Hey Mister DJ, Play that Song

"I don't wanna rock, deejay. But you're making me feel so nice." -- Robbie Williams 

It took 36 years but it finally happened. I landed my first gig as a celebrity DJ.

(The gig was a ward party. I was a celebrity because I was invited back to my old ward.)

The assignment was simple enough: Play an hour of songs that will appeal equally to 20-year-olds and 90-year-olds...and everyone in between.

Sure, it was a tough challenge, but the price was right: I was guaranteed a plate of chicken cordon bleu -- and, if I did a good job, a slice of pie at the end.

I was feeling a lot of pressure as I prepped for the big night.

What if no one dances? 

What if the old people hate it? 

What if the young people hate it? 

What if a swear word slips in there and the bishop gets mad? 

What if they take away my chicken cordon bleu? 

I worked and reworked the set list -- pushing Elvis up, moving Glenn Miller back, sticking Alphaville in the middle, ditching Simon and Garfunkel entirely.

And then, before I knew it, was time for action.

The lights dimmed (the neon lights stayed at full strength), the crowd stood and cheered (stayed seated in the metal folding chairs), and waited for the beat to drop (wondered when the Young Women were going to bring out the dessert).

The ghost of Jim Morrison whispered in my ear, "The time to hesitate is through."

I scrolled through my playlist.

Found the perfect song.

And pushed play.

The Village People took care of the rest.

Needless to say, I earned my slice of pie.

Daddy Daughter Dance

My beautiful date for the school daddy/daughter dance. #latergram

In the Studio

These guys are getting ready to do some recording this weekend. #johnnytightlips

Tate's Rookie Season

Tate just finished his first season of Junior Jazz. When five-year-olds play basketball, it looks a lot like football: One kid takes the ball, tucks it under his arm, and runs across the court until the entire pack of kids swarm around him, at which point some or all of them end up on the floor. Dribbling is recommended but not required.

Much like in soccer, Tate spends most of his time running and smiling. He also plays some killer D, which consists of putting his hands directly in his opponent's face and waving them back and forth. And he even made a bucket or two. (Including one on the 10-foot hoop yesterday. The power went out at the rec center and the baskets couldn't be lowered to their usual eight feet.)

All in all, a pretty good season.

I'm Not a Businessman, I'm a Business, Man

I just got back from a work trip with the CEO. In five days, we visited offices in four different states — Michigan, Oklahoma, Florida, North Carolina — which required us to take eight different flights.

Spending so much time with the leader of our company made me realize I'm not much of a businessman.

In between flights from Detroit to Grand Rapids, he hands me a Time magazine. "There's a really good article here about communication," he says. "I'm done with it if you want to read it."

"Thank you," I reply, and then slide it into my backpack.

Between the flight from Atlanta and Fort Lauderdale, he hands me Harvard Business Review. "There's a really great article in here about creating trust," he says.

"Thank you," I reply, as I slide the magazine into my backpack, next to the unread Time.

Then I go back to reading the book I brought from home.

And that's why I'd make a lousy CEO.