The Dying Art of Common Sense

As I walked into the gas station, I saw a young man peering at the instructions on the pump with a blank expression as he repeatedly poked the same button. Each jab at the panel produced a loud beep, but no actual gasoline. Finally he gave up and headed into the station with a look of frustrated dejection. The attendant inside repeated the instructions, which sounded pretty basic to me: “Press the credit button; insert your card; and then enter your billing zip code.” Yet after hearing the instructions (twice) the customer went back outside and still couldn’t gas up his Honda. As the attendant headed outside to help the clueless customer, I heard him mutter under his breath, “I coulda sworn they told me when I was a kid that reading is FUNdamental…” After about three seconds, the attendant was coming back into the store shaking his head. He looked at me and said, “You should write something about that: the dying art of common sense.” Okay, Abdullah. Here you go.

I laughed off the comment at first, but the phrase stuck in my head the rest of the day. The eloquence of it belied a more glaring truth: common sense really is a dying art. We’ve become a society that needs a warning on coffee cups that the contents may be hot. Well, let’s hope the contents are hot--that’s kind of what I’m paying for.

My favorite warning was on a box containing a new toaster. In three languages it warned that the toaster inside was not intended for use in or under water. Which is a shame, since I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in the midst of a bath and had a sudden hankering for some fresh, crispy toast.

I think part of the decline in common sense is the increase in lawsuits. Corporations became afraid of finding themselves on the receiving end of class action lawsuits, so they began catering to the consumer public as if they were dealing with especially dim-witted five-year olds. There’s a difference between warning someone about an unknown danger, and pointing out what should be common damn sense. As a result, we’ve lost our ability to think for ourselves.

The only way to save the dying art of common sense is to think for yourself. Consider the consequences of your actions, and respond accordingly. Take the time to read the instructions fully before deciding you’re smarter than the engineers and professionals that designed whatever IKEA piece of crap you’re putting together. And for Godsake, use your turn signal—we’re not mind readers.

Project Exodus

Sometimes the clues are all around you, all you have to do is act on them. All day, I’ve been feeling especially optimistic. Maybe the glowing mood had to do with money actually being in my pocket, or maybe it was due to the gorgeous weather. No matter the inspiration, I was in fine spirits as I walked through downtown Greenville.

I was sitting in Sup Dogs (one of my favorite places to eat and chill), idly screwing around online, when the manager Derek came up to speak to me. Last week, he’d come in to the restaurant where I work on a date and sat in my section. The meal went fine and he was very complimentary about my server skills. This afternoon, he mentioned again how good a server he’d found me to be. As if he’d been reading my mind, he said that I should consider moving to a larger city to pursue the money someone with my personality could make. While I doubt I’d ever relocate to follow a food service job (not really my passion, ya dig?) the idea of moving to pursue my writing career has been haunting my mind a lot lately. Every once in a while I’ll casually look into the idea—researching job opportunities, checking out public transportation, etc.—then get caught up in living my life and forget about it for a while.

But this time it feels different. I was skyping with a friend who lives in Durham the other night and the subject came up. Every time Mark says something about me moving to the Raleigh/Durham area, it’s like the seed grows just a little bit larger in my mind. I’ve talked it over with him before, not to mention with my best friend from high school. Knowing I’d be living in close proximity to Sheon and Mark would give me something of an advantage. I’d have friends already in place, so while I may be the New Kid in Town, I doubt I’d be alone and lonely.

It seems a bit ironic to speak of safety nets, since that’s why I moved back to Greenville in the first place. I was living in Florida, and having a truly rough time of things. So I packed my proverbial bags and headed home to Carolina. But I’ve allowed that safety net to engulf me, and I’ve become stuck.

Today was the day I became unstuck. After talking to Derek (and killing 1½ Western Dogs, fries, and a couple of dollar beers) I mulled over the idea of leaving this place that’s become my home. I looked around 5^th Street, wondering what it would be like to call another place home. I let my fingers trace over the brick façade of 5^th Street Annex and questioned whether I could say goodbye to everything I’ve known for the past six years. As I wiped the slight traces of grit off my fingers, the answer came to me in the form of the bumper sticker on a passing car: “Yes We Can!” Whoa.

I spent a couple of hours in the library, writing and using the city’s free wifi. When I realized how late it had gotten, I headed through the lobby to wait for the bus. I figured I had a few minutes, so I just lingered in the AC and read the public announcements board in the lobby. It was littered with ads for pitbull puppies, and translation services. Then, in a corner of the board I saw it. It was plain, almost covered by the plastic cover of the thermostat someone had carelessly left open. When I read the words across the top I flinched as if I’d been shocked by a mild electrical charge. My face felt hot and the skin on the back of my neck prickled with awareness. Okay, Lord, I get it. Message received. Ten-four, Lord.

So, what you’re reading now represents a new beginning. This blog represents the genesis of Project Exodus. I’m giving myself six months to save money, plan, and eventually move to Raleigh. Hell, maybe I’ll consider a different city altogether. All I do know is that this is the only life we get, and if I’m going to advise people to follow their passions, I’d better be doing it myself.

Trey Pound tries salvia (click title for link)

So in the interest of full disclosure, I decided to post of the video of me smoking salvia. I first need to mention that salvia (also known as Salvia Divinorum) is ain inhalable (legal) herb sold in many states, including North Carolina. I decided to exercise my right to legal experimentation, and try some. Big mistake. I'm not perma-fried or anything, I just wish I'd left that brightly colored corner of my mind alone. As you watch the video, you can see (according to someone who saw the video) my "soul flying out of [my] body." Trust me, it's just as unpleasant as it sounds. That's one of the reasons I'm posting this video in all its unedited glory. Far be it from to scare anyone straight (ha!) but I think if you're going to try something new, you should at least catch a glimpse of what you're going to be getting into.

And now, a Very Special "Ask Uncle Trey Pound..."

Mom always told me my mouth would get me in trouble one day. I figured I'd wind up getting my ass handed to me in a drunken bar fight with a Marine, but it was Twitter.com that was my undoing. One night killing time at work, I logged onto Twitter.com for some snarky commentary with my fellow tweeters. I posted some (pretty rude) comments about a large client of my employer...which said client later noticed and brought to the attention of my boss--who had no choice but to fire me. Looking back, it's clear that it's a mess entirely of my own making. I screwed up, and I got fired. Having said that, I should also mention: it really sucks. It doesn't just suck because of the sudden unemployment, either. Now, whenever someone asks me why I left my job, I have to give them an answer that involves me looking stupid. No matter how cleverly I may try to phrase it, what most people hear is "I'm a moron with poor judgement who shot his mouth off." And by "most people," I mean "potential new employers." With the stink of this embarrassment following me like a bad fart, I had to go back out into the job market after losing a job I loved. I should mention, this is an indictment of neither Twitter.com nor my former employer. I still use Twitter.com (though I have upped my privacty settings), and I still have great friends at my former place of employment. Leave it to me to ruin my dream job by being too outgoing. A few positives have come out this, however. I've learned how supportive my friends can be--I've never gotten more emails containing links to job openings. More importantly, I've learned the age-old lesson to watch my mouth. We live in an age where everyone has the ability to (essentially) self-publish. And I made the rookie mistake of not considering who might stumble across my rude comments. But I would be Uncle Trey Pound if I didn't use my embarrassment to benefit others. So consider the consequences of your words in general, online specifically. As a woman much wiser than me once said, "Never underestimate the power of the internet." Yours, Uncle Trey Pound

Baby Dreams and New Beginnings

Last night I had an interesting dream: I was at a table, with my arms out-stretched in front of me. I was picking up a new-born baby, though how I knew he was a new-born is beyond me. For that matter, how I knew he was a he is also unkown to me. But somehow I knew the wiggling bundle of life was a boy, and I knew he was mine. In my dream I picked him up--careful to support his head--and held him close to me. I took in the cap of silky black hair that covered his head; I watched with fascination as his chubby cheeks tested their new muscles--lips pursing, brow furrowing. It seemed to me that I could smell him--that pure, innocent smell that only babies have--and my heart surged. Just as I was thinking of his name (something biblical was coming to me), I woke up, but I haven't been able to get him off my mind all day. Even as I watched South Central High's basketball team stomp all over Fike High (Ashley's godson plays for Fike and we came out to support him) I couldn't help but think "Is that what (unnamed son) would grow up to look like?", and "Will he be athletic and graceful like these kids?" Turns out my paternal instincts were a bit misdirected. A couple of people have since informed me that dreams about babies symbolize a change or new beginning in the life of the dreamer. I guess the beginning of a new life in dream form represents the birth of a new form of me. Or at least a change that can lead to a new (and hopefully improved) version of myself. It might be as simple as a job change (some of you already know the story), or maybe it's the book idea that came to me in the middle of the night a week ago. Who knows. All I know is that the baby in that dream filled me with a sense of calm I haven't known in about a month. His calm, delicate twitches gave me a confidence that things will get better, things can begin again. The powdery, innocent smell of that new-born (no matter how imagined) soothed the ragged, jagged edges of my soul. Here's to new beginnings.

Random Picture of the Day

Sometimes the important messages are just right in your face...

To all my new readers...

I just noticed something extraordinary, and I felt so humble that I had to respond. I maintain a fan page for my advice column (Ask Uncle Trey Pound) on facebook. It's a way to stay connected with readers and friends of mine. But just now when I glanced at the list of fans, I noticed something odd... of the 365 "fans" I don't know a good portion of them. That's important since I've been counting on my friends to fill the ranks of my "fans." When I realized that quite a few of the fans are complete strangers to me, I understood that my writing has extended beyond my little circle of friends. Some were friends of friends, but others were seemingly random-ass people that just stumbled upon my fan page. Something in my writing connected with them enough for them to follow the page and keep up with updates. That, frankly, justifies my decision to refer to myself as a "writer." A guy with a lot to say, but no one to say it to, is just a guy with a lot to say. But a guy with a lot to say and someone to speak to--someone to communicate with-- is a writer. I am a writer, and I thank you for making me one.

I'm a Celebrity!

I got a pleasant little surprise this afternoon while working on the front desk. A guest came down looking for some toothpaste, and when I handed it to him, he gave me a funny look. A little while later when he came down again to check out, I was busy on the phone. He heard me say my name and gave me another funny look. As he approached the counter, he goes, "Are you the Trey that writes the column?" I was so startled that I gave him a momentary blank look before responding, "As a matter of fact I am." I guess I've become so accustomed to keeping the two parts of my life separate that I'm always a little surprised when there's some overlap. Now that I think about it, he didn't mention liking/disliking the column so I'm not sure just how flattered I should be. I'm going to choose to see it as a compliment that he recognized me at all. Either way it made my day. I love being a pseudo-semi-sorta-kinda-celebrity in a small town!

Road Trip Diaries, pt. 2: award ceremony, hot dogs, and back to G-Vegas with time to drink.

Alright, having successfully found something to eat (the best jerk chicken wings I've had in a long time, for the record), we hurriedly got dressed for the Just Not Famous Enough awards ceremony. Since we didn't have a hotel room in which to change, and we couldn't change at the site of the show, we had to get creative. And by "creative" I mean the girls got dressed in the truck on the side of the street as evening traffic crawled by. My favorite moment from getting dressed was when I was getting changed. I crawled into the back of the truck, stretched out as best I could and started changing pants. When I was done, Su had to let me out. As I climbed out, I caught a glimpse of us in the glass storefront of the F.W. Woolworth's: Su was standing over the gutter using a water bottle to brush her teeth as I climbed (half-dressed) out of the back of the truck. I remember thinking, "Gotta say one thing about Pitt County folks, we sure know how to make in impression." We actually managed to get three girls into their fancy dresses (and me into my outfit) without getting an indecency citation. No small feat, considering the wind kept whipping Su's dress to dangerous heights. Finally, everyone was dressed, and we headed out. The plan was to drop Su off at the press box so she could get pictures of people walking the red carpet. I was to take the girls to the Marriott down the street to meet someone (still don't know who) then come back to drop the girls off for their turn on the red carpet. When we got to the hotel, the only familiar faces I saw belonged to guys from Irvine, who were scheduled to walk the carpet just after us. After getting up with Su and finding out that we were expected on the carpet in 3 minutes, we hauled ass back to the awards show. We pulled up, I hopped out and opened the door for the girls, and they had their turns looking all hot on the carpet. They then went inside to finalize their plans with the event organizer. Meanwhile, I stayed in the press box with Paula and the other journalists, freezing our asses off. The temperature was dropping along with the sun, and it got ridiculously cold out there. Cold as it was, I was kind of having fun watching the local "celebrities" preening and showing off for the (bored, cold, and mostly unimpressed) members of the press. Finally, we were allowed inside. I was in desperate need of something to warm me up, so I quickly ordered a stiff vodka-n-tonic with lime. After all, nothing warms the spirits like some chilled spirits. Once that began to kick in, I started to relax and check things out. Things were a little unorganized at first, but that's to be expected since this was the first event of its kind to be put on in NC. Between awards, there were bands and artists representing each of the nominated genres performing. My favorite was a hip hop group called Liquid Sun (http://www.myspace.com/officialliquidsun). It was a foursome, consisting of three (very good looking) Black guys, and one (pretty-fly-for-a-) White guy. They had the crowd hyped, and wound up winning the award for their category, so it was a good night all around for Liquid Sun. Morgan and Ashlee had been asked to present the Just Not Famous Enough award for alternative rock band. The whole way there, they'd been rehearsing their scripted bit, trying to come up with ways to deliver the lines smoothly. I'm not sure how, but the subject of Legally Blonde came up, particularly Jennifer Coolidge's line, "...makes me wanna hot dog rrreeeeaaaalll bad!" Morgan jokingly said, "I should say that when I get on stage!" and the joke was born. I dared her to do it, and sure enough she did. When the girls took the stage, Ashlee set her up: Ashlee: Well, I'm really excited to be here. What about you Morgan? Morgan: I'm soooo excited. Ashlee: Oh yeah? How excited are you Morgan? Morgan: I'm so excited, it makes me wanna hot dog rrreeeeaaaaaal bad! Unfortunately, no one else was in on the joke, so it sorta fell flat. But the girls looked so hot, I don't really think anyone gave a damn. In any event, the girls did a great job and I was really proud of them for representing the magazine so well. In no time at all, it was time to begin the drive back to Greenville. We were using Morgan's GPS (named "Gypsy") to navigate our way home, and it was giving us constant updates about our expected time of arrival back in G-Vegas. When Gypsy indicated that we'd be back home at about 1:30 am, all it took was Su saying "That's enough time to head downtown for a cocktail..." and suddenly we were on a mission. After a brief pause outside of Durham (where I peed for about 10 minutes), we arrived back in G-Vegas at around 1:37. I managed to down four (maybe five) beers and two shots of tequila before last call. I'm more than a little proud of that--I think that might be a personal best for me.

Road Trip Diaries, pt. 1: Leaving Pitt County, jerk wings, and British Accents

Friday was one of the funnest, most exciting days I've had in a long time. Ever have one of those days where things just seem a little...better in some indefineable way? People's jokes seem funnier; the sky seems bluer; everything seems to hum with the certainty that life is good. I was so there yesterday.

I met up with Su, Ashlee, Morgan, and Paula at the G-Vegas Magazine office a little past noon. Ashlee and Morgan (two of our G-Vegas Magazine Cuties) were presenting an award at the Just Not Famous Enough Music Awards in Greensboro, and the rest of us were going along to take pics and provide support. The girls showed off their (gorgeous) dresses, while I tried to decide between the ties I wanted to wear with the all-black outfit I was planning on wearing. After grabbing a quick bite to eat at 'Sup Dawgs (freaking love that place) we settled in for the drive to Greensboro. Su, Mo, Ashlee and I were in the G-Vegasmobile, while Paula followed in her car. She was flying out of Raleigh the following day, so she needed to drive on her own. I felt bad letting her drive the whole way alone, but I needed to be in the truck with Su so we could plan our day and help the girls practice the script they'd been given for the presentation of the Alternative Music award.

Speaking of the G-Vegasmobile, I noticed something funny as soon as we left Pitt County. See, around here people are familiar with the magazine. So while I'm used to being stared at when I'm in the truck, it's mostly looks of recognition. People honk, wave, smile at us. The first time I drove the truck alone I felt like a rock star, lol. Once we left Pitt County, however, I could feel the recognition level slipping. People passing us on the highway gave us quizzical looks--at times I could read there lips as they read the G-Vegas logo that's emblazoned down the sides and back of the truck. So the girls and I decided to have some fun. We started smiling and waving when we'd catch people staring at us. Some quickly looked away, embarrassed at having been caught staring, while most smiled and waved back. One little girl stuck her arm out the window, waving wildly as her parents' car flew past us just outside of Raleigh. It was awesome.

Between prepping for the awards show, the girls and I spent most of the trip laughing and joking about random things. Since I was riding shotgun, I was designated dj, and I continuously scanned the radio looking for music to sing along to at the top of our lungs. We car-danced, told stories, and just generally had a blast.

In no time at all, we were in Greensboro. We decided to get some food, which turned out to be something of a challenge. We agreed on Chik-fil-a and parked the truck. When we walked down the street [on the way, we passed the F.W. Woolworths where the A&T students held their historic sit-in], and got to the doors of the restaurant, only to find them locked. The lettering on the doors indicated they closed at 3:30. Huh? We then went into an indoor shopping plaza, looking for more places to eat. Subway? Closed. Hibatchi Grill? Locked up tight. We finally got to a caribbean restaurant that was closed as well. A woman standing just outside the doors at the end of the corridor noticed us and came back inside. Seems she was the proprietress of the place, and upon hearing that we'd just gotten into town from Greenville, opened the place and heated up some food for us. It's been forever since I've had jerk chicken, but the wings I ordered were the best I've had in a long time. They were so spicy they made my lips tingle, but I couldn't get enough. We thanked her repeatedly and tipped generously.

I'd joked with the girls along the trip about how I sometimes like to do fake accents, so we agreed that I'd be "British" on the road trip. As we were paying and leaving the restaurant, the owner asked me, "Where you from? London?" Now, for those not in the know, if one is going to have a fake accent, one must also have an appropriate backstory. So when she asked where I was from, I had my story ready: in my most posh, Eastenders accent I responded "I was born in Trinidad but we moved to London when I was two." Paula studied her shoes, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Ashlee biting the corner of her lip. Hell, she damn near chewed through her lip trying not to laugh, lol. As soon as we got back into the corridor with the door safely shut behind us we burst out laughing, drawing some odd looks from a family that seemed to be on a similarly fruitless search for food.

Coming next in Part 2 of the Road Trip Diaries: the Just Not Famous Enough awards ceremony; "Makes me wanna hot dog reeeeaaaal bad"; and Back to G-Vegas with time to drink.

Pick any direction, as long as it's forward.

I've been talking lately about taking my writing (namely my advice column) to the "next level" but so far it's amounted to just that: talk. The past few weeks, I've been hanging out at Barnes & Nobles alot--stalking the shelves that feature guides to writing and getting published. My friend Kristen (who writes for Greenville's Daily Reflector) suggested I check out a book called The Writers' Market, but the $30 price tag had me flinching. Since I was able to get my check early today, I decided to splurge and buy the damn thing. The price still made me slightly queasy, but I'm considering it an investment in my future. I'm going to use the resources in what Kristen called her "bible" to advance my fledgling career as a columnist.

While I love working for G-Vegas Magazine, it's been an unpaid position for almost two years now, and it doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon. So, it's time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot. I'm not sure if finding a paying gig means I'm "shitting" or "getting off the pot," but I do know that this burning desire to write isn't going to fade. In fact, the time I've spent with G-Vegas has only confirmed to me that this is what I was meant to do.

Tomorrow afternoon, Su, Morgan, one of the new G-Vegas girls and I will be driving to Greensboro for an award ceremony (some award for North Carolina's athletes, artists, musicians, and writers who are on the verge of a breakthrough) where the two G-Vegas Girls will be presenting one of the awards. Along the way, I'll be reading my Writers' Market, taking notes, and making plans. Since it's a bit of a drive, I'll have plenty of time for all that.

Now that I have a definite plan in mind, I feel a lot better about the direction my life has taken. Like the title of this blog states: "pick any direction, as long as it's forward."