simple Human Happiness.”

And with me there’s not a groupie in sight.

It’s nothing but Rotarians!

I bet it’s some kind of coincidental record, but I’m maybe the only author in the world to be invited to speak to three different Rotary Groups within a 150-mile radius all in less than 24 hours.

There was a time not too long ago when I used to be afraid of Rotarians. They were so proper. So dignified. So, so, so . . . 

Employed!

Now, I’m spending so much happy time with them I’m thinking I might become one through authorial osmosis.

It’s been wonderful, too. See, it’s taken me a long time to hit my stride in finding out how best to sell my book.

I’m becoming a firm believer the best way for me at least to sell my books is to show up with a smile and meet readers in the churches, the civic halls and libraries and begin to speak in a clear voice about the things about which I’m passionate.

That means, I guess, spending my every free moment from the past 32 years in dark taverns in the hopes I’d find success was maybe a slight miscalculation.

In the last 24 hours I’ll have sold about 25 books (pending lunch session estimated), eaten three free meals and been bestowed with blessings and commemoratory Rotary tchotchke (Hollidaysburg gets points for originality; they gave me a Rotary slinky!).

I could live on that.

Lunch will be my sixth Rotary presentation in the past four weeks. I’d previously done Latrobe, Greensburg (my best; sold 24 books!) and Washington. Upcoming are Uniontown and Somerset.

The great thing about these visits is how they are really sharpening my stump speech.

For instance, this morning may have been the best one yet. The crowd of about 24 was very enthused. They laughed at all my jokes, nodded at the poignancies and gave me one of the most warm receptions I’ve ever had.

I sold seven books, including one before-my-eyes download and two requests for contact info from people who want me to mail them books.

Some may sniff at the sale totals.

Not me.

That’s really just gravy — and I’m not talking about the kind slathered on the Salisbury steaks!

No, for me the best result is each time becoming more adept, more polished and more confident about my public speaking.

That’s where the money is. I’m aggressively pitching more businesses and groups about having me come in to share my motivational humor.

The pieces seem to be falling into place.

One problem: unlike Springsteen my setlist never varies. I’m giving the same talk over and over. I don’t think anyone cares. It’s not like I’m married to anyone in the audience and they’ve had to hear the same tired jokes for, geez, 22 years.

Poor Val.

One other problem: I give the exact same speech no matter if my time allotment is 15 minutes, 30 or an hour.

I just vary the pace of my spoken words.

The 30-minute talk is the most natural and least challenging for the audience.

The 15-minute talk is given at auctioneer speed, which means the hour-long is riven one has lots . . . . and lots . . . . and lots . . . . of  . . . . really . . . . really . . . . tedious  . . . . pauses.

It’s the only speech that comes with several thousand built-in intermissions.

So that needs work.

But I’m really just getting started.

That’s enough for now. Like Willie Nelson, I’m on the road again. I’m bound for Altoona and optimistic it’ll all go well and my Rotary audience will be on fire to buy my book.

No private jet for me, though.

Tramps like me, baby, we were born to drive 2007 Saturn Vues with 119,889 miles on them.

Note: I’d intended to file this before the Altoona presentation, but ran out of time. So here’s what happened:

It was in a ballroom in the Blair County Convention Center, before about 75 Altoona Rotarians, the largest crowd I’ve ever addressed. It went great. Sold 29 books and came within six books of selling out.

Afterwards, the organizer called me on the way home and said it was one of the best presentations they’ve ever had. “Everyone loved it!” he said. “It was informative, entertaining and it was short!”

I’m off the clock now so you’ll have to make your own jokes there.

It was all very gratifying. In fact, it went so well on the way home I began thinking, “Hmmm, maybe it’s time I thought about starting a cult. I hear there’s good money in that.”

I’ll let you know if anything comes of that logistical brainstorm.

Related . . .

Turn the Page: A Bob Seger salute

For Boss fans only: A Springsteen career retrospective

Willie Nelson for “high” court

Results of my weekend crash: my computer/my Saturn

My fears of public speaking

“Use All The Crayons!” A 10-star review

Latrobe businesses need clean pee!

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In my earnestness to always find common ground, I blurted out something stupid the other day when a casual acquaintance told me his plant was thriving.

“Mine, too!” I gushed. “I water it, give it plenty of sunshine and talk out loud to it when its leaves look like they need cheering up because being cooped up in a little pot stunts its growth. I named mine Burt.”

He wasn’t talking about that kind of plant.

He owns an area metal works factory and stops in at The Pond for lunch once in a while. Business is gangbusters.

There’s only one problem: He can’t find help.

Turns out the problem at his plant stems from many otherwise qualified applicants overusing a kind of plant that shares basic characteristics to the kind of plant I’m nurturing in my office.

That’s just a guess. I’ve never dried and smoked any of Burt’s leaves.

“Yeah, if I bring 10 guys in for interviews, five of them will fail the drug test and two of them will run out the door when they hear there’s a drug test. Some times we’ll have a guy try and sneak clean urine into the test, but we always catch them because the urine’s always room temperature. Fresh urine’s pretty steamy.”

I almost asked him if they pee test the guys who oversee the pee tests, but I didn’t want to interrupt.

I was fascinated.

This might be the most ample evidence I’ve heard that the economy’s turned the corner. I’m calling it the Post-Industrial Stoner Status: The PISS Index.

A buddy of mine who does the hiring at another nearby facility confirmed the index’s viability.

“Oh, yeah, I tell them in advance about the drug test so they know it’s coming and have time to get clean. It doesn’t matter. They still fail. They just don’t care.”

Maybe I’m naive, but I find it incredible that 70 percent of our burn out population would rather stay broke and high than find a job.

Now, far be it for me to extoll the virtues of stable employment, but striving for a better life should be an inherent part of the human condition. You’d think at some point you’d want a good job just so you could afford more and better quality pot.

I guess the most celebrated stoner I know is probably Nashville troubadour Todd Snider, but even he once in a while picks up a guitar and writes a song about the joys of getting high -- and I’m glad no one hands him a cup to pee in before he’s allowed to record his music. Same goes for Willie and Snoop. 

I’ve never been a big dope smoker -- and I apologize for that to all you avid dope smokers. I believe those of us who do not have to undergo drug tests should test drugs on behalf of those who do. It’s only fair.

I have to think the solution to my friend’s problem is to just chuck the stupid drug tests. Why not? Marijuana legalization is sweeping the nation more quickly than even gay marriage.

Truly, these are golden days for gays who like to get high. Imagine if you’d have told a gay couple five years ago that by 2014 they’d be able to get married in most states and smoke pot at the reception they’d have said you were -- what’s the condition to describe addled thinking?

Confused?

Who cares if some stoner lops off a finger or two down on the assembly line? Not the stoner, certainly. He’ll be happy as long as he has enough digits left to keep the bongs bubbling.

Think what relaxing picky drug standards would do for the economy. Production at my friend’s factory would fire right up if he could hire a bunch of guys who come to work all fired up.

Our nation’s snack food producers would see an instant boost in sales. 

The only industry that would likely suffer would be the one that conducts drug tests and that’s unfortunate. I know of no other industry that values the skill of instantly gauging the approximate temperature of authentic human urine.

The morale of the American work force would surge, too. More and more people are resenting tyrannical intrusions into our private lives and to that I say amen.

Of course, I don’t mention any of this to Burt. No sense doing anything to piss off the plants.

Poor thing’s already surrounded by pot and can’t ever even get high.

Related . . . 

Whitney, Petty, weeds & Willie

Doin’ drugs at the ol drive-in

Willie Nelson for “high” court