Baby, baby, baby.... Ohhh, like: Baby, baby, baby...

We live in a very connected world. You can't go anywhere without the latest technology. I'm guilty of it just like everyone else.

One of my jobs, as you may know, is writing questions for Nashville's best bar trivia company. Since the internet signal that I steal acquire at my home is less than reliable (although weekend mornings tend to be very good for whatever reason), I often find myself lovingly lugging my MacBook from bar to bar so that I can get on the internet, look up random facts, and then translate those facts into a question that a drunk person may or may not be able to answer. I very well can't put that on my LinkedIn profile but I gussied it up a bit so it ultimately sounds much more impressive. Two links already? This is shaping up to be one hell of an entry!

Who would have thought that even 5 years ago, so many people would be bringing their computers into bars not to mention coffee shops where the thwack-thwack-thwack of the keys must mean that you are working really hard on that novel you're writing? Not me. I'm obviously guilty of it. 'Cept for the whole bringing-the-laptop-into-a-coffee-shop part. I hate coffee, I don't drink caffeine and every time I go into a coffee shop I get the distinct feeling that I am being quietly judged by Johnny GrandeLatte because I'm more interested in buying orange juice and not tipping the barista for merely ringing up my order and doing nothing over and above the ordinary to warrant a tip and DAMNIT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME OUT OF THIS COFFE SHOP! As an aside, I am strangely excited that the blogger dashboard doesn't recognize "barista" as a word and gives me the little red underline squiggly thing beneath it.

But connectivity is everywhere. Ubiquitous. All the time. We've been juiced up... even when there's no internet connection we have our smart phones that are certain to one day rise up against us. Tweeting, facebooking, foursquaring (which is much more addictive than I thought it was going to be) and other internetting. Three little red underline squiggly things in a row and "barista" has taken its revenge.

Most of the readers of this blog are probably between the ages of 25 and 35 which, conveniently, happens to be the age of most my friends. That's about the only piece of information that Google Analytics won't provide. Yes, big brother is watching you. Special shout out to my readers from Oceania! But being that age, most of my friends are at the point in their life when they are either getting married and/or having babies. This is where connectivity is a horrible thing.

Yup. Horrible.

In all honesty, I don't need updates every 15 minutes on what your baby is doing; that she just smiled at you; that he took his first step; that little Timmy Diapers is learning how to use the toilet. I know your kid is perfect. As a matter of fact, I probably really like your kid. As a further matter of fact, I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold. Fortunately for you, my dear reader, I am a horrible babysitter. The only game/activity that I know is "I'mgonnagitcha! I'mgonnagitcha!" where in I run around the house and pretend to chase your youngin about. What am I supposed to do with your kid after that? Feed him some ice cream? Let her watch Raging Bull? I don't know. I do know, however, that no one ever calls me to watch their kid. Maybe it has something to do with the empty pizza box in my room and the fact that I still really like cartoons. I'm not an expert.

My point, and I swear I have one, is that I'm just not that impressed with your kid. I prefaced that, as you will recall, with "I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold" so the worst you can be is mad at me. Of course, every parent is proud of their kid, and rightfully so. My parents are proud of me but I can't recall the last time my mom's facebook status read "I'm so proud of my little man! He just poured a whole glass of milk all by himself with no spillers! NO SPILLERS!" Of course, I'm 29, don't drink much milk these days, and my mom lives in a different region of the country so it may just be a perfect storm of all those things not having occurred in the same time and space together in quite a while which is the reason my mom hasn't posted that. And my dad doesn't have a facebook account so he simply can't post it.

So, my dear friends who are reading this, I do not need to know all the minute details of your kid's life. Sure, they're cute and, sure, I get it that your really proud of your little one. Take solace, though, that I am more interested in your kid than that Justin Beiber jackass and how he's doing the on the internet. He's 16 years old, Canadian, left-handed, and has to play with a capo on is guitar because I'm betting that his testicles haven't dropped just yet (hang in there, pal!). As a general rule of thumb, anyone born after 1990 can't matter on the internet just yet. I can't seem to think of another teen pop sensation off the top of my head so I guess I'll have to leave it as a blanket statement. I even did a Google image search (with the "safe search" function turned off) just to see if I recognized any of the people that were going to be brought up and got some pretty disturbing images. I am not kidding about that last part.

Now, friends, if your 14 month old gets a twitter account and starts posting pictures, I'll be impressed. Until that day, however, I'm not interested in kids and the world of social media meeting.

I wonder how many disappointed 14 year old girls are gonna come across this entry and be completely disappointed that there aren't more pictures of JB? Well, to satiate the masses, here's one of me with JB:Yup. Me and my dad, Jim Bohn, in 1998 at my high school graduation. There. Now you can't call me a liar.

LUDA!

Being in a band

I semi-randomly found this video on youtube today. It's not as good as the mysterious piano playing ChatRoulette guy but I still got a kick out of it.



Do I miss playing music? Yes. Do I miss being in a band? Sort of, I suppose. I miss the creative process and playing shows (minus the lugging around of amps). I don't miss being told exactly what to play; I'm sure you know what I'm talking about if you're an indie rock guitar player who lives in Nashville.

I'm working on some new creative outlets as of late. One of them involves playing bass (which I haven't done on stage in probably 8 or 9 years). I'd also like to get a vanity project going... But again since this is Nashville, everyone wants to do something commercial. Imagine the exact opposite of that and there you go.

Dear Mr. President

As many of you know, I am not a fan of the current administration. You also probably know that I didn't vote for either Obama or McCain in the 2008 election. And you can also probably guess that I am not a big fan of social welfare programs (using the word "welfare" in the purest academic sense). So, with the passing of last night's health care reform bill, I have decided to write and send a letter to President Obama. Here it is:





Dear Mr. President,

My name is Stephen Bohn and I live in Nashville, TN, one of America’s leading cities in the field of healthcare. I’ve got some of the finest medical facilities in the world right in my own backyard: Vanderbilt, Baptist, Centennial, St. Thomas, I could go on and on and on. And I visit several of them on a weekly basis. That’s right. Weekly. But more on that in a second.

Now, the first thing that may come to mind, Mr. President, when you read the word “weekly” next to the phrase “visit several of them” may be “Well, I just helped pass a huge health care bill that’s really gonna help this dude out.” I figure that how most people talk and I figure that you’re a lot like most people: just a dude trying to make it in the world. And that, Mr. President, is something that you and I have in common. We’re just two dudes trying to make in this world. Like Sam and Frodo. Or Thelma and Louise. Or Butch and Sundance before the Bolivian army showed up.

As I was sitting at my friend’s place last night watching a movie called Zodiac (which is really good, by the way), my mind kept drifting between the movie and the health care reform bill that was being passed. However, my phone was dead so I couldn’t check the status of things and I was at one point in time snuggled on a couch between two really good looking women. I was living the American dream. When the movie finally ended, I got in my car, charged my phone and saw that much to my confusion and amazement the bill passed.

I’m 29 years old. I’m in relatively good health. I run when I’m not too busy watching re-runs of Futurama in the morning. I try to get plenty of sleep. I drink more than my fair share of water. I sometimes watch what I eat. It’s not because I enjoy all of these things. I’d love nothing more than to eat cheeseburgers each day, drink three beers at lunch, and stay out all night every night but I can’t because if I do those things I won’t be prepared for one of my three jobs the following day. That’s right. Three jobs. Oh… back to the visiting hospitals on a weekly basis. Do you know what one of my three jobs is, Mr. President? It’s delivering flowers. That’s right. I have a business degree from one of the most respected schools in the world and I work on Saturdays at a flower shop; admittedly a job I absolutely adore. Why? It’s so I can live the life I want to live. It’s so that I can travel the world. It’s so I can pay off my car and one day in the hopefully not too distant future buy a home here in Nashville. It’s so I can afford to eat the occasional cheeseburger, drink the occasional beer, and stay out until the wee small hours of the morning on occasion. It’s not so that I can pay for someone else’s health care, I assure you.

Your newly approved health care reform bill will simply enable people, Mr. President. It will enable the people in the United States who don’t work as hard as I do to literally reap the benefits of my labor.

Mr. President, I didn’t vote for you. I didn’t vote for John McCain. As you can probably tell by my fearless tone of this letter and by the language that I’ve used herein that I am a fairly staunch libertarian. I want freedom in every sense of the word: freedom from oppression; freedom from government imposed regulations; freedom from tyranny. But more important than any of those “freedom from”s, good sir, I want “freedom to”. I want the freedom to write a letter to the leader of the free world telling him how much I think his health care bill sucks; the freedom to take on my own responsibilities (socially or otherwise) as I see fit; the freedom to own up to the decisions I’ve made; the freedom to spend or save the money that I’ve earned as I see fit; and, most importantly, the freedom to ask out one of the women that was sitting on the couch next to me last night. I am a realist however and I understand that nothing comes for free… especially that last one.

I didn’t get to one of my jobs this morning on a road that I designed. I didn’t breathe the clean air I breathed on the way from my car to the office because I regulated pollution in Davidson County. I didn’t install the stop sign that kept me safe this morning at an intersection as someone else blew right through it. I’m no martyr and I’m certainly not a complainer. I am, sir, a man of action. I am appreciative of all the good things that this country has allowed me the opportunity to do and continues to allow me the opportunity to do. It’s where the action and opportunity meet where I can achieve great things.

And so, Mr. President, I figured that just another dude like yourself would appreciate my situation and that you as a well-educated person would understand that you cannot tax and fine a nation back to prosperity. I figured if I had a gripe, I should go straight to the top with it because that’s how things get done. I figured even though the bill passed last night and I can’t change it much right now I would let you know my thoughts on the matter. But mostly, Mr. President, I figured I would let you know what myself and millions and millions other of Americans are thinking this morning: that you can take this health care reform bill and shove it up your ass.


Regards,




Stephen Bohn

Why I Should be a Hobbit

I wrote and sent this letter to New Line Cinemas (and every other contact email I could find) this afternoon. If you've got the hookup or owe me a favor, now is the time to get in touch with anyone in the biz.


Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

When I was in fifth grade, I had a friend named Zack Lemon. We were ten years old and the only things that we were concerned with that weekend’s basketball game, participating in the book fair, Mrs. Bibbee’s math test, and Heather Brown and why she was in love with Ryan Holmes and not either of us. Neither one of us were terribly popular. Maybe it’s because we spent our time getting into trouble instead of focusing on girls. Maybe it’s because neither one of us were nearly as cool as Ryan Holmes (let alone Paul Frieling). Maybe it’s because we were both too concerned with reading works of fiction and making swords out of discarded pieces of wood. I stand by my decisions though: they’ve gotten me this far in life. Of course, we ended up going to different high schools and eventually lost contact. I’ll give you a moment to recover if you need to. I know I do.

Okay… I’m back.

You can imagine my complete and total amazement especially being such a lover of literature that doesn’t suck (every book written by Michael Crichton, I’m looking at you), when some ten years ago, the Lord of the Rings began filming. I was beyond excited when I saw the movies in the theaters and once the trilogy ended, I only wanted more.

About 5 months ago, a friend of mine and I decided we were going to take a trip. Since we’re, you know, roughly 30 now and living the life of independent wealth and fame that we always imagined, we figured that we’d each pick up extra shifts at the Pepsi distribution center and flower shop that we, respectively, work at to save the money to take a vacation. I mean a real vacation; not to Boca Raton, Florida. As nice as Boca is, neither one of us is much for glittery shirts and the Miami-area lifestyle. We like camping, outdoor adventures, hiking, and seeing as much of the world as possible. Southern Florida along the Atlantic just doesn’t seem too offer too many of those things.

And so my work began… a 50 hour week here, a 65 hour week there. Every extra cent I managed to save went straight into a travel fund. In January, I had enough money to buy a plane ticket anywhere in the world. So, we picked our destination: New Zealand. It has been a dream of mine to visit the Land of the Long White Cloud for years and in just 181 short days, I will leave my beloved Nashville home and travel some 8055 miles across the world to take my dream vacation.

I read the announcement just two days ago that The Hobbit will begin filming in New Zealand in just a few months and that the shoot is expected to last for 10 months or so. Smack dab in the middle of my vacation. Could this be coincidence or super awesome planning by me? Well, it’s one of the two.

I’m sure you get letters and emails all the time from the world at large from folks asking if they can be in movies. “I’m the greatest actor since Bruce Campbell’s debut in ‘The Evil Dead’.” some of the letters must read. Or, “I’m more of a method actor than Method Man was when he was in ‘How High’.” Or, “Jewel recently filmed a video for one of her songs in the flower shop that I work at.” Actually, that last part is part of this letter. She was too good to use the bathroom I cleaned the night before, though. This, however, is not one of, you know, those letters. I’m not an actor and I haven’t been since I played Father Earth in Howell Nazarene Christian School’s production of our Earth Day play some 20 years ago but I am a lifelong hobbit: 5 foot 6, hairy feet, outdoors-y, eats six times a day, looks good in a waist coat. And I’m going to be in New Zealand when the most recent installment in the world of Tolkien is going to be filmed… You see where I’m going with this.

So, here it is: Make me a hobbit on set for one day. I can be anywhere in the country between September 18th and October 1st. I don’t even want a speaking line I just want to be a part of it all and if I got to see myself on screen I wouldn’t complain about that one bit.

And if you can’t do it for me, do it for Zack Lemon.


Cheers,




Stephen Bohn

I am (still) inspirational

About 5 weeks ago, I wrote this entry about how inspirational I am to the Nashville music community. About how pop darlings Ke$ha, Taylor Swift, and Jewel really are in love like with me and how I've inspired some of their songs. Like this one. And this one. I don't remember what Jewel had to do with lyrics involving my name but she is fun to look at and also shot a video for one of her songs at the greatest flower shop in all the land which I think was the catalyst for the entry. It's the first song that I want to focus on today.

As I was sitting in my cube this morning, thinking about my upcoming week, I got a message on facebook from someone I don't think that I've ever met before. I'm usually pretty awful with names unless it happens to be a particularly good looking women and then I'm pretty spot on. That's not at all strange how that works, is it? Oh, yes... The message:

If you can't read it, it reads as follows:
sorry to interrupt you! I just wanna know: are u that stephen kesha wrote a song about? that would be soo cool!

xoxo

julia

If you've taken the time to read through Ke$ha's lyrics for said song (and I'm sure that you have), you would have noticed some of the lines:
"I saw you in your tight ass rocker pants" and
"And I watched your ugly girlfriend sneer across the room" and my personal favorite
"I can charm the pants off anyone but you".

I don't wear tight ass rocker pants, every woman that has been goodly enough to date me in this town has been much better looking than me, and I don't wear pants unless I have to. So, no, as far as I know the song is not about me. But this chick is hot... So I'm gonna reply and tell her that it might be. 'Cause why the hell not?

You know, someday, someone is going to make a movie about me... maybe have Vangelis score it. It could be called Chariots of Fire 2: Still Burnin'. That just sounds inspirational:

At the very least, I could continue to lie to girls on the internet and tell them that I'm the muse for pop princesses the city over.

Romance in the Workplace

It's a very strange, quiet day here at job #1. I've got some projects to work on this afternoon but have some downtime this morning. As such, I am completing the required "Preventing Workplace Harassment" training. I am on the "Romance in the Workplace" chapter.

I do not expect to do well with this chapter of the training.

The Thin Red Line

If you haven't taken 3 hours out of your life to watch The Thin Red Line then you need to come over to my house and watch it. Now. Well, not now because I'm not there... and when I am there, I am usually asleep. Also, I'm writing in my blog and the internet connection at my house is hit or miss... and that's 'cause I steal it.

What? I live my life on the cheap and if my neighbors are just going to throw out a free internet signal, I might as well use it. Don't judge me.

I watched the movie when I was in college and didn't like. As a matter of fact, not only did I not like it, I didn't understand it. There is a great deal of voice over work. There are plenty of rhetorical questions. John Travolta has a mustache. I've done a great job of selling this, haven't I? Lucky for me, I'm not a movie producer and just a dude that hangs out.

The other evening in a fit of boredom and having gone through most all of my movies in the past 7 months, I made my way over to my collection and pulled this one off the shelf. It marked the first time I had watched it since in about 8 years. Am I ever glad that I did.

Here's the trailer:


It's got the kind of dialogue and the voice overs (oh, the amazing voice overs!) that I wish I could write. I particularly like the lines that Pvt. Jack Bell (played by Ben Chaplin) was given. One in particular:
"Love. Where does it come from? Who lit this flame in us? No war can put it out, conquer it. I was a prisoner. You set me free."

This love... it was written with verve and vigor. And it's the love that's the kind that can't last. And you know it. At least, I do. I've been there.

Go watch the movie.