Friday, February 18, 2011

Pure Gold

President's Message


Once again the universe has conspired in our favor to bring to pass a legendary Dude Squad event. Call it karma, call it beginner's luck, call it what you will, Rob put together a great meeting and also redefined the meaning of soup to man. Getting underway with a salute to the author, literary alchemist Paulo Coelho, we embarked on a grand tour of the book's many treasures. Thankfully, a stop in Cairo wouldn't be necessary for our journey.

We talked about freedom and fate, risk and respectability, talents and creativity and what it means to seek one's own personal legend. One concern was how to square our own search for personal fulfillment with our duties as husbands and fathers. Another concern was how to get Trevor to speak at a DS meeting. We mentioned the allegorical richness of the book and seemed to agree that any attempt by Hollywood to retell it would be to bastardize it completely.

We witnessed a resurgence of Leo's Audio Books as copies of Don's book for our next meeting, The Forgotten 500 by Gregory A. Freeman, started circulating. Unofficially, we will try to announce each book a month early so as to keep Leo gainfully employed. I'd like to recognize the 12 stalwart knights of the Dude Squad who attended Rob's meeting: Rob, Tyler, Leo, Jim, Trevor, Troy, David R., Don, Steve, Richard, Scott, and David G. I think we all left Rob's place feeling a little more enthusiastic about life. And that's the point.

Gentlemen, don't be afraid to disappoint me.

El Presidente

1 comment:

  1. Dudes,

    Our meeting made me think of a poem by Walt Whitman that you might enjoy.

    A Noiseless Patient Spider

    A noiseless, patient spider,
    I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
    Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
    It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
    Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.

    And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
    Surrounded, detatched, in measureless oceans of space,
    Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;
    Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;
    Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul