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And no, I've never held a grudge against that Guidance Counselor. In the long run, his stupidity actually did me a huge favor. |
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I spent two years at UB, taking a smattering of art and photo classes (not to mention lots of pictures of snow, people in the snow, and things covered in snow). |
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I got my first nice (translation: SLR) camera from money I saved by working summers back on Long Island as a clammer (or, as we affectionately liked to call ourselves, shelfish harvesters). |
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Don't be fooled by images you've seen of cute couples prancing around in the tidal pools of a serene beach, casually filling an equally cute bucket with little clams one by one until they have enough for their fun little bake. |
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In reality, commercial clamming is an industry much like fishing or oystering, and there's good money in it, but it means working off of a boat with a special clam rake or tongs, or treading in the flats all day in the hot sun with a wire basket in an inner tube. |
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Back at Buffalo, when I began to notice the ice that clinged unto my beard (and my parents retired to Florida), I decided to transfer south to sunny Florida State University. |
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Here I continued with my photography, while also studying other graphic art techniques such as lithography, photosilkscreen, and photo etching. It took a while, but eventually I convinced them to give me a BA degree in Art. |
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You think I'm kidding. My final semester at FSU, an Art History professor failed me (what can I say? I'm a field man, not a research flunky). |
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Now, I already had a full-time job lined up, and this bleepin' F meant not only no graduation (and no degree), but I would have to take the stupid course over again (it was required). Sorry, not an option... |
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So, I simply took the instructor aside, looked at how she had averaged my quiz and test scores over the semester, and calmly pointed out to her that she didn't do it right. I then explained a different way to figure it all out that was more accurate. It would leave me with a D-minus. Good enough... |
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Eventually I wore her down, she agreed, passed me, and (after a huge sigh of relief) I went out into the working world sheepskin in hand. |
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Interestingly enough, this would not be the last time I had to do some fast talking to get out of a bad situation... |
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Sadly, my years of education and intense study (Art History aside) did not immediately lead to a career in my chosen field. But it did get me a really fun job. |
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The combination of my graphic arts background along with a pretty extensive knowledge of pop and rock music (always had a ton of records, and ended up as a late-night DJ at the university's progressive FM radio station for a while) snagged me a position as a display artist in a record store at the local mall. |
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Not exactly the fast track to fame and fortune, but I could have done a lot worse. Like not get a job. |
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BTW, for those that don't know, records are those music discs that came after wax cylinders, before CDs, and way before digital downloads... |
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Here is where fate stepped in, again. After working my way up to eventually become manager of the store, the company offered me a new store in a brand new mall in North Miami Beach. |
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Even better was that my lovely girlfriend at the time (who managed a clothing store) was also offered a new store in the same new mall by her company. |
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Well, as soon as we had the blessing of my pal Samson the Amazing Technicolor Dream Cat, we were loaded up and off on this new adventure. |
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What made it especially fun and exciting was I was returning to my element. Tallahasse was a very nice, but relatively small southern college town. South Florida, and especially the areas around NMB, had a lot of ex-New Yorkers, not to mention the faster pace and craziness associated with a much larger city. |
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I was ready to get back into this mix. Acquiring one of my all-time favorite addresses, we quietly moved into an apartment on Hollywood Boulevard in nearby Hollywood, Florida. |
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Alas, what I thought would be a very stable and prosperous time of my life snowballed downhill in a hurry (in Florida, no less). |
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Within a year or so of opening my new store, I was canned by the company, my girlfriend and I broke up, and I moved with my best friend Sam from boring suburban Broward County to the Tropical Art Deco whirlwind that was Miami Beach... |
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On a day I like to call Black Tuesday, while walking to the bus stop to go to work, I was hit from behind by a very large car that swerved up off the street onto the sidewalk. Go figure. Despite the accident (thankfully nothing broken), I eventually made it to the bus. |
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When I got to the record store, my supervisor had made a surprise visit and was waiting there for me. |
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Well, at this point I decided I probably should go to the local emergency room after all (think Dudley Moore at the end of Arthur). He drove me there, and after getting a few shots and patched up a bit, we went back to the store, where he then told me I was fired. |
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Now you understand. Black Tuesday... |
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There's no real sense going into detail how poor middle management, unrealistic expectations for my store, and a dishonest employee led to my dismissal. It's a tale best told over some beers. |
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Suffice to say I've always done my best at every job I've had. In this case it just wasn't good enough... |
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In a near-perfect example of lemons to lemonade, this series of unfortunate events not only left me with much trama, both physical and emotional (the car accident left me with bruised ribs that took about eight weeks to fully heal), but also with a decent sum of cash (insurance settlement as well as a "tin foil parachute" from the record store). |
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The time I needed to mend, and not having to immediately worry about money gave me the opportunity to really sit down and think about what I wanted to do next with my life. |
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What it led to was a new job that didn't pay squat, but one that would ultimately show me the path to what I now do for a living. |
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You could say Black Tuesday eventually led to a golden opportunity... |
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On the edge of your seat? Well then, watch for page three soon... |