Be A Sell Out

I developed a bucket list, like most of you, shortly after the movie came out. Watching two old men take every day and make the most of it encouraged my adventurous side.

I made my list originally on a sheet of notebook paper and tacked it to my wall. It was a replica of the movie, listing all the cliche activities such as sky diving and bungee jumping. I accomplished nothing.

Ross Fox and I sat in the West one day and as the drinks drank made drunk, we became thinkers. We took down notes on a bar tab of the biggest goals we could accomplish. This included becoming a pro in a non-popular sport such as darts or curling. Also on the list was changing a friends life for the best. We both had someone in mind. We signed our names as an oath of commitment, and today, we’ve accomplished nothing.

Today, in the app ran life we live in, I have downloaded an app called “111 Things.” It’s spectacular. Filled with 111 ridiculous items to accomplish, it not only gives great ideas that are actually doable, but also allows you to delete and add to the list as you please. So on mine, for instance, 34 out of 92 are accomplished. I lack things like “Danced with a stranger in a foreign country.” & “Had sex on a moving train.” Both of which are items that the app came with, but also I lack some that I’ve added like the transferred “Changed a friends life for the best.”

I’ve recently understood how poorly of an effort I’ve made at this. It doesn’t start with me changing his actions, it starts with my actions towards him. If I believe in something and want someone else to believe like I do, I must be sold out to that particular belief. If I contradict the lifestyle associated with that belief, the entire concept is questioned.

This could be about religion, happiness or simply an attitude. I can’t change a persons mind if I’m a walking contradiction. Take Vera Largo for example, we are selling a gentleman’s line. A gentleman not only has manners with women, but shy’s away from gossip, avoids cursing, lives with focus and most of all purpose. At least that’s my definition. With that said- I’m a horrible salesman of my brand. I’ve up’d my hygiene and wardrobe but barely adjusted who I am.

It’s challenging and carries a discouraging amount of pressure, but to change a friends life, I must first change mine. When I say live the brand, I mean step up your game.

‘Selling out’ is defined as the compromising of integrity, morality, or principles in exchange for personal gain, such as money. Ha- thats exactly what i’m talking about. Instead- ‘Sell out’ to what you believe in. Change the common definition to its rare form- Devotion to a belief with unwavering focus. Everything you do reflects what you believe in and what you want to accomplish. When I’m ‘sold out’ I’ll be living the brand, and by truly living the brand, hopefully I’ll change my friends life for the best. But until then, I’ll just be a well-dressed prick.

Mrs. Hansen

It’s an odd relationship- mother and son.

You can buck your dads authority, but a mom? A sweet, does nothing wrong, mom- pretty much teaches us at a young age that women control our lives.

My entire life I’ve been referred to as ‘The Baby.’ As soon as someone finds that out about me they give this look- Like- “this fool is a momma’s boy!” It always happens. It doesn’t bother me! What does bother me is that they think they got it all figured out after that. Like I just got spoiled my whole life. I like to flip the script though when they do this.

“Do you prefer mustard or ketchup on the your French fries?”

“…ketchup I suppose.”

“Ohhhhhh, OHkay… Ha ha ha. One of those…”

You don’t know me. I’m not a momma’s boy. So what if she rubbed my back every morning to wake me up when I turned my alarm off. That’s normal. And I was cutting onions when I heard Blake Shelton’s ‘The Baby.’

…

-I give. I know you can’t tell because of this rugged demeanor I have, but I am in fact, quite the momma’s boy. I had to be- my dad comforts like a rattle snake.

When i was little, I wasn’t allowed to go get in bed with my parents when I had a bad dream. I’d peak in their room, wake them up & start stating my case of bandits hiding under my bed. Dad dismissed It and instructed me back to my room. So the next night Id get smart. I’d tiptoe to moms side of the bed, tap her on the shoulder and from then on out, she always saved a little room for me.

That’s what moms are for. That’s the bond that me and my mom have. She was always there when I needed her, before I knew what needing someone was.

I hated running errands with her. We would go to 18 different places and each one had at least one door, plus the car door, then you double it for going in and coming out. AND SHE’D STAND IN FRONT OF EACH DOOR UNTIL I OPENED IT. Now, because of her, I have this awful habit of opening doors for women… Not to mention, im a guy, so I don’t just la-tee-da around places. I have a mission and I conquer that mission. This woman would literally just stop, like her legs quit working, until I learned to not walk in front of her. So I learned to hold her hand… and drag her.

Ha my mom means the absolute world to me and she probably won’t even see this, but for those of you who do, I hope you know what you got. Cause I sure do.

So thanks, Mom. For everything.
I love you.

-Beau

Tombstoned

The phrase dressing to the nines has been in question of its origin. So I dug deep and came up with this.

Doc was smart about his poker. He played more than anyone around and was a pioneer in his strategy. Wyatt sat down frequently and played him hour after hour, until Mr. Holliday passed out. The drunk bastard was never one for modesty when it came to his whiskey but his cards- he was well reserved.

The best part of his game was taught in a hand late one night. The table was cold for hours until finally, Wyatt scrounged up a small straight. Call, raise … Fold. The emotion triggered the initial charge, but after seeing the raw, unwavering demeanor of Doc, Wyatt threw in his cards with fear. Doc Holliday laughed and told him “Wyatt, don’t you change over a full house, always present yourself as a pair of nines.

It stuck.

Clarification.

The past few months have been incredible. This is an odd journey that continues to surprise me. Now that things are a bit more concrete, I’m able to give detailed answers on what exactly Vera Largo is. Where as in the past, it was simply a dream that I was obligated to be vague about.

We caught sail. Pardon the irony but it’s true- we put our minds on an idea over a year ago and it’s finally moving along.

What are we?

Vera Largo is something that has completely changed my life.
-It’s exterior is style. In the clothes we are creating, we want to personify the way a gentleman should look. We focus on the finer fabrics, subtle details and bold colors in our line.
-It’s interior is perspective. Understanding what life is about, making the most of every moment and never settling for anything. We go after what we want.

It’s a lifestyle that few posses but many desire. An aspirational brand. “Hey, I wanna be that guy.”

Behind the scenes:
We are partnered with three individuals heavily involved in the fashion industry. This includes Jeffery Cohen, former president of Ralph Lauren, his partner David Otani, and Marty Staff, who if googled, you would understand his reputation as a “rock star in the fashion world.”

By mid June our designer will be finalizing designs and production starts for a launch date of March 1, 2014. Traveling will be non stop in the second half of 2013 as we meet and greet with many stores and potential buyers. There’s been talk of interviews and I blush at the thought of it. Tomorrow I’ll be back in a ditch with my favorite shovel. It’s just a surreal time.

I ask two things from the few of you who read this- keep us in your prayers, that we have wisdom in our decisions and maintain a humble attitude. The second is to continue the support. It may not seem like much, but every like, every tweet, every shout out- we see.

Vera Largo is a coastal lifestyle brand that invites you to relax in our world.

Beau Hansen.

He Stopped Loving Her Today.

Well, Maw shed a tear and Paw sang the blues. It’s always sad when it’s a legend we lose. He sang those songs that were sad and true, turned him on when you didn’t know what to do. He effected us all, in some small way. I guess Mr. Jones himself, stopped loving her today.

But this is a poem that’s too sad to bare. It’s a horrible thing that I must share. About a man that’s sad about a legend that’s gone, and his woman beside him never hearing a song. Not only that she’d never heard his name. Just a little, he stopped loving her today..

He said The Possum has passed, and she looked at him odd. He tried to explain he was a country music god. She just rolled her eyes and bee-bopped away. He scratched his head and didn’t know what to say. He packed his things & went on his way, she cried because he stopped loving her today.

Continuing Racism.

On April 11, 1968 my grandfather wrote about an acquaintance of his.

He was in Memphis reporting the death of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., writing in his spare time for his personal memoirs. Alongside the Civil Rights Act of 1968 that was signed that day, which provided equal housing opportunities for all people, I find his writing a much better story.

He wrote about the debate he had with Dr. King the year before. My grandfather argued that King’s marches caused small wars everyday within cities, while he preached against the war over seas. He also brought up the point that in the midst of that war (Vietnam), criticizing our foreign policy is poor leadership. The debate ended and Dr. King leaned in and gave my grandfather a “huge bear hug” before he exited the room in downtown Chicago.

He mentioned being at a march, once King had been murdered, and seeing reactions from black people on the sidelines, the young ones that had no understanding of Kings vision of equality and peace, but instead, just hate. On that day they got their equality that was rightfully theirs but not everyone wanted it.

This is something that has never changed and if anything, has grown.

In all these years since receiving equality, there’s been nothing but an evident push to be segregated. Look around- BET, blacksonly.com, ebony magazine and on and on and on. Rappers rapping about white people being shit and white people riding around bumpin that shit.

Look. I like rap music just as much as the next guy. But listen to the lyrics. Demand more out of yourself and then expect more from others.

Ugh.

It’s a tough topic. I know that my grandfather marched, hand in hand singing those hymns though, and like him, I want to stand in unity, but can’t help being distracted by those on the side lines, filled with hate. Instead, I guarantee you I judge an entire race on one thug every single day. One human being who has pride in the use of the word nigga. Who has his pants so low that he’s forced to walk like a penguin. That’s on me though. I can be better than a scoffer. “Who would I be if I were born black?” Go on- think it!

Who would you be?

Daddy

I’ve never been able to hold a conversation with the man I call Dad. The longest ones are the most heated arguments. It’s not that he didn’t talk, believe me, he talked. If there was a fact to have an opinion about, he had an opinion on it, that was a fact. His beliefs are in his bones, that’s all- something to admire.

His skin is tough from working his whole life, and when he isn’t working, he’s enjoying the woods or the fairway. Then to wind down, he jogs a few miles. The man is a machine.

I saw him cry once. I was just a boy when my great grandfather passed. A man I knew little about but one who my dad learned a great deal from. Other than that- stone emotions. Everyone who has met him probably has a little joke about his deep voice or intimidating demeanor.

This man taught me so much though.

On teenage rebellion:
“As long as you’re under my roof you’ll do what I say.”

On the lip I gave my mother:
“That’s my bride son, ain’t no one gonna talk to her like that.”
(Which I was always broken on that because I love her too.)

On asking for money:
“Money is an easy thing to borrow, but hard to pay back.” He’d always end up opening his wallet.

On budgeting:
“Pay yourself first.”

On disputes with him:
“The buck stops here.”

On tobacco or anything for that matter:
“Enjoy it, but never rely on it.”

Those things he told and still tells me are things that will stick in my head forever.

The thing that sticks with me most is other’s perception of him. There’s a lot of people who have called him a stubborn conservative ass hole I’m sure, but one way or another, people have gone to my dad time and time again for advice, a favor or anything else and they’ve always walked away satisfied. I’m proud to be his son.

Beaumontians

I have a number of things that I enjoy doing that I feel are often looked over when deciding on plans.

This is especially relevant where I live- Beaumont, Texas. Like most towns, it’s filled with potential, just weighed down by the idea based on “the grass is always greener on the other side.” ‘The other side’ to most of us is a College Station, Austin or Baton Rouge. We’re in a town of monotony, with careers and a mortgage.

Sorry, but I hate that attitude. Or in the words of my girlfriend- “badittude.”

For the record- I hate having made up words in my writings because of the red dotted line that appears beneath it.

Back on topic- here are some things I enjoy. Hopefully I broaden someone’s horizon.

Loop:
The loop is sacred. I remember hearing stories from my brother and my friends older brothers of times they had taking a backroad. “The Loop” is a name it was given because 90% of the backroads we ride loop back to point ‘A.’ There are different styles to it; some ride on top of their vehicles and steer with their feet. Some sit out the window and find the top of the cab doubles as a table. Others simply just roll em’ down and cruise. Catch the twilight hours or go under the stars. And there’s no need to hit the gas. The car will drive itself at the perfect speed- quick enough to be moving, but slow enough to catch back up when you hop out to pee. Go ahead and pump the tunes but don’t forget to turn it off every once in a while, kill it and just listen. Out there is the only place you can hear absolutely nothing and that’s a beautiful thing.

Patio:
Mm. Nothing beats a meal, a drink, a talk on the patio. Brenna and I had dinner this evening on mine and as small as it is, it still made dinner ten times better. There’re several great spots to enjoy in Beaumont. Get a burrito at Freebirds and watch the sunset down Dowlen on a summer evening. Or if you’re on the west end enjoy one of the best pizzas you’ll ever eat at New York Pizza Pasta. A night out? Goodfellas is a must. Catch it on a weekend and it’s the perfect atmosphere with live entertainment.

Trains:
I won’t say my spot ..because its illegal. But if you can find a train yard on the outskirts of town, climb on one and watch the sunset. That’s really all I can say about that because of the simplicity of the matter. It’s just nice.

And lastly- water:
Nothing beats the water. Obviously we all love the lake and the beach but there’s plenty here. Find a pond. Go down to the salt water barrier and just sit on the pier. I’ve done that many of nights. Sneak into some apartment pools and throw a party. It’s not hard.

The point of this is just to say hey, Beaumont’s not that bad. Just your interpretation of it is.

From the Pulpit.

Excuse me as I step into my pulpit.

In my life, I’ve learned the most about myself by observing others and comparing my actions to theirs.

When I was fifteen I evacuated for hurricane Rita to Waco. I have family there that I barely know but took us in unconditionally in the time of refuge. My dads cousin, my second cousin, complimented me on my lack of filter. She got the biggest kick out of my blunt remarks I made and told me something that really flattered me. She told me to never lose my genuine approach on life.

I have tried my best to do just that. No matter the situation, I always try to handle it without walking on egg shells. Nothing is resolved when we spend our time tip toeing around each others emotions. I believe that to be true. What you feel inside is never outweighed enough to be swept under a rug. Our original thoughts, beliefs and morals should be shown in every way we communicate. More than words.

But where do we get these personal principals?

Who influences us to take a stand for something or even the courage to nip a problem in the bud? I would assume its a matter of how those around you most handle situations. A group of people (family or friends) who have a tendency to leave situations unresolved, continue to face the same problems. Where as a group who confronts one another in every situation of disagreeing, may resolve the situation, but that resolution may be separation.

So where’s the happy medium?

It’s yourself. Having opinions and problems with people is normal, we all do. But how we address them is the real test of keeping it real. Not all problems are unavoidable but they are all compromisable. Know what bothers you and learn from it, don’t shut the other person down because you don’t like their way of handling things. Life’s too short to have preconceived issues with others. Drop your walls. Our happiness should be built strong enough by those we do agree with, to withstand the annoyance of those we don’t. Being real isn’t a matter of putting the other person in their place, it’s about knowing yours and being able to handle theirs.

In my life, when I’m approached with someone who I have no desire to listen to- I won’t be a dick and I won’t even kill with kindness, because they don’t get to me. No one can get to me. If they do- they win. Period.

This is me preaching to myself.

Here I Sit.

Prepare for a monologue.

I saw a coffee mug yesterday that says: “Coffee makes me poop.” I like that coffee mug because in my experience, coffee does, in fact, make me poop.

I’m currently sitting in a cafe in the galleria, drinking coffee, eating brunch & writing. I’m by myself and I couldn’t feel more hipster. You know, that thing that all the kids are doing now days?…

The waitress handed me my check and I politely informed her that I have nothing to do. I’m hers for the next 1-2 hours. You see, Brenna is at a dance competition in the ball room across the way, leaving me here, sipping coffee, and now my first Bloody Mary. Which by the way, you can’t do both. I just waisted a half cup of joe.

Yesterday I walked High Fashion and the galleria in search of Vera Largo’s fabric choice. It was an overwhelming & exhausting job, which if it wasn’t for our designers knowledge, we would have accomplished nothing. After hours of feeling fabric and analyzing stitching, everything seems to feel and look the same. Never the less, yesterday was a step forward.

Damn it, that poop just hit me.

I must admit, the traveling I do for Vera Largo and even with Brenna for fun, is above my means. I’m in no bind, but certainly can’t afford to do it every weekend. But my point is, I’m getting used to it. I enjoy being ridiculous in awesome places. And yet, every Monday, I find myself back in a ditch with my favorite shovel. I will never be above that- I love working with my hands. But I hate budgeting to just be ok. I’ve always wanted to do whatever I wanted whenever I feel like and THAT is where my motivation for everything I do after work comes from. From the sewer lines I unclog at 8 at night for a couple hundred extra bucks, to the fabric I search for to build the perfect gentleman’s line. I’m determined to build an empire. Call me crazy, please.

So cheers to today. To my friends at the beach, in beaumont, and the other random readers i have- It’s a beautiful day. Sundays are for rest and preparation to make the most of the week ahead. This week do more- get better, take an extra step- the overtime, the opportunity. The only difference between a goal and a dream is the pursuit once you wake up.

“Prost!”