UPDATE: This is very cool!

I just received a note from a reader named Alan Petersen who’s spent years compiling an incredible swipe file of over 1,000 magazine headlines.

He was cool enough to send me a sample copy and this thing is really amazing.

The headlines are broken down into categories by magazine.

Check it out… he’s got 7 years of Reader’s Digest headlines in here!

Click to enlarge.

Plus every headline from People magazine in 2009!

Here’s a few samples:

• Hero Pilot Tells His Story – How He Saved Flight 1549
  
• Teen Mom Bristol Palin ‘Kids Should Just Wait’
  
• WOW! Jessica Simpson Debuts Her Curvy New Body
  
• Half Their Size How They Lost 437 LBS! Real People, Real Diets, Every Budget

And that’s just from People last year!

Can you see how those headlines swipes could add sizzle to your own ads? This stuff is gold.

Alan sells this file for $47 and it’s a screaming bargain at that price. (How long would it take you to compile 1,000 killer headline swipes? And how much time would you save racking your brain if you cold just flip though these for fast inspiration?)

But I prodded him into giving my readers a big break… so he’s agreed to offer it for only $27!

Thanks, Alan… very cool of you.

Click the book to go to Alan’s sales page and click on
his signature to get the secret discount!

Click the book to save $20 right now!

Click on the book to claim your
discount and grab these killer
magazine swipes for only $27!

IMPORTANT: Once you arrive at Alan’s landing page,
click on his signature to get the special price of $27

Hi Friends,

New video blog for you today where I discuss…

• What makes Jason Moffatt so cool…

• The first time I ever “bit it” as a stand-up comic…

• One reason Mobile Monopoly became a record-breaking ClickBank mega-launch…

• Where to get my new free stuff that will help your launch convert like crazy!

As always, your comments are golden.

Kevin

Do you love watching the Food Network?

I do.

Shows like Next Food Network Star, Iron Chef and Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives are great escapes, and unlike scripted shows, you actually learn something you can take action on that night if you want.

The Food Network is also a great example of a business that never loses sight of exactly what their customers (viewers) want from them and… rather than try to control it to their will… instead ask: How can we deliver really big on this agreement?

Just listen to Susie Folgelson and Bob Tuschman discuss what viewers will and won’t respond to when judging contestants on “Next Food Network Star” and you’ll get a taste of what the smartest execs do so much better than those who assume the market shares their vision — rather than doing the necessary work of asking and testing.

One of the most common pitfalls facing contestants vying to become an on-air talent — and the judges who’ll be stuck promoting them — is failing to posses that rare mix of true food expert and likable TV personality.

Shining with your audience of friendly dinner guests from behind the stove in your own kitchen is a million miles from staring into that cold, cold camera lens in a room full of unimpressed union crew and producers.

As the contestants quickly find, the fact that TV chefs make it all look so easy is the actual talent that makes them stars.

That’s why I was so impressed to see Chef Bobby Flay come walking into his Midtown New York restaurant, Bar Americain, last week when my wife and I had dinner there.

It wasn’t just that he showed up and gave a thrill to tourists by posing for photos. That would have been cool in a “I guess he really does own this place” kind of way. What impressed me (no I didn’t bother him for a photo, making me about 1/10 cooler than every other tourist there) was that was there to WORK.

Upon arrival, he walked straight back to the kitchen and put on his chef’s coat and proceeded to inspect the food before it left the kitchen. Sure, as the chef/owner that’s his job, and he’s no doubt fairly compensated…

… but you could tell it was the part he loved most.

Flay was more at home joking with his staff and fussing over the dishes than he was working the constant line of gawkers and photo seekers lining the kitchen entrance. Even though he didn’t appear to roll his eyes at the task, it clearly wasn’t his motivation.

This struck me because the inherent problem of manufacturing celebrity chefs to the growing audience of armchair foodies is that soon every struggling actor who can make a grilled cheese sandwich without burning the toast is going to be clamoring for his own TV show.

And, just like so many actors in the early 90’s were buying stand-up comedy material hoping to create a path to sitcom stardom (and stealing valuable stage time from true comics and paying audiences)…

… some of these poser chefs and their contrived “culinary point of view” will ultimately slip through the filters and water down the broth of celerity chefdom.

But, whatever.

Right now there’s the delicious memory of that blackened Prime Rib I devoured at Bar Americain last week. The meat prepared to melt-in-your-mouth perfection and those zesty spices dancing around my tongue for a full minute after each bite.

Washed down with a pure California Cabernet with flavors of dark berries and milk chocolate.

And the peach pie topped with insatiably creamy blueberry sherbet and mascarpone creme.

My god, I’m hungry again just thinking about it.

Eat well, friends. It reminds us why we work so hard during those other hours of the day.

Kevin

P.S. Another favorite Food Network show is “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” where the chefs describe the best foods they’ve ever eaten – often discovered in the least likely places. I’d love to hear about your favorite meals in the comments section.

At 32, John Carlton was a floundering California slacker.

Couch surfing and living out of his car, John’s life was playing out like a standard blues riff, “I had no home, no job, my girlfriend had left me… I was essentially broke and destitute,” he says in the interview.

Down to his last few dollars and with no direction home,  he cracked open Napoleon Hill’s “Think and Grow Rich.”

The book he says introduced him to the startling discovery that, “Wait… I can actually want something, then make a plan to go achieve it… and then actually go achieve it?”

“It may sound trite,” he says, “but I’d never considered that before.”

For the first time John reveals the intimate details surrounding his life-altering epiphany — and subsequent chain of “fortunate” events — that ultimately lead him to the center podium of fame and achievement as a marketer and master copywriter.

You’ll hear what it was like to ghost for legends like Jay Abraham and Jim Rutz…

… why he wanted to quit after his first day working with Gary Halbert…

… and why the last thing he wants to be called is “brilliant.”

Carlton and Rogers in Chicago Oct '08 (on the way to see Buddy Guy)

John’s passion these days is teaching. He’ll explain why he chose to reveal his private 17-step Simple Writing System formula for writing any piece of copy you can imagine…

… why it works especially well for video scripts and emails…

… and his selfish reasons for holding the Simple Writing System live mentoring sessions.

You’re going to love this interview.

This is John Carlton more candid and introspective than you’ve ever heard him before.

PUSH PLAY TO LISTEN NOW:

Now here’s your chance to learn John’s exact 17-step selling system!

Grab a limited seat in my SWS class that starts on April 12th.

Why Join My Class?

I’m proud (and humbled) to be the only two-time recipient of the “Best Teacher Award” as voted by students in follow-up surveys.

Best Teacher Bonsai, spring '09

This is my 4th time teaching the SWS live mentoring session… I’ve been here since the beginning and I love it.

There’s nothing like seeing those copywriting light bulbs pop on for people (some who’ve had a deep fear of writing since getting their knuckles slapped by grammar Nazis back in grade school).

(As you can see from this post, sales writing is far from “proper.”)

The SWS makes sales writing a natural process for any biz own. This is as much a course about simple selling because that’s what the most persuasive sales messages are…

Best Teacher iPod Touch, fall '08

… a casual conversation between 2 adults on different sides of a problem.

If you can sell your product or service to the right prospect face-to-face… you CAN easily write killer ads. And the SWS makes the process foolproof and fun.

We have a blast in my classroom, the vibe is always positive and supportive. No flaming or forum bullies in the SWS.

And this session, to assure I spend all my class time teaching people who are after the biggest results, I’m limiting the number of students who can sign-up through my link to 10.

Join my SWS class!

Gates open at 2 pm EST on Thursday, April 1.

Clicking that link is the only way to guarantee you’ll get a spot in my room.

(However, you can enter here and request a different teacher if you like. They’re all accomplished copywriters and generous coaches… you can’t go wrong with any of ‘em.)

Here’s what one of last year’s students had to say:

“What a ride it has been. The SWS is the best I have ever done, hands down. It is so much more than a writing course, it is the foundation for everything in business.
A few month ago I never though I would be able to do something like this and yet going through the system is fun, mind boggling and challenging all at the same time. I even managed to submit my very first sales letter before class ended. Wohooo!!!
Thank you for being the # 1 teacher in SWS.” – NielsH

As John often says, “Every business owner needs to learn how to recognize a good ad from a bad ad.”

Whether you’re a time-crunched entrepreneur who wants to slam out your own emails instead of hiring out…

…or the freelance copywriter who wants to up his game and land better gigs…

… there just isn’t a better system available for achieving master-level skill this quickly and easily.

You get hard-core interactive teaching from John, myself and the support staff… plus you can spy on the other expert teachers by roaming into any classroom you like.

The learning is unlimited… and the networking is second-to-none. The Student Lounge is always one of the most popular threads with faculty and students mixing it up on all things marketing.

Many lasting friendships (and partnerships) have been sparked in the SWS Student Forum. It’s cool to be around like-minded people from all over the world — all achieving success and showing each other support.

As an added bonus for anyone signing up through my link, I’ll be hosting 4 free private teleconferences throughout the session where you can ask me anything you want regarding the SWS, freelancing, working with John — whatever’s on your mind.

Even though I’ll be there guiding you through the system 5 days a week in the student forums, these calls will give me a chance to provide that extra push in a live setting. Your success is my top priority.

Here’s my link again.

Join my SWS class!

Gates open at 2 pm EST on Thursday, April 1.

If you can feel this is the breakthrough you need to take your business to the next level, then I look forward to helping you achieve what your goal.

All the best,

Kevin

UPDATE (6:40 am April 5): SOLD OUT.

(Thanks to all who’ve signed up. I’m excited to get rolling with you on the 12th.)

I just shared this idea in a thread about stand-up comedy on Bruce Wedding’s Copywritingboard.com. I’ve also written about the inherent crossover between comedy and copy for John Carlton’s Rebel Rant, but this is the first time I’ve broken down the “hidden formula” behind joke writing.

Thought you might dig it.

There are many valuable lessons about effective copy in the rhythm and timing of comedy.

There’s also great lessons in the art of joke writing.

Styles vary greatly among comedians… not much similarity in the styles of Bill Cosby and Chris Rock, but they’re both brilliant.

(Personal opinion alert: if you’re too offended by language to see the magic in “art with an edge” then you are suffocating your own potential.)

However, this topic is about much more than rhythm and flow… here’s the REAL value in the comparison: Persuasion.

Not NLP Dr. Spock mind-melding shiznit or PUA nonsense…

… just good ol’ fashioned: premise, set up, punchline.

If you’re searching for the hidden formula in stand-up comedy, there it is. It’s a condensed version of the classic essay format you’ll find in the first paragraph of any decent op/ed piece in your Sunday paper.

It goes like this:

1) Begins with a topic sentence that introduces a general theme.
2) Follows the topic sentence with sentences that narrow the focus of the theme.
3) Narrows the discussion of the topic by identifying an issue or problem.
4) Finishes by making a debatable claim a thesis statement.

Of course, the best comics stretch that theme beyond recognition to create a style all their own.

YouTube some of Carlin’s stuff. He starts out with a premise, makes his case, then “tags” the joke relentlessly until it’s played out.

Then watch Cosby take the same formula and stretch every detail in the opening statement — stopping to meticulously examine micro-scenarios before finally closing it up with a final “statement.”

Same formula, wildly different styles. And the key to success in each case is that moment where you mutter breathlessly between laughs: “It’s so true!”

This is an endless topic. I’d love to know who your favorite comics are, and how they might inspire your marketing.

Speak up and be heard in the comments section.

Kevin

When I was a skinny, punk-ass 16 year-old… my step-dad, Scotty, ran a construction crew building new homes in Tampa.

He was a tough-as-nails, but fun-to-be-around guy (picture Willem DaFoe and Jeff Spicoli merged as one) who had one rule on the job site: Never get outworked.

That summer, rather than sit around broke watching CHiPs reruns, I decided to take Scotty up on his standing offer to join his crew and make a few bucks.

How hard can it be? I thought. You get to wear a badass tool belt, you measure some boards and smack a few nails. Presto! New home.

Cut to: Monday morning at 5:30 AM as Scotty rattles my bed with his foot as if Florida’s first earthquake was happening directly beneath the house.

“We leave in 15 minutes, dude. You need to eat before we go.”

It was still dark outside. I managed to woof down 2 pieces of white toast and by first light we were pulling onto the muddy streets of half-built houses and construction equipment.

The air smelled of fresh-cut lumber and swamp water as the droning hum of tractors and the whine of buzz saws swirled with classic rock blaring from busted boom boxes. The wood beam skeletons of soon-to-be family homes perched naked on concrete slabs like shy patients on cold tables wishing the doctor would just finish up and hand them a robe.

The whole thing looked like a disaster scene in reverse.

I was sure I’d made a terrible mistake. Much as I admired the true grit and simple wisdom of those blue collar warriors — hard labor just wasn’t my thing. Yet, by the end of that first week, I was getting a feel for it. There’s a cozy satisfaction in putting in a hard day’s work.

That pain shooting through your back means you’ve done your job. A check is coming. Beer-thirty on Friday will taste like it should.

Then came the rookie mistake that doomed it…

I was sitting on a cement wall after a short rain storm, eating lunch from a bag when Scotty came over (he never stopped for lunch)…

“Don’t sit on wet concrete, dude… it soaks your bones, you’ll be sick as dog,” he said, pulling over a saw horse. “Use this or stand.”

“Shit, I’ve been sitting here for like 10 minutes,” I said.

“You’re probably fucked then.”

Fucked was right. I woke up the next day with the nastiest cold I’ve ever felt. Every joint in my body ached and my head pulsed like a diesel engine stuck in first gear.

“I feel like hell,” I told Scotty as he earthquaked me awake.

“I feel like hell every day. Don’t make me late on top of it.”

I didn’t have the guts to tell him this wasn’t the hard day’s night kinda hell — this was see a doctor hell.

By lunch break I was pale and droopy eyed enough to earn a sympathetic “wait in the truck” assignment. I sweated out the day lying across the bench seat of Scotty’s silver F250… dreaming of a soft couch, air conditioning, and Ponch and John speeding down the 101 after some crazy driver.

Mercifully, as the sun dropped below the windshield, the noise outside finally subsided to the lone strain of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “What’s Your Name” in the distance. Scotty slipped into the truck beside me, cranked the engine and said, “Good news… you’re fired.”

“Thank God!” I said.

Later, when the fever was down and some human-like hue of color returned to my face, Scotty admitted that my pitiful performance on the job was everything he’d hoped for.

“You’re a smart dude. You might not know that yet, but you are,” he said. Then added, “So if you ever take one piece of advice from me, it should be this: Do work with your head… not with your hands. It’s not for you — and that’s a gift.”

It’s rare that a teenage boy is able to see past the hormone rage and know-it-all-ness to recognize a turning point in his life as it’s happening. But that moment was one for me.

I discovered in less than 2 weeks on a soggy construction site that it was OK not to fit in where you don’t fit in. And sticking around long enough so you begin to fit where you don’t fit in can cause you to miss your path entirely.

Thanks to Scotty, my job this morning (I decided) was writing this blog post.  Technically, I did use my hands, but tapping keys sure beats the hell out of pounding nails.

And while there are plenty of tough days as a freelancer when nothing seems to go my way (and I’m still stuck with the credo of never getting outworked)…

…for me, the freedom to make my own day is the greatest benefit of a freelance career.

What about you?

I don’t like to fly. It makes me think about dying. But that can be good. If you’ve ever faced death for real, you know what it’s like sit down to pen your final thoughts to those you love. Once, before emergency heart surgery, I wrote out a song list to be played at my funeral. Strange list. Glad I made it through that one.

Anyway, I’m flying today. And while I have little doubt I’ll arrive safely on the other side, it’s got me thinking again. So I wrote out a quick list of things I’d want to tell my 5-year-old son if given one last chance. If you’ll forgive the indulgence I’m posting it here for posterity.

How To Be A True Superhero

–Always be yourself, no matter who disagrees. Relationships are about chemistry and the only way to judge it is by stripping away fronts.

–Help strangers but don’t follow them anywhere. (The guy telling you the story about his kids in the car around the corner out of gas is probably lying.)

–Be polite to everyone. People will come in and out of your life in ways you never imagined.

–Keep your private business private.

–Resist the urge to “belong.” Your greatness comes from within.

–Listen to your heart on ALL matters.

–Follow your instincts in shady situations. Never be afraid to turn back from something that doesn’t feel right. No matter who is behind you.

–Face your fears. But not from heights over 10 feet. Those fears are meant to protect you. Bungee jumping is stupid.

–Be patient with people and share your knowledge with anyone who needs it. If they don’t want it, keep it to yourself.

–If you don’t have anything useful to add, shutting up and listening is perfectly acceptable.

–Do whatever it takes to nurture friendships. The best ones are rare and infinitely valuable to your life.

–Create moments.

–Allow moments to happen.

–Listen to music. All kinds of music.

–Give your respect to those who deserve it. Politely avoid those who don’t.

–Always tell it like it is. If you’re sincere, even those who don’t like what you have to say will respect you for saying it.

–Read everything all the time. There’s no such thing as time wasted reading. Dedicate yourself to finishing books that deserve to be read all the way through. Quickly toss the ones that don’t.

–Travel as much as possible. Especially when you’re young and free. It’ll help you settle in when you need to.

–Sing in the car. Think in the shower. Walk in the rain. Stay up to watch the sunrise once a year.

–Give important lessons time to sink in. Hindsight is always the best vantage point.

–”Learning from other people’s mistakes” is bullshit. Take your cues, sure, but the only way to get good is to get dirty.

–Drive across America with no agenda. Stay the night in roadside motels. Leave the next day.

–Earn your living with passion. In times when you can’t, attack the task at hand with verve.

–Learn 3 good toasts. Deliver them with sincerity.

–God is exactly who you think it is.

So much more to say. I’ll tell you Sunday when I get back.

Next time you tell someone you’re a copywriter and they hit you with a blank stare… explain what you do by showing them this nice short that won Cannes last year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyGEEamz7ZM

Chicago, 1994—I was a relative newcomer on the Windy City comedy scene, but I’d landed a gig headlining the Improv comedy club about twice a month.

The show was a cabaret, so I’d share the bill with all kinds of acts; jugglers, magicians, acapella groups, dancers, even the occasional ventriloquist. (Twisted bunch, ventriloquists.)

Backstage at those shows with dancers running around half naked and singers warming their pipes, I felt a kinship to burlesque era comics like Lenny Bruce and Mort Sahl. The after-party would typically run ‘til sunrise. Good times.

The cabaret format worked so well, they only interrupted it when a big name comic would roll through for a weekend… and I was often tapped to open the show for those acts.

When I got the offer to open a string of shows for Chris Rock, I wasn’t impressed.

I’d seen Chris in NYC a few times—nothing special. His casting on SNL was the bigger punchline than anything he delivered in a sketch. His primary achievement was being known as “Eddie Murphy’s guy”, and I wasn’t the only one wondering what Eddie saw that I didn’t.

But the Chris Rock that showed up at that week in Chicago was not the Chris Rock from SNL.

Something had pissed him off … he was clearly out for blood.

Gone was the goofy Cameo hairstyle, gone was the typical stand-up vocal cadence, gone was the assumption that crowds had to love him because they’d seen him on TV.

He prowled the stage like a caged tiger. His material was raw in both subject and substance—a sign that he was truly building a show, not just getting though them.

I was surprised to find myself in the balcony after my sets laughing hard, and marveling at how bravely he would totally re-approach material from show to show.

See, comics live for the “sure thing”—a joke that you keep in the chamber like a silver bullet should the crowd take an ugly turn. And once you’ve developed such a joke you don’t mess with it…

…unless you’re blindly determined to be one of the best.

George Carlin would famously melt down his silver bullet jokes—just to see what else he could make from them. So what if the crowd or the critics starting shooting in the middle of it. I can hear his response as clearly as if he was sitting next to me: Fuck ‘em!

Same with Bill Hicks, Richard Pryor, and now, it was becoming obvious: Chris Rock.

(A year and a half later he released his breakout HBO special, Bring The Pain and with that special and every one since his name would be permanently etched into the exclusive list of comic greats who refused to take the safe route.)

Offstage Chris was quiet, reserved, and painfully shy. Every night he would sit in the manager’s office with his friend and collaborator, eating fried chicken from a Styrofoam box and listening to the show on a small speaker on the desk.

“How were they?” he’d ask as I came off the stage to cheers. Performers waiting to go on stage don’t trust the cheers they hear in the showroom. They need to hear it from the guy who caused them.

“How were they?” really means, “how were you?” Did you honestly kill, or just sneak one by?

“They’re hot tonight… best crowd yet.” I said and wished him luck.

“Hey…” Chris called out as I headed off, “d’yu hear?”

“What’s that?”

“Jordan’s coming to the ten o’clock.”

“No shit.” I asked.

“Would a brothu lie about Michael Jordan?”

In 1994 Michael Jordan was not only the most famous athlete, but one the most famous people in the world.

The Bulls had just completed their first “Threepeat” of back-to-back-to-back championships. Jordan was MVP in all 3 series and had held the NBA scoring title for seven years – a record that’s never been touched.

No One had ever shot like Jordan. No One had ever floated trough air like Jordan. No One had lifted a team (and a league) like Jordan. And No One had ever moved product like Jordan.

Add it up and in the early nineties you could not walk through any city, town, village or slum on planet Earth without the people there knowing all about Michael Jordan… you saw that famous Nike Air logo and 23 jerseys on men, women and children alike.

He was more famous than any leader or tyrant or rock star that ever lived…

…and he was coming to the 10 o’clock show.

After Chris told me the news that Jordan would attend, I ran to the newsstand and bought a Time magazine. A few days earlier I had read their feature about his retirement and the murder of his father. A story that shocked the world.

During my set I could think of nothing but Mike being in the balcony. I’d do a joke, get a laugh and think: I wonder if Jordan is laughing. I couldn’t help it. I’d seen him enter the club with his wife, along with famed Chicago Bears defensive end Richard Dent and his wife.

Jordan seemed to glide instead of walk…

…and his aura was visible.

After the show, the green room was packed with staff and audience members who’d somehow found their way in to get a glimpse at “his Airness”.

Mike came bursting into the room through the kitchen doors like a mafia Don… followed by Rock, Dent and their smiling wives.

I’ll never forget Michael Jordan looking across the room, spotting me, and putting his enormously long arm in the air for the greeting. He said something about how funny I was. I wasn’t sure how to return the compliment to a guy in the midst of leaving a sport he redefined – for a roster spot on a AA baseball team.

“Thanks, man. Glad you came.” was all I could muster. Then I did the thing that haunts me to this day. I pulled out the magazine and asked him to sign it for me…instantly dropping my rank in his eyes from talented entertainer to common fan.

I knew it was a mistake the second I did it. The door was open for any conversation I wanted to have with him, and I had just slammed it shut by choosing the same one he is forced to have with strangers every day.

The shame of it.

I ended up giving that autograph to a friend whose kids would get a thrill from it. I was glad to get it out of my site. No dollar value placed on it could ever be worth more than the harsh lesson I learned that day.

See, I know now why I sabotaged that moment. It was more than just a bad split-second decision in a dramatic social situation…

The truth is… I didn’t feel worthy of Michael Jordan’s attention – and especially his admiration. I was viewing him as a superstar instead of a person.

I should have spoken to the Michael Jordan I could relate to…

The one who grew up poor in North Carolina, who was cut from his varsity basketball team for being “too short”, who was “freezed out” by teammates at his first NBA All Star game. The one fumbling through an awkward career change. The one who had recently lost a parent.

But I wasn’t looking for his human traits. I was caught up in his aura. Too Busy looking for what was more than human about him.

I don’t make that mistake anymore.

Don’t get me wrong… I still believe in seeking out people to admire, even call them “heroes” sometime. But when I meet a famous person (whether they’re universally admired – or only famous in my mind) I remember that they are just people. And no matter how high their pedestal, there’s always common ground between us.

Celebrity is manufactured in the mind of the fan. When you meet someone you admire, do yourself a favor and forget their resume. Pretend you’ve never heard of them. Be yourself.

If Michael Jordan wants to be your fan for a minute…let him.

Do you look for signs in your life?

Those random little messages that whisper directions in your ear like a cosmic GPS. They’re always there if you want to see them – and even more if you don’t.

Reminds me of the old fable about the Christian lost at sea…

A boat comes by, the captain tosses a rope and says “grab on, I’ll tow you to safety.”

“No thanks,” says the Christian. “God will rescue me.”

The next day a bigger boat discovers him and drops it’s ladder. “Climb aboard,” yells the captain. “We have food and blankets.”

“Go on without me,” says the Christian. “God will rescue me.” .

Finally, a Navy helicopter hovers above the man. A soldier in a basket is lowered, ready to carry him to safety. But the man, although dehydrated and weak, waives them away.

“My faith is strong,” insists the Christian. “God will rescue me.”

The next day the man dies. He appears before God and asks, “I kept my faith, God. Why didn’t you rescue me?”

God says, “I sent 2 boats and a helicopter. What more did you want?”

Point is, you can look right past the most important signs if you’re not paying attention.

The first time I looked at my wife, I thought she might be the only woman in the world for me. When I learned her name was Michelle – I was positive of it.

The name Michelle has always been a positive sign in my life.

The first girl I remember having a deep, belly-twisting crush on was Michelle Kennedy. She had long dark hair and mysterious eyes. I was younger than her, and too obvious with my affection, I’m sure. But she was nice to me. Her name became anchored in my subconscious.

Every Michelle I met seemed to have something special. Even the Beatles would sing about it.

For years I was the opposite of that guy lost at sea. I sought refuge in boats with all kinds of names; Arlene, Shannon, Cindy… but it was never the same.

“Go on without me,” I would say. “Michelle will rescue me”

Finally, she did. It was love at first sight, for both of us.

Still, it would be almost 10 years before we could be together. Strange forces sought to tear us apart, but only cemented our bond.

Through a decade of career changes and moves across country and other relationships, we remained close. Never questioning our destiny to be together, but wondering if fate might force us to “settle” for something less… leaving us eternally restless, wondering what could have been.

Gladly, that wasn’t the case. We married in Chicago 9 years ago, just Michelle and me. Spending our wedding night, it turns out, visiting the same spots a future president would while trying his best to impress another Michelle on their first date. A trip to the museum at the Art Institute, cocktails on the 99th floor of the John Hancock, and jazz at the Showcase.

That’s a good sign for the future in my book.

And now, a good friend is nursing his Michele through recovery from major surgery on Christmas Eve… clearing the first hurdle in an ongoing battle. They are both strong. I have no doubt she will make a full recovery and go on to conquer whatever comes next.

She’s a Michele, and all the signs point that way.