My compliments: my day with the PR&LA

(850 words)

Until very recently, most of the compliments people have said to my face have been rectal in nature.

It was like that in ’14 when I lost a bone-headed game of red light chicken with a monster truck near downtown Pittsburgh (link below). The wreck was my fault, sure, but the guy said he had no intention to escalate the legal or administrative stakes.

“I could tell just by looking at you you’re not an (sounds like “castle”).”

Then there was the time in 1992 I quit my job at the newspaper and one of the tough guy pressmen came up said the boys were going to miss me.

“Yeah, you’re about the only guy in the whole newsroom who doesn’t walk around here like he has some giant stick up his (take a wild guess).”

I thanked him and said I’d rush to a proctologist if I ever detected symptoms of any anal arbor.

So the bar for heirloom compliments is, for me, set rather low. Below the belt, certainly.

Maybe that’s what made last night so wonderful.

I had dozens of people come up and say nice things about me and not a one of them involved my lower gastrointestinal tract.

Some of them even said I’d cured their hangovers.

That’s something, according to Scripture, Jesus didn’t even do, although bringing the dead back to life is kind of on par.

I’d spoken early Monday morning to about 50 members of the Pennsylvania Restaurant & Lodging Association at the Doubletree Hotel in Pittsburgh.

It went very well. I’m becoming confident enough in the reaction that I can nitpick my delivery. Some choppiness, some meandering, but all-in-all a solid effort. I’d give it a B.

See for yourself. Here’s a 2:33 dimly lit clip of my silhouette equating my book to the cure for polio.

The only problem — and it was purely logistical — was I didn’t bring enough books. They’d purchased 50 books in advance for guests when they checked in. But they needed 7 more. I’d absentmindedly left extras in the office.

That meant I had to drive back to Latrobe (they’d put me up for the night), grab a stack of books, sign ‘em, and drive back down in the time for the swanky awards dinner.

It’s the kind of inefficiency that drives Val nuts. 

When I phoned her of the necessity she immediately began brainstorming sensible solutions that would save me the trip. In my mind, I envisioned her in front of a giant wall map moving USA flag pins over Pointe du Hoc like Ike did in the hours before D-Day.

I said, no, I’ll endure.

In fact, I was thrilled. The development meant I’d get to enjoy a swell meal, free hootch and maybe make some exciting new connections.

But I left unsaid the biggest reason: I love being in big rooms where drunk people are going to say nice things about me.

That’s exactly what happened.

Understand, these are very convivial folks and I love them. Service people work long, difficult hours and if they’re not smiling sunshine about working on Christmas Eve some anal Ebert is going to post a social media rat slam saying the place is going to hell.

And, God bless ‘em, they love to party.

Me, too!

So we’re boozing at the reception and big grown men (my audience was about 75 percent male) are coming up to me and telling me I was great. 

“I don’t think you know what a tough crowd you were facing,” one guy said. “We were all hungover and you made us laugh and feel better. I can’t wait to read your book.”

It got even better when they opened the doors to the dining hall.

It was like I walked into “Use All The Crayons!” heaven.

The stage was festooned with giant inflatable crayons. The folded napkins at each place setting were different primary colors and all the printed programs sustained the theme.

It was such a signature night for me I kept hoping I’d be invited on stage so I could thank meeting planner Heidi Howard, her friendly staff, and esteemed association president John Longstreet for all their warmth and encouragement.

I was also pleased to see the high regard my friend Joey DiSalvo, owner of Latrobe’s DiSalvo’s Station, is held by his peers. A past board chairman, he is beloved, as was evident in the raucous ovation he received at being introduced.

It couldn’t have all been because Longstreet announced Joey’d secured the gala wine donation.

It was just a splendid day. I feel so blessed.

It had me wondering how different I’d be today if I’d have heard this kind of praise 20 years ago, back when I was by God sure I deserved it.

So much heady praise could have warped me. I might have made a lot more money, but at what cost to my self-effacing personality?

Sure, I might have wound up living in a castle.

But it’s more likely I’d have wound up behaving like a word that sounds like the regal structure.

It’s probably all for the best.

Related . . .

My weekend of crashes; computer & car

Roger Ebert movie “Life Itself” more than a movie

Thoughts on circular pizza & horny Hut waitresses

Greatest American speeches and why mine’s better

On the road again: My Western PA Rotarian Tour rocks!

How I became a PROSEtitute

I speak: some laugh, some cry, some snooze

Juvenile candor starting to pay off

(754 words)

It’s taken me about 50 years, but my bracing brand of juvenile candor is finally beginning to resonate with responsible adults.

I know this because this week I had successful outcomes at three potentially stressful meetings involving accountants, bankers and school officials.

I think a part of it is because I’m no longer even tempted to respond to difficult questions with bedrock lies like, “I didn’t do it,” “It’s not my fault,” “And, no, I’m not Chris Rodell. I’m Tris Rodell.”

Now, I just blurt out whatever the hell I think is at that very moment my version of the truth.

It’s how I got into an argument with my accountant about why my new pillow should count as a legitimate business deduction. My taxes looked to her like so much baroque art — vibrant, grand, but lacking elemental focus — she had us apply for an extension.

“You can’t as a business expense deduct a pillow!”

If I wrote about the pillow, and I did, then it is indeed a business expense. And I may one day write a book about the the history of pillows. So it’s research.

“Okay, but I’m not letting you deduct mileage for driving your kids to their swim meets. There’s no way anyone would consider that a business expense.”

Clearly, she’d been too busy tallying doctored receipts to read my blog. 

I’ve written many angry screeds about how much I despise attending my daughters’ swim meets. 

“In fact,” I said, “I might call my very next book, ‘What I Hate about Swim Meets & How a Really Good Pillow Helps Get Me Through ‘em.’”

Brace yourself, Uncle Sam. She eventually agreed.

It was the same way with the school official who I misheard when she asked if I’d ever abused boys.

“Oh, sure,” I admitted. “I used to do it all the time. Never alone. That’s no fun. It was always with a bunch of giggle buddies.”

My answer left her aghast. She asked where I’d done it.

“Usually, right there on my bar stool, but sometimes on a golf course or at a Pirate game. Really, I’d do it any place I thought I could get away with it. It goes back to Ohio University where that kind of abuse was a big part of college life.”

Her face grew pale and I sensed we were talking about different topics. Turns out I’d had misheard her.

I thought she’d asked if I’d ever abused booze.

I assured her I’d never abuse boys. Or girls. I adore and nurture children, even ones whose parents I know are either mean or moronic.

It’s that time of year when me and my worms are again summoned to the local elementary school to talk about recycling, and there was a question of whether I’d need a document proving I’d never been convicted of abuse.

After she’d resumed breathing, I told the woman she had it backwards. I shouldn’t need a document stating I wouldn’t abuse their 3rd graders.

She should present me a document stating 3rd graders wouldn’t abuse my worms.

It all got cleared up. Turns out procedural documents for wormy visits like mine are unnecessary.

It’s not that way at the bank. I’d gone there to apply for a home equity loan.

I think many blog readers believe my incessant whining about being broke — being “Eight Days To Amish” — is schtick. It is not.

My belief that better days are about to dawn is coinciding with some of the darkest realities of my entire career. 

I believe this indomitable spirit in the face of real adversity is one of my greatest attributes. I understand this while simultaneously recognizing that’s the very reason you should rejoice I’m not your spouse.

So why should the bank loan me money?

Due to youthful responsibility, diligence and some fondly remembered real income, Val and I do own our home. That’s a considerable asset. 

And the lucrative success I’ve had at speaking engagements over the past year isn’t a fluke.

It’s just a beginning.

But I think the reason approval is pending is because I blurted out a line that’s probably never been uttered in any bank office where a near-destitute applicant was seeking a loan.

Why should they loan me money?

“Because I simply can’t believe it’s all part of God’s plan for me to be broke forever.”

The loan officer smiled and she began to nod.

He may not have much money but, man, the kid’s got balls.

It’s just how I roll.

Related . . .

Pillow shopping for Ol’ Crusty

Pillow talk about new iPhones

5-hour swim meets too long, driving me crazy

Swim meets and my history of hugging

Taking my worms to elementary school

Frank Burns eats worms

New record "Crayons!" book purchase: 270 to . . .

(903 words)

Two weeks after landing my biggest purchase, I’ve topped it yet again. The new benchmark is 270 copies of “Use All The Crayons!”

But unlike the one for 250 that went to West Virginia University 4H students, I have no idea who’ll be buying these books.

I’m not even sure of the states in which they’ll be sold. It’s because the purchaser is not a group or an individual.

It’s Barnes & Noble.

I’ve had some friends say I need to think about writing a book about how I got this book to become a success, assuming, of course, that it’ll ever become a success.

I’m fairly confident that’s just what’s going to happen. And if that does happen, I can pretty much be sure it’s going to be as thick as a car battery. “War and Peace” will seem like a trifle compared to “Blockbuster or Bust” or whatever title I eventually settle on.

This is taking forever, isn’t it?

I tell people the book is really taking off and it’s just that it’s a really, really long runway.

Remember, it was August 2012 when I got the letter from Barnes & Noble’s Small Press Department in New York informing me they were going to order my book to stock on their shelves, a very rare occurrence for any self-published book.

And they were going to start with 10 copies!

I remember reading that and thinking that had to be a typo. Didn’t they mean 10,000 copies?

I showed the letter to the community relations manager at my local Greensburg store — she’s wonderful — and she was ecstatic.

“Oh, this is tremendous news,” she said. “I’ve worked here for six years and get requests from writers like you about three times a week. This is the first one they’ve ever approved.”

With books like mine, the book really has to prove itself. Those 10 copies were sent to the Greensburg store and monitored to see how quickly they sold.

They sold out right way so they ordered 10 more. Then 20. Then 40.

The average self-published book sells just 100 copies. I sold that many at that one store in December alone.

Those robust sales got the attention of the local district manager who ordered the book sold in all 12 area stores, where they continued to do well. I’d visit each of the stores to say hello and thank them for selling my book.

Soon, thanks to friends and enthusiasts, the book was for sale in stores in Ohio, West Virginia and Connecticut.

Meanwhile, I continued to bust my ass selling it out of the trunk of my car at churches, libraries and civic clubs. 

And I kept hearing from far-flung strangers all around the country. They had to have my book — and they thought their friends needed it, too. Some would order two or three. Some 20.

The best was the woman in Illinois who just had to have 30 signed copies.

Wow, I said. You have that many friends?

“No,” she said, “I have 10 friends, but I want to give 20 to patients down at my local cancer treatment center. I’m sure they’re going to love your book.”

Blew me away.

And you by now must know about the insane reaction to my motivational speeches like the one I gave to those WVU students, one that was so over-the-top I justifiably slugged the YouTube video “greatest author ovation ever!”

So early this year, I thought it was time to re-approach Barnes & Noble about wider distribution. I put together a very snazzy package — similar to one that’s earning interest for my speaking gigs — and requested they consider ordering the book for all 661 of its stores.

Took them about two months to respond in a letter that was practically word-for-word what the 2012 letter said with one exception: The order was 27 times higher than two years previous.

So if they ship three copies to each store that’s 90 new stores across the land. How they arrived at that number I have no idea. I wish they’d be more forthcoming with details, but that’s their business.

Mine is to approach every sale like it’s solely up to me and no one else. I understand the book must continue to prove itself. I intend to help it along.

I’m spending this down holiday week writing personal letters to store managers all over America. The letters contain copies of the home office notification and requests that they stock my book and consider giving it some flattering prominence.

In short, I’m going to do everything I did in the Pittsburgh area except on a national scale. I think it’ll work.

If you’re so inclined, the next time you’re in your local Barnes & Noble, I’d appreciate it if you’d mosey on over to the self-improvement section and see if the book’s there. If it’s not, tell someone it should be. If it is, thank the bookseller on my behalf for selling it and ask them to feature the book in a place of prominence.

If they decline, offer to mow their lawn, wash their car, or spend the weekend babysitting their children, etc. Whatever it takes.

And if I can persuade even one of you to do even one of those things, then my dubious contention that I’m America’s foremost motivational humorist will enjoy a significant boost.

Related . . .

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

“Use All The Crayons!” unconventional marketing

Bullies, books & bikers

Arnold Palmer NOT attending my book signing

“Use All The Crayons!” now a modeled book

"Use All The Crayons!" YouTube promo (behind the scenes)!

(1,060 words)

First off, I think our my initial mistake was having Dave Carfang and I appear as ourselves in the “Use All The Crayons!” FAQ video we produced and posted last week.

We should have hired actors.

I’m thinking Morgan Freeman for me and Ellen DeGeneres for Dave.

Having the great Freeman, an Oscar-winning 76-year-old African-American, play me, a white 51-year-old blogger/author/worm farmer, would be controversial among people to whom race most matters and controversy sells books.

I could maybe have met Bill O’Reilly!

I can hear the questions: “Did you feel like you had to pander to the blacks?Couldn’t you maybe have just acted a little blacker yourself?”

And casting Ellen to play Dave would just have been funny so that would have been worth it.

As it was, in addition to acting, I designed and dusted the set, wrote the screen play, directed and co-starred. I almost earned catering credit, too, but Dave wasn’t in the mood for Frito’s. 

Oh, if only you could seen the conceptual version in my head!

It was going to be professional. Scintillating. Inspirational. At under 2 minutes and 30 seconds, it was going to be hipster snappy.

It’s none of those things. It’s verbose. Sloppy. Sluggish. At 6 minutes and 32 seconds, I’d say it’s kind of flabby.

It’s almost like I’m describing Dave and myself!

But it was economical. We did it in one take.

Of course, in fairness to guys like Spielberg, we weren’t exactly filming “Schindler’s List.”

As there is no additional footage over which aficionados can pour, you’ll have to consider this the director’s cut, the behind-the-scenes peek that explains what we were thinking.

And what were we thinking?

I think it was this: “This is something really weird for two adult males to be doing.”

So it’s a good thing I didn’t include a scene were we look soulfully into one another’s eyes and kiss.

But I was intent on having something on YouTube that might further my mission of snagging speaking engagements. I thought it would be helpful to have someone interview me and post the answers to questions any perspective event planners might have.

No detail was overlooked.

I made sure my big poster of the cover was in the background. That’s what they in Hollywood call “product placement.”

The video begins with me pretending to type something on my laptop, as if Dave simply appeared out of thin air. I must say, I think I look pretty convincing. But to be fair, I’ve been pretending I’ve been typing something on my laptop since 1992.

In the background, careful listeners will hear Bob Dylan singing my favorite line from “Where Are You Tonight?” the 1978 rocker from Dylan’s “Street Legal” album. Many people have heard me quote it when they say how great it must be to have been my own boss for 22 years.

If you don’t believe there’s a price for this sweet paradise

Just remind me to show you the scars!

I gave Dave two minutes to read over the script before we rolled. I knew he didn’t have much time. The Friday lunch crowd was starting to come in and he’s yet to making acting in my cheesy promotions his priority.

Nerves, unfamiliarity with his lines and having to read and simultaneously operate the camera are the reasons why the camera sometimes shakes so bad my head completely disappears from the picture.

You can hear the script rattling as he pauses to turn the pages.

It was so bad, YouTube noted the chaotic filming and asked if I’d like to apply a stabilizing technique to the clip.

Never. I was as always striving for authenticity and I’d no sooner stabilize the film than I would stabilize Dave.

Some of my favorite parts are when I forget my own answers to my own questions and offhandedly ask Dave for a prompt.

“So, what makes your book so special, Chris?”

I went blank and ad libbed, “Well, that’s a great question, my friend. But could you be more specific?”

“Sure! Do people often buy more than one copy?”

“Funny you should ask. In fact, I once sold 23 people 168 copies. One woman bought 150 for her youth group.”

That’s true, too. In fact, everything I say is true. It’s just that I say it in so many contrived ways it sounds like I’m really laying on the old bullshit.

My favorite part of the video occurs at the 4:18 mark when Dave asks, “A lot of people have read your blog, ‘Eight Days To Amish,’ and are curious about your office space here above The Pond. Mind if we snoop around a little bit?”

“Be my guest!”

This was the part I did my most detailed directing. I told Dave to take the camera and slowly walk around the apartment showing the layout and all the neat stuff I have on the walls and ceilings. I thought people would get a kick out of seeing what it’s like for me to work in what is in essence a giant scrapbook.

I even walked around with my hands up making a little finger box like I’ve seen the real directors do.

So Dave asks the question and starts to pan away toward the corner.

Then he freezes!

It’s like he’s been hypnotized by the Bose stereo cabinet (made it myself in 10th grade!) sits surrounded by 50 bright copies of the book (more product placement!).

It’s like watching a Derby horse that can’t leave the starting gate. Then he starts making little observational noises like, “Hmm,” and “Ahh!”

You can hear me faintly in the background shooing him away, “Move, damn it! Don’t just stand there! Go!”

Area casting directors take note: it becomes obvious he takes direction well, because he races through the rest of the tour so quickly you can hear him starting to lose his breath.

It concludes with me thanking Dave and inviting everyone to come visit us both at The Pond.

I mean everyone, but I’m talking specifically to you, Morgan Freeman and Ellen DeGeneres!

Until that happens, I’m thinking of other ways to entertain and enlighten our little audience.

You know what that means.

Yes, it’s almost time for the Chris and Dave Puppet Show!

Related . . . 

Giving away my book a blue chip idea

Golf Channel at The Pond, a snappy recap

Busted naked at work again

2009 office party recap

I pranked the trash man today

Zombies at The Pond

I am now The Pond’s official twitterist