Another recent Summer book I've enjoyed is Playing With Fire, by Gordon Ramsey. I expected it to be an autobiography of the chef's journey from kitchen to TV, but was instead treated to Gordon's off the cuff (and uncensored) advice on running (and growing) a successful business.
I have tremendous respect for Mr Ramsey; I've enjoyed his TV series Hell's Kitchen, F-Word, and Kitchen Nightmares very much. At first I found him loud, abrassive and cocky, but now I consider him a man with little patience for fools or folk who don't give their all to a given task.
The concept of achieving success through hard work and passion makes sense to me logically; finding one's 'passion' is an incredible challenge, and after 40 years, I'm still on the periphery of mine. My meandering career path has always been based on circumstances that colored my choices; I wouldn't change a thing given a second chance, since I find myself incredibly fortunate to be exactly where I am. I may be a simple freelance artist toiling for low wages, but I wake up daily ready to tackle whatever is on my drawing table.
That being said, I have the strong feeling that I'll be able to elevate my career 'success' to a new level once I determine my true passion.
I'm looking forward to musing on that particular subject in my 'free' time!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Field of dreams?
I've recently finished Vindicated, a follow-up by Jose Canseco to his explosive memoir on MLB's sordid steroid scandal. The book is an easy read, and until the last chapter or so, pretty entertaining (near the end, Jose reminds the reader how wonderful he was as a ball player and still remains as a person, despite flooding his body over the years with illegal chemicals that improved his performance significantly).
Jose Canseco was an early sports hero of mine. I remember clearly 1989, his year of 40-40; I recall tuning into the first game of the World Series, eager to watch this awesome ball player kick some Dodger tail.
I'll never forget that evening, parked in front of the TV, at the edge of my seat. A hobbled Kirk Gibson stumbled to the plate and single-handedly won the game with a homerun that barely cleared the fence. I was at first shocked, then extremely moved by the sheer will of this player to refuse to give in despite near impossible odds (hitting a home run against a HOF closer while barely able to run the bases continues to amaze me to this day).
Baseball was fun back then; I was introduced to televised games by Mom, who liked watching the Expos and Royals (and currently follows the Yankees rather rabidly). I found the game charming and comforting, a staple of long hot Summer days.
Baseball became a game of cheaters, atheletes taking steroids in order to 'compete'. I wasn't entirely surprised when the scandal broke (my interest in MLB waned during the 90s), but I find myself disappointed that such a pure, innocent pass-time remains driven by the almighty dollar, and not for the love of the game.
Call me naive and idealistic, or perhaps trapped in the past, but sometimes I miss 1989 and watching my 'hero' Jose Canseco ferociously hit the cover off of baseballs.
Jose Canseco was an early sports hero of mine. I remember clearly 1989, his year of 40-40; I recall tuning into the first game of the World Series, eager to watch this awesome ball player kick some Dodger tail.
I'll never forget that evening, parked in front of the TV, at the edge of my seat. A hobbled Kirk Gibson stumbled to the plate and single-handedly won the game with a homerun that barely cleared the fence. I was at first shocked, then extremely moved by the sheer will of this player to refuse to give in despite near impossible odds (hitting a home run against a HOF closer while barely able to run the bases continues to amaze me to this day).
Baseball was fun back then; I was introduced to televised games by Mom, who liked watching the Expos and Royals (and currently follows the Yankees rather rabidly). I found the game charming and comforting, a staple of long hot Summer days.
Baseball became a game of cheaters, atheletes taking steroids in order to 'compete'. I wasn't entirely surprised when the scandal broke (my interest in MLB waned during the 90s), but I find myself disappointed that such a pure, innocent pass-time remains driven by the almighty dollar, and not for the love of the game.
Call me naive and idealistic, or perhaps trapped in the past, but sometimes I miss 1989 and watching my 'hero' Jose Canseco ferociously hit the cover off of baseballs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)