The Smell of Artistry?

My wife ate at this really neat restaurant last night called the Mongolian Grill. The concept is kind of "Asian cuisine meets Subway." Diners walk through a series of stations to fill a bowl with the ingredients for their creation. They pick from an absurd number of meats, vegetables, sauces, starches, and other toppings, then hand their collection to a cook who turns it into something edible.

With the correct (incorrect?) choices, it was proven to me, one can create a culinary pungency that is illegal in 16 states. The smells of garlic, ginger, and (presumably) pickled opossum jowls radiated from her skin throughout the night. Even this morning, as she got out of the shower, I could smell traces of the concoction she so proudly created at the restaurant.

I wouldn't have mentioned this story here had it not been for the fact that an hour after she left for work, I caught a whiff of garlic on my shirt sleeve. I didn't even eat at the place, but now I smell like it. (Editor's note: I also mention the story here because my wife doesn't read my blog - shhhh!).

Want to know something odd? Even though I hated the smell and the type of food she ate, I liked being reminded of her. Our tastes for things like food, exercise, politics, and entertainment are as divergent as possible, but it works. It works because we're both collectors. She's a collector of exotic experiences, and I collect exotic ideas. We're better together (she may dispute this) than we are apart.

A good friend's grandfather used to tell me "if you hang around shit, you start to smell like it" (I suppose the same is true for Mongolian restaurants). What happens, then, if you hang around the virtuous, the challenging, the inspiring, the adventurous, the creative, and the intelligent? I believe who we all become is a direct result of the people with whom we surround, associate, and engage ourselves. This doesn't mean that we should seek out only those who are like us. Rather, it means that we should seek out those who can help us become who, and what, we want to be.

I was reminded of this point by a recent post a friend forwarded to me by Austin Kleon called "How to Steal Like an Artist (and 9 Other Things Nobody Told Me)". He suggests, quite wisely, that artists are collectors, not hoarders:

"...there's a difference: hoarders collect indiscriminately, the artist collects selectively. They only collect things that they really love."

While there's nothing artistic about that awful concoction my wife created, it's part of a collection I wouldn't trade for the world. What are you collecting? Who are you associating yourself with personally or professionally?

I promise you it makes a difference.

Off Topic: Cloudy with No Chance for a Point

One of the most underrated aspects of being a parent of a toddler is having a legitimate excuse to watch cartoons. Tonight, I watched a movie called "Cloudy with a Chance for Meatballs." If you actually want to watch the movie, skip the rest of this post because I'm going to spoil it for you.

The story basically goes like this: a kid named Flint is a creative genius, but his inventions always end up having pretty awful unintended consequences. Truth is, most of the inventions just really aren't that good. That is, until he creates a machine that, after launched into the sky, makes the sky rain food. Hamburgers, pizza, bacon, eggs, steak, and even ice cream fall out of the sky to the very appreciative citizens of Swallow Falls (who theretofore had to eat sardines for every meal).

Flint's a hero.

Everything's cool for the island until the machine starts creating food tornadoes, hurricanes, and raining larger and larger food items. Flint's invention, the very one that made people love him and excited people across the globe about visiting Swallow Falls, makes him public enemy number one. The island is virtually destroyed.

Flint's a bum.

Those of you who have read my blog over the years know that here is the part of my posts when I typically try to create a connection to the credit union world. I was all prepared to make a point or two about the innovation process, our short attention spans, and risk aversion. Instead, I'm going to tuck my son in and go to bed.

Oh, and don't worry...Flint ends up saving the day, gets a girlfriend, and ends up getting his stoic dad to admit he loves him. All's well.

Things That Made Me Happy Last Week

I have been getting a little cranky on my blog lately. That stinks. The thing is...I'm just as passionate about things I like as I am about things I don't like.

So, after an amazing week at CUDE training, I thought I'd write about some of the things that really made me happy in the last seven days.

Jeff Hardin's friendship.
Mout Rainier's beauty.
Matt Vance's passion.
Tom Decker's quiet intellect.
Bill Myers' creativity.
Carol Schillios' inspiration.
Safeway.
Jeremy Cybulski's comedy.
Jill Nowacki's drive.
Tim McAlpine's modest brilliance.
Jill Vicente's mastery of all things marketing and friendliness.
Larry Blanchard's love for credit unions.
Mike Banks' playfulness.
Gigi Williams' kindness.
Deer.
Teamwork.
Credit unions.
Pike Street Market.
Friends.
Fun.
Forgiveness.
Family.
Shari Storm's aura.
Terrell Meek's clever sense of humor.
Andytastic's wit.
Debbie Wege's Michael Jackson impersonation.
Brian and David's hospitality.
Bainbridge Island's peacefulness.
Islandwood's uniqueness.
Steve Delfin's perspective.
Jeanne Saarinan's patience.
30-minute ferry rides.
Ocean air.
Jason Lindstrom's calmness.
Pat Sterner's sharp mind.
Ava Milosevich's room presence.
Cassie Brown's ability to light up a room.
Jimmy Goodrum's smile.
Matt Kaudy.
Dress codes.
Una Townsend's accent and eloquence.
Shannon Tackett's extroversion.
Juan De Lora's dance moves.
Milly Cramer's animal identification skills.
Jimmy Marks' maturity.
South Africa.
History.
Future.
You.