Fake Stats.

September 26, 2017September 26, 2017Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

Life has gotten crazy. With the interwebs and all the fake news and whatnot, it’s hard to know WHAT to believe anymore. So I assembled these little-known Fun Facts for your enjoyment They are, without a doubt, 100% made-up and fake, straight outta my twisted little noggin’. But feel free to share them as if they were bona-fide, completely accurate, vetted pieces of knowledge. You’re welcome.

Popeye the Sailor Man was loosely based on Norman Keith Collins, aka “Sailor Jerry.” Hence the anchor tattoo on his forearm and the ever-present pipe.

“Ughugugugug…can ye cover up that portrait of me ex? Olive cants stands that whore, and it’s erfectin me loves life!”

Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones is dangerously close to bankruptcy and is undergoing a serious financial restructuring of his business enterprises and holdings, including the Cowboys. The alleged reason for these financial troubles is rather recent: Jones was convinced that the “fidget spinner” craze was here to stay, and spent billions acquiring not only eight fidget-spinner manufacturing sites in Southeast Asia, but several inline skate/skateboard bearing manufacturers stateside, hoping to not only corner the spinner market but to be prepared “when rollerblading comes back big-time.”

Like, any second now.

The flavor we humans taste when eating coconut is completely imaginary. The human tongue lacks the receptors required to correctly process the tropical fruit-nut-seed’s taste. Scientists believe this is because coconuts are actually terribly toxic, unless they are mixed with rum or lime/other citrus flavors. (BONUS fun fact: this lime/coconut elixir is the basis for the popular song. Europeans first traveling to Papua/New Guinea became violently ill from eating raw coconut, until the local shaman or “witch doctor” mixed lime juice with coconut milk to create a cure. Then everyone got drunk.)

There are actually only seven planets in our solar system. The rest are simply light reflecting off of asteroids and cosmic dust.

One out of every ten Spree candies is actually a button that fell off someone’s shirt on the assembly line.

If you were to place the cast of Big Bang Theory underwater, without any supply of oxygen, and left them indefinitely, nobody would really have a problem with it.

Well, hi there, Sheldon!

Men over 40 years of age spend up to fifteen minutes out of each day running a finger over the outside of their ear and muttering “…the hell is that? A hair?”

Ancient Greek mathematician and inventor Archimedes would often blurt out “I love cheese!” for seemingly no reason (although many modern scholars believe he suffered from a form of Tourette’s Syndrome). This phrase was incorrectly translated over the years, so that it eventually became widely accepted that his exclamation was actually “Eureka!”

“Goddammit, can’t calculate right now…thinkin’ ’bout dat stanky CHEESE!”

What I Did Last Summer

September 12, 2017September 12, 2017Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

Everything. I did everything last summer. Want to know why I haven’t touched this blog in forever? Because I was doing everything.

Let’s rewind a bit. I began the summer chugging along professionally in a pretty sweet gig as copywriter/digital content specialist for Asher Agency. To sum that position up: I would come up with ideas for commercial campaigns. TV, radio, digital, print, whatever mediums we were going to use, and then the message or thought behind said concept. From there, I’d work with the other creative team members to shape it up into something that made sense and looked great, and we’d produce it. I’d cast actors, guide the graphic artists, write the actual “copy” or words (spoken by actors or printed on billboards, etc.), get it all produced, and then we’d throw it all out there into the world. The process is truly a satisfying experience, watching your ideas come to life, even if only for thirty seconds at a time or on a clickable strip of banner on someone’s website.

I must’ve been fairly decent at this, because I started getting nibbles. People inquiring as to my future plans. Recruiters asking “Hey, how happy are you at Asher?” Finally, an old compatriot called me up and basically offered me his job as creative director. He described the position to me thusly: “you’ll come up with ideas for commercial campaigns. TV, radio, digital, print, whatever mediums we were going to use, and then the message or thought behind it. From there, you’ll work with the other creative team members to shape it up into something that made sense and looked great, and we’ll produce it. Cast actors, guide the graphic artists, write the actual “copy” and then throw ‘it all out there into the world.”

Huh. So, of course I took it. A corner office with windows? A bunch of new business cards? Hells yes. So I took a new position doing pretty much what I did at Asher, only with more perks and a nifty title. So that was cool.

Plus, I mean…a place to hang an old Robert August promo flyer (autographed!) and prop my Scottish claymore against a vintage photo of Fred Toenges?! SIGN MY ASS UP!!

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

My wife and I also decided to sell our house. We had lived, with our two boys (Simon is 12, Rhys is almost 9) in a nice, old (built in 1920) home in the Oakdale Neighborhood in Ft. Wayne. Tree-lined streets, gorgeous old houses…and very narrow, busy streets. No back yard to speak of. Or front yard, for that matter. In other words, charming as all hell but not conducive to bike riding or football tossing or anything else that growing young men want to engage in. So, when the market heated up, Heidi and I jumped at the chance, trading the urban pulse of the ’07 for the serene spaciousness of the ’15. It was a long, hectic process, selling the old house. Folks can be very particular and selective, even in a sellers’ market. It was stressful, especially since we purchased our new (current) home before we’d sold the old one. But in the end we persevered, chalking up another adventure on the Watson Family history. (An adventure that yielded a three-car garage and the chance to hang hockey equipment up without carting it all to the basement after every practice or game.)

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Basically from this…

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…to this.

BUT YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!

Actually, that’s not accurate. The “next” part. That’s not how this timeline played out. Sorry. I strive for realism, and that’s…that’s misleading. Clickbait nonsense. No, this is actually something that’s been simmering along for a while now, but in addition to my role(s) at a couple of different ad agencies this year, I had the opportunity to write for a fun, exciting new enterprise. The minds at Bound Publishing have come up with a mobile-specific reader, and are releasing serialized stories on it. One of the cool features of the Bound app (learn more here or find them in the iTunes store) is the ability to expand on the story via sourcebook entries, diary passages, bits of propaganda, etc. from the story universe. If you’ve ever seen the Star Wars sourcebook or any of the supplemental Lord of the Rings or Song of Ice and Fire materials, imagine being able to have those open to cross-reference whilst reading the novels or watching the movies. “Oh! The model that Luke is playing with is an actual Incom T-16…and later, during the Death Star briefing, he talks about bulls-eyeing womp rats in it! I always wondered what the T-16 looked like!” Well, the Bound platform is like that, with all sorts of artwork and specific expanded entries, and I was asked to write the sourcebook materials for a science fiction space epic called Purgatorio. Go get the app and download it and let me know what you think. It’s been a great experience, and the Bound guys have given me all sorts of latitude. It’s been pleasant and rewarding, in a very different way than the advertising life.

A mobile-based work of expanded fiction, based on a mobile-based FPS game. Welcome to the future, kids.

So a very full summer now gives way to a hectic fall, because, as many of you know, we’re at the cusp of hockey season. And I live with a hockey family. Both kids play, Heidi is a team manager for one kid’s team, treasurer for the other, and I coach the boys and play in my own ASHL beer league every Sunday. From now until April. And it’s awesome. And we wouldn’t change this life for anything. Which leads me to my other big news…

WHICH WILL HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT TIME!!

Seriously, I can’t talk about it, but it’s pretty rad. Talk to you later.

Ad astra

June 10, 2017June 28, 2018Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

Oh, yeah, and with everything else going on in my life…I’m starting a new job. I haven’t been talking too loudly about it, because since I am still at Asher Agency for a few more days. It seemed unprofessional to go crowing about my sweet new gig when I was still working as hard as I could to serve current clients. But enough people have asked me about it, I figured, well…time to crow about my sweet new gig.

As of June 21^st I will be assuming the role of Creative Director at AdLab Advertising, filling the stanky, musty, fungus-ridden shoes of Shane Albahrani (his feet, dude…) as he transitions into the role he was born to play, the full-time radio voice of your Ft. Wayne Komets. He’s been running the show at AdLab for years. Now he tosses the torch to my hands, to hold high. (Habs fans will recognize the paraphrasing there.)

And while this new gig will be really, really sweet (a corner office! FOR ME!!) it will be very different, as the client list for AdLab is a bit more personal, local, downright homey, compared to some of the larger clients I’ve handled for the past three years. Not that Asher doesn’t have some of those types of clients: 3RRC, Turnstone, FWCS…there are tons of campaigns I have been so very proud to work on for those clients, and others. But with the enormity of Subway and some of Asher’s higher education clients always looming, it will be quite a change to do something different. I’ll be trying my best to help AdLab grow, to elevate our profile, to expand our scope and capabilities. It’s exciting. It’s challenging. And as a competitor, I love it. I can’t wait to roll my sleeves up and get to work.

As for my time at Asher, I can’t say enough good things. Dan Schroeter and Kelly Gayer took in a completely inexperienced copywriter and gave him a shot. Tom Borne said “Okay, sounds good.” Into the frying pan I went, concepting, writing, casting, directing, and producing all manner of print, TV, and radio spots. Over the last year and a half, I’ve added digital video and content creation, working alongside talented individuals like Morgan McIntire and Sean O’Leary and crafted digital and social media campaigns with Anthony Juliano, Brandon Peat, Brandon Wolf, Anthony Boyer, and Caity Rose. (In fact, if you see a video for FWA, Indiana Tech, or FWCS pop up on your timeline, there’s a good chance I did it, and those folks all added their parts to the process to make it work.) It’s crazy to sit back and think about how many wonderful people I got to know and love within the walls of that building on Wayne and Fulton. My work wife Jenna, my loveable uncle Larry…hell, I could go on and on and not mention everyone who has made my time there so enjoyable. So I won’t even try.

And of course, there’s Motia. Her alter ego has appeared in many of my science-fantasy short stories here in this blog from time to time, but the real AJ Motia is a hundred times as powerful, brave, smart, and kind. It was she who initially told me “I don’t know if you’d be interested in the Asher copywriting gig. It’s sort of entry-level.” But she also knew what I wanted to do, and she has been my champion every step of the way.

Finally, there’s my Sweet Baby. She and I are sat here on a Saturday, discussing life and how wonderful things are and what a strange, often trying trip it’s been for the last 13 years or so in Ft. Wayne. And how it really does feel like home, and we never want to leave. And how we can do whatever we want. And we will. And we love you guys. Thanks.

Excelsior!

The Captain, the Rookie, and the Mystic

January 19, 2016January 19, 2016Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

The Three Musketeers. The Holy Trinity. Geddy, Neil, and Alex.

It’s been a wonderfully exciting week or so. A direct message from Dewar’s on Twitter. Strange clues and exotic tomes containing single-malt whiskies. And in the dizzying array of items and splendid, gorgeous packaging and presentation, I ALMOST FORGOT TO REVIEW THE DAMNED THINGS! I mean, I tasted them…but I kept putting off really publishing my findings. Today, I rectify that oversight.

But not before I show off some of the stuff that came along with the three single-malt offerings. If you read my initial Whisky Mystery blog, you learned about the entertaining riddles and such that accompanied The Aultmore. Well, not to be outdone, the Royal Brackla packaging featured an actual wooden box with hinged lid. Inside were two hefty, etched glasses, along with a little tin of honey, some raisins, almonds, and apricots. It was an alcoholic pick-a-nick basket, eh Boo-Boo?

Everything a growing boy needs!

And the Deveron featured some great nautical design, and…oh yeah…a friggin WATCH! Plus, the bottle of scotch itself was magnificent.

I totally wanted the “D” in this particular case.

More on that in the actual reviews, which start right now.

The Deveron (Mystic, Wise, Spiritual Advisor and Best Friend of the Captain)

The earthiest nose of the lot. Not overwhelmingly so, but it’s there. Like wet leaves. Faint spices. A hint of the seaside in there, too, although that could be my imagination, what with the overwhelming nautical theme of the gift box and the incredibly beautiful frosted sea-glass bottle. (Seriously, somewhere right now some rum distiller is kicking themselves for not stealing all of the Deveron’s look prior to the mass-release of this fine single-malt.)

Warm vanilla. A dark fruit, like plums or dates. Not a lot of peat, but it’s lurking in the background for an opportunity, hanging out with the yummy malts and tobacco bite, waiting to spring out at the finish. Delightful and mysterious, this dram. It feels a bit heavier on the tongue than the other two. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Good stuff. A great alternative to the regular old bottles you have in the cabinet. Pour some for a friend and ask them to guess what it is.

4 stars

Aultmore (The Brash Young Ensign)

Looks light, and smells the same. DON’T BE FOOLED! The nose is almost totally unassuming. It almost didn’t seem like scotch, until I concentrated. There was alcohol here (oh, was there ever! More on that later) and a fruitiness, like maybe pears. If chardonnay were a whisky, it would smell like this.

I didn’t see the first punch coming until it was too late. Let this be a warning to you: there is a substantial alcohol bite to this little guy. And frankly, I found it a bit overwhelming at first. I checked the bottle and saw that I was sampling a nice 92 Proof beverage. Well, now. But the good news is that just like the very high-alcohol Sailor Jerry rum, there were flavors to be had. The Aultmore is just a little too eager, a headstrong rookie. Be patient with it and you’ll find the good. There’s a lovely apple/citrus sort of tang to it. A bit of sherry and a tiny little taste of oak. It also feels very light on the tongue. In other words, you would almost expect this whisky to be a lightweight “starter” whisky. It isn’t. And once I poured it over some ice, it settled down and was delightful. I tried the 12-year-old variety and thought it was okay. I think that a bit more aging would help tremendously, so I can’t wait to try the older varieties and see if I’m right. One final note: if you’re a fan of peat in your single-malt, look elsewhere. That’s not bad or good, as peat, like malts or spices, can be very divisive. (I once opened a bottle of Laphroaig in front of my wife and she turned her nose up immediately, saying that it “smelled like band-aids.”) The Aultmore, by contrast, is virtually smoke-and-peat free. So maybe it is a good starter whisky after all…

3 stars, although I’ll go up to 3.5 on the rocks

Royal Brackla (The Steady Captain With a Zeal For Adventure)

Okay, let’s get this juvenile bit out of the way. It’s hard for me not to make fun of things. The name of this bottle was no exception, with my mind racing between Blackula and Scott Bakula. No matter, as the drink was the best of the three which I had the pleasure to taste. We’ll start with the nose: It smelled of scotch. And I mean that in the very best way possible. It was fragrant and wonderful and familiar. Some apricots, some flowers from a meadow, and a dash of black pepper. Yes. This was the one.

Oh, so buttery on my tongue. There’s that pepper again. And something else, some dates or raisins. A bit “darker” taste than the Aultmore, and even though they were both 12-year-olds, the Brackla just tasted more finished. More mature. A man’s drink. A hint of pipe tobacco on the finish balanced by mellow honey. A steady hand on the tiller. Oak and rich leather. Yes. My go-to single-malt whisky has long been Glenlivet 12. This one may supplant that bottle, as it claims some of the things I love about Glenlivet, but with a bit more complexity. Looks like Royal Brackla might be a tiny bit more expensive, but with rumors of Glenlivet running out of the 12-year-old vintage, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them end up at about the same price before long. Either way, I won’t mind spending a few extra bucks for this bottle. It’s the goods.

4.5 stars

In conclusion, I’d say that it’s all great news for whisky fans. These three single-malts will seem oddly familiar to Dewar’s White Label drinkers, but much more complex and interesting. Three great single-malts that will serve as a wonderful opportunity to transition from blends, but strong enough to stand on their own amongst the established pantheon of great whiskies. Of the three, The Royal Brackla is the clear winner. It’s the James T. Kirk of this lot, with the Deveron as Mr. Spock (or Guinan, actually…or Troi) and The Aultmore a cheerful Ensign Chekov. I’ve had the pleasure of rotating the three bottles and it’s been a grand week to say the least. Seek ’em out. Enjoy them. Savor them.

Sláinte!

Trying New Things

June 4, 2015June 4, 2015Turner L. Watson 3 Comments

You’ll notice some changes to the ol’ site, and you’ll probably notice more going forward. For starters, a new theme and a new layout. This theme (one of WordPress’s many free layouts) is sort of a throwback to the original blog design, but with some stylistic nods to my most recent effort. Considering this is only the third theme change for my blog in almost four years, I suppose that’s something.

“But why change?” you moan. “I like the old page, with literally all of your blog posts easy to see at once!” you cry like a little baby. “Please give me an orgasm! It’s been so long, and you’re nowhere near as good as you were when we first married! I’m leaving you for a goalie” you screech like my wife. Well, there are several reasons, thank you very much.

For starters, some readers plain didn’t like the old design. Said it was confusing. Yes, you could scroll down and down and down and down to find that Big Bang Theory blog I did in 2011 (that thing STILL gets views) but there was no archive feature, no calendar. It was sort of browsing through a bunch of old back issues of magazines to find that story you wanted.

Also, the old format didn’t allow me to showcase two things I love very much: myself and my friends’ blogs. I love me. I love me so much that I often have physical relations with myself. You can now see my Tweets (EVERY ONE OF THEM IS HILARIOUS!) and my Facebook page (EVERYTHING IS STOLEN FROM REDDIT!) on the right-hand side. But over on the left, beneath the latest and archive blog posts, you’ll see my blogroll is once again visible. This is a list of some fine blogs, many of which are updated a lot more often than this one. You’ll find comedy blogs, entertainment blogs, blogs about roller derby and poetry and comics and heartbreak and pie. I encourage you to check them all out. I know some very talented motherfuckers, and you should get to know them as well.

I’ll be completely honest, I just wanted to see how photos displayed on the new page. Oh, and there are spiders everywhere on this blog. Sleep tight.

That’s it for now. I have to research some product info for a big commercial thingy. But take a look round and let me know what you like and don’t like about the new layout. Maybe I’m not done yet. Maybe we need some curtains and laminate flooring. Maybe it’s just fine. Ashley Motia will tell me to my face. Yes sirree bob, she will. Lawd yes. But you can leave a comment below. Just as good.

Thanks for reading.

Musings.

February 6, 2015February 6, 2015Turner L. Watson 6 Comments

Okay, you know the drill (unless you’re just now discovering this blog, in which case, welcome! Have some dip! It’s delish!) Now and then the random crazy thoughts and notions in my head must be purged, so here we go again. A little housekeeping.

I used to smoke a pipe. A tobacco pipe, no less. It was the 90’s. I would probably still smoke one to this day, but smoking a pipe is much like eating Buffalo wings: it’s too much work for the amount of gratification. You hafta pack the tobacco in strata of compaction and texture, then light it and possibly re-light it and sure, the amaretto vanilla smell is extraordinary, but Jesus…it’s just easier to grab some Black & Milds and go to town. That thought led to me to this one: why the hell haven’t the hipsters taken up pipe smoking? They already have the old-school glasses, neckties, Smith Corona typewriters and Schiltz beer (I am trying to get hipsters to drink that stuff so they leave the decent beers like PBR and Hamms alone) so it would make total sense that they would all take up the ludicrously time-consuming and attention-grabbing act of tobacco pipe smoking. They should be all over this shit.

I left the Shire before it was cool.

I think I may have covered this in a different post, but here’s one hard fact of life, my friends: The green and pink hippos in Hungry, Hungry Hippos always rule. They are good and fast, with smooth action. You always get tons of marbles with those two. However, the other side of that coin is that the yellow and orange ones (at least one, usually both) suck. Terrible. The jaw sticks open, the neck doesn’t go all the way out…something. Avoid at all costs. BTW, did you know all those hippos have names? I don’t know what they are. Probably something like Geoff or Brad. Brittany, maybe.

Pictured: utter, dismal failure

There was a series on Showtime way back in the day (back when we’d watch the cable movie network late, late, way after we should’ve been in bed, in order to glimpse the nightly showing of Porky’s, Zapped, or some Shannon Tweed flick; anything with some skin) called “Steambath.” Here was the entire premise of the show: heaven (Nirvana, Elysium, whatever you prefer to call your afterlife) was a steam bath. That’s it. Guys died, they went there, they sat around talking about life or whatever (I honestly don’t remember much of the show, as I was about twelve and it didn’t have laser guns or tits or laser-tits, so I couldn’t be bothered.) I think this is a show ripe for a Netflix revival.

I think this is from the actual show, and I’m pretty sure that’s Bill Bixby.

There are two phrases that have been completely ruined by musical numbers from animated films within the last year or so. They are expressions that you can’t possibly utter now without hearing someone belt out their own rendition of the song that incorporates the phrase in question. They are “Let it Go” and “Everything is Awesome.” The sad thing is that I never realized how often I use both phrases until the goddam singalong thing started. It’s a living hell. It’s like living in my own private ongoing production of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” done as a Disney/PIXAR monstrosity. Fuck.

So close. Maybe Frank would work better in a Ren & Stimpy revival…

I think hats fell out of favor because of Hollywood. See, men in particular (but everyone, really) used to wear hats. Fedoras, Derbys, Homburgs, etc. But then they started making movies. And in the movies, you want to see the faces of the big, bold stars up there on the silver screen. So they’d contrive to have the hero go without a hat. Seriously, think of Humphrey Bogart. Sure, he had his lid on for a few minutes in Maltese Falcon and at the very end (the tarmac scene) of Casablanca…but otherwise, it was his slick pompadour and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. And guess what everyone in the United States of America has always done? Imitated the people they see in the movies. Slowly but surely, as fewer hats appeared onscreen, fewer were seen on the heads of the fine young men and women of the USA and freedom-loving peoples all over the world. That’s why even today you’ll find everyone in North Korea wearing hats. Because those godless commies don’t allow easy access to American cinema. (Okay, I really don’t know what the hat situation in North Korea is, but fuck ’em.)

And no, Bogey. Liking margaritas does not make you gay.

Television science guy and ambassador for rationality Bill Nye is NOT the same guy as crusty English actor/sea monster Bill Nighy. They’re two completely different people. In fact, one is English and the other is not. Plus, according to some internet sources, one of these two pronounces their last name “Nigh-hee.” Just wanted to clear up any confusion. Also, Gordon Lightfoot might look sort of like one of these two, but he is not. Not either of those two guys. The science one and the English dude. Okay, I wanna go home now. Seeya.

See, now I don’t remember which is which.

Job Love.

January 18, 2015Turner L. Watson 2 Comments

So, here it is. 4:39PM on Friday, January 16th. I’m at my desk. I’ve done all I can really do today. This week. For now.

“And what is it that you do, exactly?” you ask. Ostensibly, I’m a copywriter. So that means I’m tasked with providing the written words for any number of different advertising campaigns. Projects carried out by my employers, the highly-regarded Asher Agency. From the script for the flu bug radio commercial or the miniature screenplay for those Indiana Tech television commercials. The hashtags on that Subway print ad. The direct mail piece you got from PHP Healthcare. That’s me. That’s what I do.

Of course, there’s more to it than that. Just as I discovered in my radio career, each member of a team does more than one thing. “Everyone fights. No one quits.” We all have our particular focus, but the overlap is considerable. Each member of the creative team chips in with and develops concepts, comes up with visual ideas and directions, creates via the great crowd-brain-hivemind here in the creative department. I love that shit. I truly do.

I love being part of a team. That was one bright spot in my radio career: even when things got dodgy, I knew my teammates (the other members of our on-air staff) were there with me. As with any team, when everyone pulls together and does the impossible? Well, like Captain Mal says: that makes us mighty.

But there are other perks here in advertising land. For example: I’m sipping a Sierra Nevada Coffee Stout from a pint glass at my desk During business hours. Things have certainly changed since the ol’ Don Draper days. Folks don’t keep bottles of scotch or rye at their desks (Okay, some do. Seriously. But we don’t flaunt it, don’t partake all damned day. We save it for the Friday of a long week or for special occasions. Everyone here is a professional. We act like it. That’s what we rule. The stakes are just too high nowadays, the demand for quality too great to be achieved by a bunch of drunks.) It’s still nice to unwind at the end of a busy week. Feels good, man.

As I sat here doing maintenance/cleaning house on my email inbox, I rediscovered the following exchange which sums things up so very nicely. See, last week I wanted to tip my supervisors off to the fact that I would be missing the first hour of so of the workday this past Monday (the 12th) for a routine doctor’s appointment. I start by sending this to my bosses, Dan and Kelly. They’re both brilliant guys. Geniuses. So goddam smart and creative. Anyway, here’s what I said:

From: Turner

To: Dan, Kelly

re: Doctor’s appointment

Hey, fellas. I have a doctor’s appointment Monday morning early, so I’l likely miss the traffic meeting. Just wanted you to be aware, and not freak out and think “He’s finally done it! Run off to live the life of a hobo, riding the rails of this great nation. Sleeping in box cars, eating soup right from the can. Fare thee well, strange tattooed man!”

Or whatever.

My first response was from Kelly, who I imagined chuckling, his shoulders convulsing as he typed. He said simply:

From: Kelly

To: Turner

CC: Dan

Re: doctor’s

LOVE IT!!!

Three exclamation marks. THREE! And then Dan chimed in:

From: Dan

To: Turner, Kelly

re: Doctor’s appointment

All the while listening to Box Car Willie’s Greatest Hits on a Sony Walkman he picked up at the Salvation Army using batteries stolen from the countertop wire rack display at a 7-11 near the train yard in Waterloo, Iowa.

See what he did? He continued the story! That’s fun! He could’ve ignored it, or sent an “Approved” message. He didn’t. So I expanded…

From: Turner

To: Dan, Kelly

re: Doctor’s appointment

Not “technically” stolen. I left an old silver dollar my pappy gave me, and the promise to return once I’ve made my fortune.

(But really, I‘ll be at the doctor’s.)

See, I wanted to underscore the fact that I would be at the doc’s. Dan’s warm response:

From: Dan

To: Turner, Kelly

re: Doctor’s appointment

Perfect. Be well. Don’t let the Doc poke and prod too damn much.

Now, the thing is, those guys could’ve handled my note in a couple of different ways. Their response could’ve been very matter-of-fact. “Okay. Let us know when you arrive at the office on Monday.” Or even “make sure this time is covered under office coding procedure vis-a-vis your timesheet.” They could’ve responded with a terse “OK.” Or, they could’ve been complete dicks and fired back “In the future, clear any and ALL delays or time away with us ahead of time.”

None of that happened. Instead, they treated me like a valued employee. Someone whose continued happiness within the company framework was important to them. It was amazing. It was…new. To me, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve had a bunch of great supervisors in my professional life. Radio, pawn shop, parts department, ice rink…wherever I’ve found myself employed. But the stakes are just…higher? I don’t know. It’s just weird. In a good way. My sister-in-law works for Google out in Mountainview, CA. In the past, she would tell me stories much like this and I’d scoff. I thought that there was no way that a worthwhile company would play it so fast-and-loose with employees.

One of these two is a friggin’ VP. How about that?

That’s before I worked for a company that “got” it. Like Google does. Like Blizzard and Microsoft and a dozen different advertising agencies do. And it struck me that the best companies, the ones with a pulse, the ones that know what the hell’s happening out there…they’re great for a reason. And it ain’t the amount of money they bring in (although that certainly helps matters) or the number of people they employ. Its because if you work for them, they want you to be happy. (My wife works for a software engineering company that has a ping-pong and corn hole room for de-stressing during the day. It’s no surprise that they’re a company that’s growing exponentially, hiring and building. They’re going to be massive.) Ye gods, what a great concept.

May you all be so lucky to work for such an enterprise some day. Cheers.

(By the way, I recently signed up for a Behance account, sort of like an online portfolio. If you’re curious about some of the stuff I’ve been lucky enough to have a hand in, check it out at https://www.behance.net/turnerwatson)

For My Next Trick…

April 24, 2014Turner L. Watson 6 Comments

My blog entries have become rather scarce of late. Yeah, sorry about that. Things like work and children and a thousand-dollar-a-day coke habit tend to wreak havoc on my writing schedule. The other main distraction has been, well…writing.

Quick backstory: I’m a failed screenwriter. Okay, that’s harsh. I guess I could say that I’m a successful screenwriter, as I penned two screenplays and entered them into the Project: Greenlight competition around the turn of the century. One of ’em made the Top-100 (out of over 4,000 entries) but it still wasn’t enough to garner any interest from studios or, just as importantly, from agents. Agents that COULD potentially get interest from studios. In other words, I never became a professional screenwriter. The scripts sat there for a while before a couple of different friends mentioned that I should turn them into novels. So, that’s what I’ve been doing with my spare time. Transforming what I now know to be very amateurish screenplays into (hopefully) readable and sell-able book manuscripts.

Will I run into the same difficulties getting published as I did trying to get the stories optioned for films? Probably. Will I decide to e-publish them, hoping that people will shell out $2.99 at Amazon or Barnes & Noble for a Kindle or Nook version? Truthfully, I’m still working that all out as I strive to polish this baby into something resembling a presentable final draft. But I thought I’d let you read a little sample, since you’ve read all my other silly stuff. This excerpt is from the opening of Chapter Seven of my novel “Dead Air.” It’s a fun little murder-mystery set in the good ol’ days (the best days) of radio: the Mid-90’s. The main character’s name is Trey, and he’s pretty much me. (But you probably would’ve figured that out.) Please excuse the formatting. WordPress is great, until you want something to read like an actual “book.”

Thanks for reading, guys.

Night-shift jocks keep bachelor hours. Into the station around five for production duties, checking voicemail, show prep. Staying after, sometimes as late as one or two in the morning for additional prod or putting together show elements for the next night. A solid five hours of actual on-air time. All told, it makes for some lengthy worknights. Of course, when the jock is done at work, the party is just getting started in his or her favorite haunts. Dancing, karaoke, live music; they’re all on tap until last call. Then there are after-parties, breakfast at IHOP, etc. The point is that sometimes a night jock doesn’t crawl into bed until near sunrise.

That’s why the digital, birdlike scream of my phone at 7:38 a.m. was so damned cruel.

Trust me, I realize that the simple thing to do would’ve been to turn the ringer off. Permanently. Doing so would’ve saved me all kinds of heartache. But as much as I resisted being a responsible adult, the fact of the matter was that most real-life decisions are done during the day. If I was going to be fired or promoted or there was an emergency staff meeting or my mom had finally left dad for that old sailor buddy of his or whatever, I would have to hear about it during the bright, clear sunshine of midday.

7:38 in the morning? That’s early even by the standards of real, God-fearin’ people.

Alarming. That’s what it was, no pun intended. By the same logic I employed in keeping the ringer on, I knew that if the stupid thing rang, it meant trouble. It meant that something mighty important was going down, or better damned well be; otherwise my ass was staying in bed. I yanked the cordless handset out of the cradle and barked a non-standard ‘good morning.’

“WHAT?” I demanded of the caller. It was Jim, who wanted to know if I had been listening to Doc’s show. He knew damn well I was doing no such thing.

“No, Jim, I sleep. Now. I mean, I sleep in the day. I was asleep.” My brain slowly came online and my words started making more sense. “Did he play that ‘Wheel of Scrotum’ bit again? He knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t worry—“

I stopped. My spine became rebar. I sat upright on the edge of my broken-in old futon. The expression on my face must’ve been classic: the look of someone who has mistakenly backed over their girlfriend’s cat. On Christmas.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” I muttered.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be right there.” I hung up without saying goodbye. It had always annoyed me when people did that in the movies, yet I didn’t even give it a second thought. Not that day.

“God damn it. No. Please. Not Janice.” That was as close to a prayer as I think I’d ever gotten.

Q & A, Part Two

January 28, 2014January 28, 2014Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

**Cracks knuckles. Sips Scotch. Exhales. Turns to keyboard.**

Here…we…GO!

Into part two. Moar questions answered! (And thanks for liking my Facebook page. Seriously, it means a lot. If you haven’t yet, feel free to visit it on the right-hand margin over there. I’ll wait. Got it? Good!)

Leslie asks “Is you mother still writing?”

Leslie and I are old theater cohorts, and she’s asking, literally, about my mom’s writing career. Many people don’t know that my mother used to write romance novels. She started out at Harlequin Romance, doing those monthly soft-core romances that you mom likes. She dabbled with other publishers, and actually had a few books out with her name above the title. In other words, her books said “LYNN TURNER” and then “NAME OF STORY” underneath. And yes, Lynn Turner was a pen-name. She took my middle name (yeah, so? Lynn is just as masculine as…as…like, Dale or something) and first name, transposed them, and BAZINGA! Fun fact: later on, as the internet became “a thing” mom would do Alta Vista searches (remember AltaVista? It was the Google of the mid-90’s) for “Lynn Turner” and found out that…SURPRISE! Lynn Turner was a 90’s porn star. Anyway, sadly, it’s been a while since mom published anything. She contributed a few items to anthologies and such for old editor friends, but nothing of late. Perhaps she should start blogging…giving tips to aspiring writers and such. Hint-hint, mom. (Then again, she could be my editor, as I just finished a damned manuscript and have no self-control…)

This is actually still available for your NOOK reader!!

A very special query from my dear friend Joe: “Why do you do this on a weekly basis after our hockey games … Stand like Captain Morgan while holding a beer wearing ONLY your birthday suit or if I’m lucky you’ll throw on a shirt, but that’s it ?!?! I’ve seen your hog more than I’ve seen my own. Welp, see ya later.”

For those of you that don’t know, Joe is one of my very best and dearest friends ever. And I’m 43 years old, so that’s saying something. Anyway, Joe is also the drummer in the band RAINS and my linemate on our beer-league hockey team. Next to Smallville’s Michael Rosenbaum, he’s the most famous guy I’ve ever shared the ice with. But his distress comes from the fact that, yes, I often throw my “hog” out for display. See, my “hog” has gotten me attention in the past (due to its shimmering, glistening beauty…and a purplish vein on the side that spells out ‘radiant’ in cursive and OH GOD, STOP TYPING!!) Anyhoo…ol’ Joe’s penis has been known to cure blindness and make the crippled walk. It also, ironically, has crippled non-believers who won’t accept that it is the ultimate power in the universe and STOP TYPING!! NOW!! THAT IS AN ORDER!)

Rather than post a picture of my “hog” I decided to remind you that ‘Back in the Day’ is available right now on iTunes. Ahem.

Daniel (or, as we call him in da Fort ‘Porch’) has a good ‘un: “Why are you a closet case for your love of Batman over Spider-man.. or.. what attracts you to Spider-man and when did you first feel that chub?”

I intend to do an entire blog about Spidey, who is the super-hero with whom I most identify. He really does deserve his own blog, so deep are my affections for ol’ Web-Head. But my Batman love isn’t closeted in any way. I love Batsy. In fact, Batman and Ambush Bug are my all-time favorite DC Comics characters. And if you don’t know who Ambush Bug is, please do yourself a favor and run (RUN, I SAID!! MOVE YOUR GODDAM FEET!) to your nearest (local) comic book store and inquire. They’ll steer you right.

Ambush Bug: the ORIGINAL Deadpool.

Time for one more? Okay. One more.

Finally, this question from Jess: “How do you balance family/real life with the bear?”

She’s referring, of course, to my primary job, which is hosting the midday show on 98.9 the Bear in Ft. Wayne (but with online listenership spanning the literal globe! Wae’aye, Newcastle!) The thing is, the radio side of my life is part of my “normal” life and vise-versa. See, nowadays radio guys are just like audio bloggers. We use our lives as show-prep. By that, I mean that what happens to us away from the radio station informs upon the show itself. Follow? John the Mexican talks about his new house during his show, Barry Thickk talks up his latest blowjob adventure (SPOILER: it was with a LADY!) Hell, I just had my kids in to do a show with me AGAIN. This, because I am sick and tired of trying to find childcare during this hellish winter that we’re having in the midwest. The point is that if you have a family, and you’re going to do radio, well…they’d better just get used to the idea. This isn’t TV or movies. You don’t get to shoot the scenes and go home. You work at it, constantly. 24 hours a day. Your life is show-prep, and radio is your life. That’s just how it is. Concerts, remotes, appearances, guest-judging wet t-shirt contests…it’s all part of your life, and the other way around. It’s why radio is so trying, demanding, and exhausting. It’s also why it’s so blissful. If you’re gonna stay in this biz…and I’ve been doing it for over twenty years…you learn that there’s no other way. Radio = your life. And the other way around.

Of course, sometimes your life demands that you hang with Corey Taylor.

Q & A, Part One

January 22, 2014Turner L. Watson 4 Comments

Oh, this year has been awesome so far, hasn’t it? Man…things are happening, wheels are in motion, and ol’ Uncle Turner needs a break already. (It sucks being old, kids.)

That’s why I decided to turn the tough part of blogging (inspiration!) over to you. Over at my Facebook page, I asked you to ask me questions. Nothing was off-limits, and you guys are so creatively insane and brilliantly stupid that I got some really good questions. Too many to handle all at once, lest this be a 48-page blog entry. Nobody wants that. Hell, my radio consultant said the last entry was too long, so…let’s begin.

Ryan asks: Does God have feet?

An excellent question, and quantum physics teaches us that God both does and does not have feet. Also? This explains the dual nature of God as both male and female simultaneously. Hence the old line about us being created “In God’s image.” Whoa, it got really serious right out of the gate. Let’s change gears…

“I saw two pairs of footprints, and said HOLY SHIT, GOD!! DON’T STEP ON ME!!”

Mike submits: Do you think Hollywood should do a reboot or sequel to Real Genius? And are you available to play Chris Knight, cause Val Kilmer is fat now?

I’ve covered reboots and sequels in previous blogs, and I’d be down for a sequel to this film (one of my all-time faves) if they mixed it up and made Chris the professor or even the project lead at some company. He’s lost his way a bit, and needs a young, brilliant student to bring him back to the irreverent Chris Knight we all know and love. Alas, I am also old and fat, so it’ll prolly end up starring Ryan Gosling somehow.

Negative, ghostrider. The pattern is full…of donuts.

From Joe: Colecovision…best gaming console ever?

Son, you know that it’s a war between NES and Sega. A very tightly-contested war, with no clear victor. That being said, “Buck Rogers” on the Colecovision was incredible.

My brother and I called this level “Holiday Road” and would sing the Lindsey Buckingham song from “Vacation” as we played. True story.

Brian asks: Rick Flair or Stone Cold Steve Austin ?

No question, it’s always going to be Rick Flair. Ask me again in twenty years. It will still be Rick Flair. WOOOOOOOO!

One of these guys dresses with class. The other might be Goldberg. I can never tell.

The music-minded Tuler submits: What’s your favorite local bands?

Ft. Wayne has a surprisingly deep well of local talent. And like most Midwestern towns, it seems like there’s a bedrock foundation of cover bands, upon which a layer of metal and blues rock lays. Then you get all the other genres sprinkled about like feldspar. (Geology, bitches!) I have talented friends in bands like Beneath it All and Valhalla, standout metal bands. KTR and Downstait are great, too. I’ve always figured Left Lane Cruiser would be a huge national act by now, and it boggles my mind that they aren’t as popular as, say Cage the Elephant (I know, different styles and such. LLC isn’t easily quantified and packaged, so there’s that. Perhaps I should’ve compared them to Leon Redbone instead.) But my tastes are decidedly more punk-rock in nature, so I’d say that you can’t go wrong with Flamingo Nosebleed. They’ve had (and totally earned) the opportunity to tour with the likes of The Suicide Machines and other “national” acts. One could make the argument that they’re more popular outside Ft. Wayne proper, which is a shame.

Okay, running out of space, so let’s have one more, hopefully from someone too drunk to stand…ah! Perfect.

Jake asks (slurringly): If you were half man, half sausage, which half would beer man.

Every man is half sausage and half beer and beer man, beer, man. Beer.

Yes, this stock photo exists.

Turner Watson

Where You Found That One Thing.

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