You've Got to Smile Sometimes

 
9781511952521: You've Got to Smile Sometimes

I had to stop quitting things. I quit my job as an usher at the Portage Theater, high school and, more significant than any other, I had quit on baseball...I gave up on a dream that defined me to myself. Luckily the dream was immediately replaced with guitar and songwriting—the next Jimi Hendrix/Frank Marino meets Jackson Browne/Harry Chapin I was to become. First I had to, as my Dad so colorfully put it: Wipe my own ass. After turning 17 the Old Man would frequently pose me a question with a friendly smile, “So, when are ya leaving?” He meant it; he just wasn’t mean about it. For the next five years I toiled away at MARSHALLS, cleaning toilet bowls, wiping windows, chasing carts and pushing brooms. A dead-end job in the 9-to-5 world I refused to quit because of some ill-conceived, misplaced completion complex but also because I was afraid. I could play baseball, jam a mean guitar and craft a pretty, even profound, song...other than that I felt clueless and of little use to the world at large. No practical skills did I possess, I was no brother Art—mechanically inclined? Not so much. Losing my virginity to getting a steady girl; my first apartment to first rock band playing the bars and clubs of Chicago; disillusioned by the world at large to the closest of friends and my own shockingly shallow behavior; family deaths to broken hearts; yearning dreams perpetually out of reach to learning the ineluctable truth of how easy being an asshole could be verse the never-ending struggle toward achieving decency. All the while trying to remember to be happy, know how wonderful it was to be me and smile at my misery, embracing the adventure.

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Smith, David Walter
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Book Description Createspace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book ***** Print on Demand *****. I had to stop quitting things. I quit my job as an usher at the Portage Theater, high school and, more significant than any other, I had quit on baseball.I gave up on a dream that defined me to myself. Luckily the dream was immediately replaced with guitar and songwriting-the next Jimi Hendrix/Frank Marino meets Jackson Browne/Harry Chapin I was to become. First I had to, as my Dad so colorfully put it: Wipe my own ass. After turning 17 the Old Man would frequently pose me a question with a friendly smile, So, when are ya leaving? He meant it; he just wasn t mean about it. For the next five years I toiled away at MARSHALLS, cleaning toilet bowls, wiping windows, chasing carts and pushing brooms. A dead-end job in the 9-to-5 world I refused to quit because of some ill-conceived, misplaced completion complex but also because I was afraid. I could play baseball, jam a mean guitar and craft a pretty, even profound, song.other than that I felt clueless and of little use to the world at large. No practical skills did I possess, I was no brother Art-mechanically inclined? Not so much. Losing my virginity to getting a steady girl; my first apartment to first rock band playing the bars and clubs of Chicago; disillusioned by the world at large to the closest of friends and my own shockingly shallow behavior; family deaths to broken hearts; yearning dreams perpetually out of reach to learning the ineluctable truth of how easy being an asshole could be verse the never-ending struggle toward achieving decency. All the while trying to remember to be happy, know how wonderful it was to be me and smile at my misery, embracing the adventure. Bookseller Inventory # APC9781511952521

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David Walter Smith
Published by Createspace Independent Publishing Platform (2015)
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Book Description Createspace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book ***** Print on Demand *****.I had to stop quitting things. I quit my job as an usher at the Portage Theater, high school and, more significant than any other, I had quit on baseball.I gave up on a dream that defined me to myself. Luckily the dream was immediately replaced with guitar and songwriting-the next Jimi Hendrix/Frank Marino meets Jackson Browne/Harry Chapin I was to become. First I had to, as my Dad so colorfully put it: Wipe my own ass. After turning 17 the Old Man would frequently pose me a question with a friendly smile, So, when are ya leaving? He meant it; he just wasn t mean about it. For the next five years I toiled away at MARSHALLS, cleaning toilet bowls, wiping windows, chasing carts and pushing brooms. A dead-end job in the 9-to-5 world I refused to quit because of some ill-conceived, misplaced completion complex but also because I was afraid. I could play baseball, jam a mean guitar and craft a pretty, even profound, song.other than that I felt clueless and of little use to the world at large. No practical skills did I possess, I was no brother Art-mechanically inclined? Not so much. Losing my virginity to getting a steady girl; my first apartment to first rock band playing the bars and clubs of Chicago; disillusioned by the world at large to the closest of friends and my own shockingly shallow behavior; family deaths to broken hearts; yearning dreams perpetually out of reach to learning the ineluctable truth of how easy being an asshole could be verse the never-ending struggle toward achieving decency. All the while trying to remember to be happy, know how wonderful it was to be me and smile at my misery, embracing the adventure. Bookseller Inventory # APC9781511952521

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Book Description 2015. PAP. Book Condition: New. New Book. Delivered from our US warehouse in 10 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND.Established seller since 2000. Bookseller Inventory # IP-9781511952521

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Book Description CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Paperback. Book Condition: New. This item is printed on demand. 558 pages. Dimensions: 9.0in. x 6.0in. x 1.4in.I had to stop quitting things. I quit my job as an usher at the Portage Theater, high school and, more significant than any other, I had quit on baseballI gave up on a dream that defined me to myself. Luckily the dream was immediately replaced with guitar and songwritingthe next Jimi HendrixFrank Marino meets Jackson BrowneHarry Chapin I was to become. First I had to, as my Dad so colorfully put it: Wipe my own ass. After turning 17 the Old Man would frequently pose me a question with a friendly smile, So, when are ya leaving He meant it; he just wasnt mean about it. For the next five years I toiled away at MARSHALLS, cleaning toilet bowls, wiping windows, chasing carts and pushing brooms. A dead-end job in the 9-to-5 world I refused to quit because of some ill-conceived, misplaced completion complex but also because I was afraid. I could play baseball, jam a mean guitar and craft a pretty, even profound, songother than that I felt clueless and of little use to the world at large. No practical skills did I possess, I was no brother Artmechanically inclined Not so much. Losing my virginity to getting a steady girl; my first apartment to first rock band playing the bars and clubs of Chicago; disillusioned by the world at large to the closest of friends and my own shockingly shallow behavior; family deaths to broken hearts; yearning dreams perpetually out of reach to learning the ineluctable truth of how easy being an asshole could be verse the never-ending struggle toward achieving decency. All the while trying to remember to be happy, know how wonderful it was to be me and smile at my misery, embracing the adventure. This item ships from La Vergne,TN. Paperback. Bookseller Inventory # 9781511952521

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