A couple of weeks ago, I was out walking on the trail here in Enid. It was a Sunday afternoon, hot, quiet, and not many people were out. I usually walk in the mornings, but that day I decided to head out later and get a little sun. I crossed the bridge near the Cleveland Trailhead, walked past the little exercise area near Meadow Point Apartments, and noticed a guy walking nearby.

As I got closer, I recognized him immediately.

Even though he had sunglasses on, I knew exactly who it was. Then he lifted them up, and that confirmed it. Standing there on the walking trail in Enid was my old dorm dad from Markley Hall at Northern Oklahoma College in Tonkawa — someone I had not seen in roughly 45 years.

His name is Bill Grudier, and back in the early 80s, he and his wife Diana were the dorm parents at Markley Hall. I lived there during my first year at Northern Oklahoma College, from the fall of 1981 into the spring of 1982. I had graduated from Enid High School in 1981 and, honestly, I wasn’t all that fired up about going to college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, what kind of job I wanted, or what classes I should be taking. I probably would have been happy getting a job, making money, and buying a car.

But my mom had other plans. She said I was going to college.

My sister Connie had gone to Northern Oklahoma Junior College in Tonkawa, so that seemed like a good place to start. It was close to home, cheaper than a university, and a good fit for someone like me who still needed a couple of years to figure things out. My mom was a single parent, so the lower cost, grants, Pell Grants, and work-study opportunities made a big difference. I liked drawing and art, so I decided to major in art and work toward an Associate of Arts degree.

My friend Kyle, the drummer in our band, went with me and we roomed together. Somehow, we ended up in Markley Hall, an older dorm on the far northwest side of campus. It was a little off the beaten path from the other dorms, and we lucked into one of the larger upstairs rooms at the end of the hall. Most rooms had one window. Ours had two. That made us feel like we had the deluxe suite.

Tonkawa, especially back then, had a small-town junior college feel. To me, it was almost like high school plus. The campus was small, the classes were small, and everybody ate at the same cafeteria. You could see nearly everyone on campus during breakfast, lunch, or dinner if you hung around long enough. There were guys from Enid, Drummond, Ponca City, Newkirk, Pawhuska, Stillwater, Thackerville, Venezuela, Louisiana, and all over the place. It was small enough that you knew most people, but big enough that it still felt like you had left home and stepped into a different world.

That was part of the magic of junior college. You weren’t living under your parents’ roof anymore, but you also weren’t lost in the massive machinery of a big university. It was a transition. It gave you room to grow up a little, mess up a little, meet new people, and figure out who you were becoming.

I also came out of my shell a bit at Tonkawa. In high school, I wasn’t really shy, but I was probably more introverted. I didn’t play sports or get involved in a lot of activities. At Northern, though, I started joining in more. I met people, went places, and yes, got involved in a few shenanigans.

Markley Hall had its own personality. There were basketball players, wrestlers, guys from different towns, and smaller groups within the dorm. Our little group developed a reputation. If something weird happened on campus, we were usually suspects. Sometimes that reputation was deserved. Sometimes it probably wasn’t. Well, maybe once out of every ten times, it really wasn’t us.

We got used to receiving little notes slipped under our dorm room door telling us we needed to go see Dean Perks. Those notes came often enough that I started saving them. We’d go sit in his office while he questioned us about whatever had happened that week. Most of the time, we denied everything. That was pretty much the system.

The trouble was usually harmless, or at least not meant to be destructive. We’d hang things on campus statues, sneak around buildings, shake the vending machine until the snacks fell out, or do other dumb college-kid stuff. There was an older campus security guy we nicknamed Barney Fife, and occasionally his tires may have mysteriously lost air. Again, not saying that was us. Just saying these things happened.

Tonkawa was also the kind of place where you had to make your own fun. There wasn’t a movie theater. There weren’t many restaurants. There was a Sonic and a convenience store near our dorm, which was dangerous because it meant we had easy access to fried chicken, roasted potatoes, snacks, and beer. Back then, you could buy 3.2 beer in Oklahoma, but if you wanted stronger beer, you made a run across the Kansas line to Ark City.

Ponca City was where you went for dates, movies, food, or a night out. One of the big places was Norm’s, a country western bar where a lot of NOC students would gather. There were live bands sometimes, and I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that I may have seen Garth Brooks there before anyone knew who Garth Brooks was. His band was playing around that area during that era, and nobody at the time would have had any idea what he would become.

We also made trips to Stillwater, especially because the drinking age was still 18 in those days. The strip near Oklahoma State was full of bars, people, noise, and energy. It was a completely different world from Tonkawa. One night you could be on a tiny junior college campus where everyone knew everyone, and the next you could be walking through Stillwater surrounded by thousands of students.

After I graduated from Northern in 1983, I transferred to Oklahoma State, as did several other people from Tonkawa. Some of us even rented a house together near Boomer Lake. But OSU never felt the same to me. At Tonkawa, you knew people. You saw them every day. Teachers knew whether you showed up. At a university, you could walk the same path for a year and never really meet anyone. You could sit in a class with a hundred people and disappear.

That’s one reason I still recommend junior college to young people who don’t know what they want to do yet. It’s cheaper, smaller, and less overwhelming. You can knock out prerequisites, save money, and get a little life experience before stepping onto a huge university campus. You get a chance to be a big fish in a smaller pond before you become a small fish in a massive one.

The funny thing about junior college, though, is that you don’t have reunions the same way you do with high school. In high school, you’re with a lot of the same people for years. You graduate together. You have class reunions. With junior college, you may only know someone for one year, maybe two, and then everyone scatters. Some people you stay in touch with. Some you reconnect with on Facebook. Others become memories.

That’s what made running into Bill so strange.

He had been living in those apartments near the trail for several years, and I had walked past that area countless times. But on that hot Sunday afternoon, at that exact moment, we crossed paths. He was 81 years old and looked great. Still fit. Still sharp. Still moving like someone much younger. We talked for a bit, caught up on life, and I learned that he had ended up in Enid after his partner, who had Enid ties, became ill and later passed away. Diana had also passed away.

It was one of those conversations that felt impossible and perfectly timed at the same time.

Then, just a couple of days later, it happened again.

My voting location had recently moved from the church next to those apartments to Meadow Point Apartments. I could have voted early. I could have gone at any number of times that Tuesday. But I went right after lunch, walked in, voted, came back out, and sat in my Jeep taking a picture with my “I Voted” sticker.

Then I looked in the rearview mirror.

There was Bill again, walking behind my Jeep.

After not seeing him for 45 years, I saw him twice in the same week.

That’s the part that gets me. You can call it coincidence, timing, or whatever you want. I call it the universe winking at me. It put me right back in the path of someone from a very specific time in my life, someone connected to a whole pile of memories from Markley Hall, Northern Oklahoma College, and that strange little bridge between being a kid and becoming an adult.

So this episode is a shout out to Bill, to Diana, to Dean Perks, to Kyle, Brian, Donnie, Todd, Jose, Alex, Tyson, Brenda, Janene, Lori Beth, Monte, Bill, and all the other people who were part of those Tonkawa years. It’s a shout out to the guys from Markley Hall, the cafeteria crowd, the dorm troublemakers, the basketball players, the wrestlers, the small-town kids, the out-of-state kids, and everybody who made that little junior college campus feel like its own world.

Sometimes you don’t realize how special a season of life was until decades later, when you bump into someone who was there.

And sometimes, apparently, the universe gives you a second reminder just to make sure you were paying attention.

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One of those ideas is a retail shop called Zoinkies!

Not just a t-shirt shop. Not just a vintage store. Not just a record store. Not just an arcade. More like a retro clubhouse. A place filled with the sights, sounds, colors, smells, and memories of the 1960s, 70s, and 80s.

A store you could walk into and instantly feel like you had stepped back into your childhood bedroom, your cousin’s basement, the local TG&Y, the mall arcade, the record section at Gibson’s, the school playground, and a Saturday morning cartoon commercial all at the same time.

That’s the dream.

The Zoinkies! Retro Fun Shop would be packed with the kind of stuff that made growing up in those decades so fun. Not necessarily expensive stuff. Not necessarily rare collector stuff, although there would be some of that too. I’m talking about the everyday things that were just part of life back then. Frisbees. Dodge balls. Metal lunch boxes. Lava lamps. Bean bag chairs. Banana seat bikes. Skateboards. Things that immediately bring back a memory the second you see them.

That is the magic of nostalgia. It does not always take much.

You see an old metal lunch box with The Six Million Dollar Man or Scooby-Doo or Star Wars on it, and suddenly you are not standing in a store anymore. You are back in grade school, sitting at a cafeteria table, opening a bologna sandwich wrapped in wax paper, trying to trade your apple for somebody’s pudding cup.

You see a banana seat bike and you can almost feel the sidewalk under your tires. You remember riding around the neighborhood with no helmet, no phone, no GPS, no parents tracking your every move, and no real plan other than, “Let’s go see who’s outside.”

That’s what I would want Zoinkies! to be.

Not just a place to buy things. A place to remember things.

A Store Full of 60s, 70s, and 80s Stuff

The whole store would have a retro vibe, but not in a museum kind of way. I would not want it to feel stuffy or precious. I would want it to feel fun. Bright colors. Big signs. Groovy fonts. Maybe orange, avocado green, brown, gold, turquoise, hot pink, and electric blue all fighting for attention.

It should feel like the kind of place where you walk in and immediately say, “Oh man, I remember that!”

There would be shelves full of retro items from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Some would be original vintage pieces. Some would be new items made in the old style. I would want a mix because the point would not be to create a museum where you are afraid to touch anything. The point would be to let people reconnect with things they loved.

There would be Frisbees, dodge balls, yo-yos, View-Masters, mood rings, pet rocks, lava lamps, black lights, bean bag chairs, posters, board games, and weird little impulse items you forgot existed until you saw them again.

The kind of stuff that used to hang on spinning racks near the front of a store.

The kind of stuff kids begged their parents for.

The kind of stuff you bought with allowance money, birthday money, or coins you saved in a jar.

Vinyl Records, 8-Tracks, and Cassettes

Of course, Zoinkies! would need a music section.

You cannot do a proper retro store without records. Vinyl has already made a major comeback, but in a shop like this, the vinyl section would not just be about music. It would be about album art, memories, and the experience of flipping through bins.

There is something very satisfying about standing in front of a crate of records and flipping through them one by one. Fleetwood Mac. Boston. KISS. Kansas. The Eagles. Elton John. Queen. The Cars. Van Halen. Journey. REO Speedwagon. Styx. Foreigner. Heart.

You see the cover and instantly remember where you were when you first heard those songs.

And I would not stop at vinyl.

I would have 8-tracks and cassettes too.

Not because everybody is going to go home and fire up an 8-track player, although a few people probably would. But because those formats are part of the story. An 8-track tape sitting on a shelf just looks cool. A cassette takes you back to boom boxes, mixtapes, Walkmans, pencil rewinds, and recording songs off the radio.

A cassette tape was not just music. It was personal.

You made a tape for your car. You made a tape for your girlfriend. You made a tape of your favorite songs from the radio and tried to hit stop before the DJ started talking.

That is the kind of memory a retro store should trigger.

New T-Shirts With Retro Designs

Zoinkies! would also have new t-shirts with retro designs. That part is important because not everything in the store would need to be old.

Some things would be new, but inspired by the old days.

I would want shirts that look like they came from an old iron-on shop at the mall. Big bold lettering. Cartoon mascots. 70s stripes. Distressed graphics. Fake cereal brands. Arcade slogans. Old-school summer camp vibes. Drive-in movie designs. Roller rink shirts. Groovy roadside attraction designs. Weird little characters that look like they could have been on a sticker in 1978.

The t-shirt section could be the bridge between nostalgia and modern retail.

Somebody might come in to look at old records or candy, but leave with a shirt that says something like:

We Ate Candy for Breakfast in the 70s

Or:

Saturday Morning Professional

Or:

Powered by Pop Rocks and Arcade Tokens

That’s the kind of merchandise that lets people wear the memory.

The Arcade Corner

Now we get to one of my favorite parts.

Zoinkies! would need an arcade corner.

Not a giant arcade. Not a Dave & Buster’s situation. Just a corner that feels like the back room of an old pizza place or the side wall of a skating rink.

There would be a few pinball machines. Maybe Asteroids. Pac-Man. Galaga. Maybe Donkey Kong or Centipede if there was room.

The sounds alone would make the store better. The electronic beeps. The pinball bumpers. The clack of flippers. The explosion sounds from Asteroids. That little Pac-Man waka-waka-waka noise coming from the corner.

That sound is part of childhood for a lot of us.

Arcades were social media before social media. You stood around and watched somebody else play. You put your quarter on the machine to claim next game. You tried to make one quarter last as long as possible. You watched the older kids because they knew all the patterns and tricks.

And if you ever got your initials on the high score screen, you were a legend. At least for a day.

That arcade corner would give people a reason to hang around. And that matters. The best retail shops are not just places where people buy things. They are places where people linger.

Comic Books and Retro Heroes

The store would also have a comic book section. Not necessarily a giant comic shop, but a cool section with retro comics from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.

Spider-Man. Batman. Superman. The Hulk. Archie. Richie Rich. Casper. Hot Stuff. Sad Sack. Mad Magazine. Cracked. Maybe some old horror comics, sci-fi comics, westerns, and movie tie-ins.

Comic books were such a big part of childhood because they were cheap, colorful, and easy to get lost in. You could buy one at a drugstore, grocery store, or convenience store and spend the afternoon reading it on your bed or under a tree.

And the ads were half the fun.

Sea-Monkeys. X-ray specs. Charles Atlas. Giant monsters. Spy gear. Toy soldiers. Magic tricks. Hostess fruit pie ads with superheroes.

A retro comic section would not just be about valuable issues sealed in plastic. It would be about the joy of digging through boxes and finding something that makes you smile.

The Retro Candy Section

This might be the most dangerous section in the whole store.

The candy section.

I would fill it with retro candy. Whatchamacallit. Zots. Zero bars. Bottle Caps. Pop Rocks. Candy cigarettes, if you can even still do that. Wax bottles. Necco Wafers. Razzles. Sugar Daddy. Charleston Chew. Bit-O-Honey. Lemonheads. Boston Baked Beans. Fun Dip. Pixy Stix. Atomic Fireballs. Chick-O-Sticks.

Candy is one of the fastest ways to time travel.

You can hear an old song and remember the past. You can see an old toy and remember the past. But when you taste something from your childhood, it hits differently.

Pop Rocks are not just candy. They are a science experiment in your mouth.

Bottle Caps are not just candy. They are a reminder of being a kid with sticky fingers and a pocket full of change.

A Zero bar is not just a candy bar. It is a weird little mystery wrapped in silver.

The candy section would be great for kids, but honestly, it would be even better for adults. Because adults are the ones who would walk in, see something they have not seen in 40 years, and immediately buy three.

One to eat.

One to take home.

And one just because.

Magazine Rack Memories

Another section I would love to have is a retro magazine area.

Old TV Guides. Rolling Stone. Reader’s Digest. Mad Magazine. National Lampoon. Life. Time. Sports Illustrated. Popular Mechanics. Seventeen. Tiger Beat. Maybe even some old Playboys in a restricted or clearly separated adult section, because whether people admit it or not, that was part of the magazine rack culture of the era.

Magazine racks used to be a big deal.

Before the internet, magazines were how you kept up with pop culture, celebrities, cars, music, fashion, sports, movies, and weird stories from around the world. You went to a store and stood there flipping through magazines like it was a public library with fluorescent lights.

TV Guide was especially huge. That little magazine was basically the remote control for the entire week. You checked what was coming on, circled shows, looked for movies, and planned your night around three or four channels.

Now everything is streaming, searchable, skippable, and available instantly.

But back then, if The Wizard of Oz or Willy Wonka or Planet of the Apes was coming on TV, you had to know when it aired. You had one shot. If you missed it, that was it.

That is a completely different relationship with entertainment.

Posters, Pinups, Rock Stars, and Black Lights

The poster section might be the most visually fun part of the store.

It would have pinup posters, rock star posters, movie posters, black light posters, sci-fi posters, fantasy art, van art, skateboard art, and maybe those big personality posters everyone had on their walls.

The 70s and 80s were poster decades.

Bedroom walls told the story of who you were. Farrah Fawcett. Cheryl Tiegs. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. KISS. Star Wars. Rocky. Bruce Lee. Pink Floyd. Led Zeppelin. Lamborghini Countach. Black light mushrooms. Dragons. Wizards. Surfers. Skateboarders.

Posters were identity.

Before people customized their online profiles, they customized their bedrooms. Your posters told visitors what kind of music you liked, what movies you loved, who you had a crush on, and what fantasy world you wanted to live in.

A poster section in Zoinkies! would not just sell wall art. It would sell the feeling of being 13 years old and finally getting to make your room look like you.

Groovy Clothes: Old and New

There would also need to be a groovy clothes section.

Some vintage. Some new.

Bell-bottoms. Ringer tees. Track jackets. Satin baseball jackets. Tube socks. Corduroy. Denim jackets. Old-school sneakers. Retro sunglasses. 70s-style button-ups. Maybe even some loud patterned shirts that look like they belong in a disco, a bowling alley, or on a game show host.

Clothes are tricky because original vintage sizes and condition can be all over the place, so I would want a mix of authentic pieces and new clothing inspired by the era.

The goal would not be to dress everyone like they are going to a costume party. The goal would be to let people add a little retro flavor to their everyday life.

A ringer tee. A pair of striped socks. A 70s-style jacket. A shirt with a ridiculous pattern. Something that says, “I remember when things were a little more colorful.”

Games and Toys

The toy and game section would be a blast.

Board games like Rebound, Stratego, Trouble, Sorry!, Life, Clue, Risk, Battleship, Connect Four, Operation, Mouse Trap, Twister, and KerPlunk.

Toys like GI Joe, Hot Wheels, Matchbox cars, Stretch Armstrong, Evel Knievel stunt cycles, Star Wars figures, Fisher-Price Little People, Weebles, Nerf footballs, cap guns, Slinkys, yo-yos, and those cheap plastic toys that somehow became priceless in our memories.

This section would probably be where people spend the most time saying, “I had that!”

That phrase would basically be the unofficial motto of the store.

“I had that!”

“My cousin had that!”

“My brother broke one of those!”

“I got that for Christmas!”

“I always wanted one of those!”

That is what makes retro retail fun. It is not just shopping. It is memory excavation.

Groovy Art, Pop Paintings, Pottery, and Macramé

Another section I forgot to include — and honestly, it might become one of the coolest parts of the whole store — would be a groovy retro art section.

Not fine art in the quiet-gallery-white-walls kind of way. I’m talking about colorful, playful, funky, conversation-starting art. The kind of stuff that looks like it belongs in a 1970s apartment, a record store window, a college dorm room, a funky coffee shop, or the background of an old variety show.

Zoinkies! would have retro and pop art style paintings with bold colors, thick outlines, cartoon energy, and subjects pulled from old-school pop culture. Think lava lamps, roller skates, cassette tapes, drive-in signs, banana seat bikes, cereal bowls, arcade machines, space-age shapes, peace signs, flowers, smiley faces, shag vans, old TVs, and weird little characters that look like they wandered out of a Saturday morning cartoon.

Some of it could be original art. Some could be prints. Some could be small affordable pieces people can grab on impulse. I would want it to feel accessible, not intimidating. Art should not always feel like something you need a museum degree to understand. Sometimes art should just make you grin.

There could also be pottery with a retro twist. Funky mugs, weird little bowls, colorful ashtray-style catchalls, planters, mushroom shapes, drip-glaze pieces, and handmade items that feel like they came from an old craft fair in 1976. Not everything has to be perfect. In fact, the charm would be in the handmade feel. A slightly lopsided mug with orange and brown glaze might have more personality than something perfectly manufactured.

And then there is macramé.

You cannot have a proper groovy retro section without macramé.

Macramé wall hangings, plant holders, owls, beads, knots, fringe, and all the earthy handmade stuff that made 70s living rooms look like someone had invited a craft festival inside. Add a few hanging plants, maybe some spider plants or fake greenery, and suddenly that corner of the store feels like your cool aunt’s house in 1978.

This section could also open the door for local artists and makers. Zoinkies! could feature people creating retro-inspired art, pottery, fiber art, prints, and handmade goods. That would give the shop a fresh inventory flow while still keeping the vintage spirit. It would not all have to be actual old stuff. Some of the best pieces could be new creations inspired by the old vibe.

That might be the real sweet spot: old memories mixed with new creativity.

A groovy art section would also make Zoinkies! more than a nostalgia shop. It would make it a place where the retro spirit is still alive and being reimagined. The 60s, 70s, and 80s were loaded with bold design, wild colors, handmade crafts, and pop culture imagery. There is no reason that energy has to stay trapped in the past.

The Real Reason a Store Like This Would Work

On paper, this sounds like a store filled with old stuff.

But emotionally, it is something bigger.

A store like Zoinkies! would work because people are craving experiences. They can buy almost anything online. They can order records, t-shirts, candy, toys, posters, comics, and vintage items from websites. That is not the hard part.

The hard part is creating a place people want to visit.

A place that makes them feel something.

A place where parents can bring their kids and say, “This is what I had when I was your age.”

A place where friends can walk around for an hour just laughing and telling stories.

A place where someone can buy a t-shirt, play Galaga, grab a Zero bar, flip through records, and leave feeling a little younger than when they walked in.

That is the real product.

The product is not candy.

The product is not records.

The product is not posters.

The product is the feeling.

Why I Like the Idea

I think I like the idea of Zoinkies! because it combines so many things I already love: nostalgia, art, t-shirts, pop culture, music, movies, comics, old toys, weird candy, and the general feeling of growing up in a time when entertainment felt more physical.

You held the record.

You read the comic.

You rode the bike.

You played the arcade machine.

You put the poster on your wall.

You wore the shirt.

You saved the ticket stub.

Today, everything is digital. And digital is great. I make a living in digital media. I love technology. I use AI. I use websites and social media every day.

But there is still something powerful about real-world objects.

A metal lunch box has weight.

A record has texture.

An arcade button has resistance.

A comic book has a smell.

A lava lamp has a glow that no phone screen can duplicate.

Zoinkies! would be a reminder that the physical world still matters.

Would I Really Open It?

That is the big question.

Would I really open a store like this?

Maybe.

Probably not in the giant, risky, quit-everything-and-open-a-big-retail-space kind of way. That sounds like a good way to turn a fun idea into a financial ulcer.

But as a smaller concept? A pop-up shop? A booth? A weekend retro market? A seasonal store? A corner inside another business? An online store with occasional real-world events?

That sounds more interesting.

Maybe Zoinkies! starts as t-shirts and retro designs online. Then it becomes a booth at events. Then a pop-up shop. Then maybe a small physical location that is open limited hours. Maybe it is part retail, part photo op, part arcade, part nostalgia museum, part hangout.

That is the modern way to think about it.

Not just “open a store and hope people come.”

Build a brand. Build the audience. Build the story. Test the idea. Let people fall in love with it first.

Then see where it goes.

Final Thought

The older I get, the more I realize that nostalgia is not really about wanting to go backward.

It is about carrying the best parts forward.

A place like Zoinkies! would not be about pretending it is 1978 again. It would be about remembering what was fun, colorful, weird, simple, exciting, and tactile about those years, and bringing a little bit of that into today.

Because sometimes we do not need another sleek modern store.

Sometimes we need a place with lava lamps, Pop Rocks, pinball machines, black light posters, banana seat bikes, comic books, and a big goofy sign over the door that says:

Zoinkies!

And honestly, I would shop there.

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The post My Zoinkies! Retro Fun Shop Idea appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

I went to see Yungblud.

And yes, I realize that sentence might sound a little strange coming from a 63-year-old guy who grew up on Fleetwood Mac, Boston, Kansas, KISS, Styx, REO Speedwagon, Thin Lizzy, and all the great rock music of the 1970s. But that’s exactly why this whole thing caught me off guard.

Until late 2025, I had no idea who Yungblud was.

None.

I had never heard the name. I had never seen him perform. I had no idea what the Yungblud world was all about.

Then one night I was watching the Video Music Awards while working on the computer, which is something I do a lot. I usually have something on the TV in the background just for noise. They were getting ready to do a tribute to Ozzy Osbourne, and I happened to look up.

There was this guy in the audience with a microphone. Jet black hair. Rock star attitude. A look that made me think he should be in one of those vampire movie series where everyone is young, pale, and dramatic.

My first thought was, “Who is this dude?”

Then he walked toward the camera, started singing, climbed onstage, and within about 30 seconds I was hooked.

This guy had it.

He had that old-school, 1970s rock star energy. The swagger. The attitude. The stage presence. And on top of that, he could actually sing.

That was my introduction to Yungblud.

Discovering a New Kind of Old-School Rock Star

After that performance, I started looking him up. I watched more videos, including his performance of “Changes” during an earlier Ozzy tribute. That one had a different feel. He was dressed in black, more serious, and really connected with the crowd.

By then, I was paying attention.

I wouldn’t say I was ever a huge Ozzy or Black Sabbath fan, but I respected the music. What caught me was the way Yungblud performed those songs. He made them feel alive in a way that hit me differently.

Of course, once you search for someone a couple of times, social media decides that’s your new life. Suddenly I was seeing Yungblud videos everywhere — TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, live concert clips, fan videos, stage dives, crowd surfing, screaming audiences, and people singing every word.

Then something interesting happened.

A Facebook post popped up from a guy I remembered as a popular weather personality in Oklahoma City. Around here, weather guys are almost rock stars themselves. He had gone to a Yungblud concert and posted about how it was one of the best concerts he had ever attended.

And he was about my age.

That got my attention.

I messaged him, mentioned that I remembered him from his weather days, and we talked a little about the concert. He said it was high-energy, incredible, and by far one of the coolest shows he had ever seen.

That’s when I started thinking, “Maybe I need to go see this guy.”

What Yungblud Reminds Me Of

If you’ve never seen Yungblud, here’s my best description.

Take some 1968 Elvis in the black leather — the jet black hair, the swagger, the attitude.

Mix in some Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler, especially the dancing, the stage movement, and the way they command an audience.

Add a little Steve Walsh from Kansas back in the 70s, running around the stage in shorts with no shirt on, jumping in the air, pounding on the piano, bringing that wild rock-and-roll energy.

Then throw in the crowd connection and emotional concert vibe of a Garth Brooks show.

Mix all of that together, and that’s what I saw in Yungblud.

He doesn’t feel like someone pretending to be a rock star. He feels like someone who wandered out of another era, got dropped into the 2020s, and brought a lot of that old concert magic with him.

I’ve liked newer artists before. Teddy Swims impressed me. Greta Van Fleet had a great vibe. But neither one made me think, “I need to buy tickets and go see this person live.”

Yungblud did.

Getting the Tickets

Once I found out he was coming back to the United States to promote his Idols album, I started checking dates.

The two closest shows were Irving, Texas and Austin. Irving made the most sense because my buddy Stayton lives in Grapevine, which is basically right there.

The concert was scheduled for May 28. I signed up for the Yungblud fan email list so I could get early access to tickets before they went on sale to the general public.

When ticket day arrived, I had my computer and phone ready. It was one of those ticket-buying situations where you’re watching the queue, seeing how many people are ahead of you, and knowing you’re going to have to move fast.

The tickets reportedly sold out in about a minute, and I believe it. They went fast.

I grabbed two tickets inside the venue. Then the next day, I decided to try for two more. I figured if no one else wanted to go, I could always sell them. But if I was going to make a weekend out of it, it might be fun to have a group.

I ended up finding two more tickets in the same section and on the same row as the first two — just ten seats apart.

So now I had four tickets.

I asked Denise if she wanted to go. She said yes.

Then I called Stayton and asked if he and Michelle wanted to go. They didn’t really know who Yungblud was, so I gave them the warning: he cusses a lot, says the F-word a lot, and likes to call the audience a certain colorful name.

They were fine with it.

So the four of us were going to Yungblud.

Why This Mattered to Me

Part of the reason I wanted to go is because I keep talking on the podcast about staying young, staying active, doing things, and not letting life shrink down as you get older.

I’m 63 years old. I don’t want to sit around acting like all my best adventures are behind me.

And here was this artist who seemed to have fans from age 8 to 80. Young fans, older fans, parents, grandparents, rock fans, punk fans, alternative fans — all mixed together.

For older fans like me, I think part of the appeal is that we recognize something in him. We feel that old rock concert energy. The kind we grew up around. The kind that made music feel larger than life.

I didn’t just want to hear the songs. I wanted to be in that crowd. I wanted to feel that energy. I wanted to see what it was like when everyone had their arms in the air and were singing every word.

I wanted to know if that feeling still existed.

The Trip to Grapevine

Denise took off work that Thursday, and we drove down to Grapevine. We got changed, got ready, and headed to the concert area.

The venue was in a nice area with restaurants, shops, and open space around it. We ate at Bar Louie, had a couple of drinks, grabbed some food, and then walked over to the venue.

By the time we got through the line, metal detectors, and everything else, we had about 10 or 15 minutes before the first act started.

Our seats were split — two on one end of the row and two farther down. Luckily, Stayton asked the people next to our other seats if they would switch. They were happy to move closer to the aisle, so we ended up with four seats together.

That was a win.

The Opening Acts

The first performer was Emily Wolfe from Austin.

She came out with a double-neck electric guitar and played a great rock set. She was a fantastic guitarist, had strong songs, and was a great surprise. Her set started around 7:15, even though the original start time I had seen was 8:00.

After about 30 minutes from Emily Wolfe, they changed the stage over for The Warning.

The Warning is a three-sister rock band from Mexico, and they were fantastic. High energy, strong songs, and a great live sound. One of their songs, “Kerosene,” has a video with a cool early 70s Camaro in it, which of course caught my attention.

They played for about 45 minutes, and by the time they were done, the crowd was ready.

Then came another stage change.

The lights went down. Rock songs were playing over the speakers. I noticed some Van Halen. Then they cranked up an Ozzy song, and everyone knew what was about to happen.

Yungblud was coming.

When Yungblud Hit the Stage

One thing I had learned from watching videos is that Yungblud often does something before he comes onstage. Sometimes there’s a camera following him backstage. Sometimes he’s with someone famous. Sometimes there’s some kind of pre-show moment shown on the big screen.

In Dallas, he rode up to the venue on a horse.

Yes. A horse.

We watched him on the big screen get off the horse and walk into the venue. His band got onstage, and then suddenly he came running from behind the stage, past the drums, and exploded out in front of the crowd.

And it was on.

The place went crazy.

Within the first minute or so, confetti blasted everywhere, covering the standing-room crowd near the stage. From there, it was just song after song, high energy, crowd interaction, banter, shouting, singing, and that wild rock-and-roll feeling I had been hoping for.

Everyone stood up. And I mean everyone.

I stood for the entire show. Most of the crowd did too.

There was a large standing area in front of the stage, then lower seating, then upper seating where we were, and behind us a lawn area outside the big open doors of the venue. The concert was sold out, and you could feel it.

The Best Moments

One of the big highlights was “Fleabag.”

That’s the song where Yungblud usually brings someone from the audience onstage to play guitar. For the Dallas show, he brought up a young kid, probably around 13 or 14.

The kid started the song and played guitar through the whole thing. Yungblud put him on his shoulders and held him up, which was a really cool moment.

Then Yungblud went out into the audience, where the crowd held him up while he sang. He was basically standing on people’s hands and shoulders.

That’s the kind of stuff you don’t see at every concert.

He was throwing water, running around, firing up the crowd, and giving everything he had. It was nonstop.

There was one point, maybe three-quarters of the way through, where I think he felt the crowd getting tired. He pushed them hard, basically challenging Dallas to keep up. And to be fair, he was wearing people out. The show had a lot of energy, and he expected the audience to give that energy right back.

They did.

The encore ended with “Zombie,” and the crowd went nuts. More confetti came down, and everyone sang along.

How Good Was It?

His performance was a 10 out of 10.

No question.

The crowd, the songs, the energy, the whole concert vibe — also 10 out of 10.

But the overall experience for me was probably a 9.5 out of 10.

The only thing missing had nothing to do with Yungblud. It was probably just me being 63 instead of 23 or 33. I loved going with Denise, Stayton, and Michelle, but it was naturally a little more laid-back than if it had just been me, Stayton, and Todd down on the floor acting like idiots.

If I ever go again, I’d want to be closer to the stage. Maybe even down in the standing area.

Because that’s where the real action is.

This is not really a sit-down-and-politely-watch kind of concert. If you want that, go see James Taylor. And I say that with respect because I like James Taylor. But Yungblud is a stand-up, sing, shout, jump, throw-your-hands-in-the-air kind of concert.

That’s what I wanted.

And that’s what I got.

Where It Ranks

The best concert I’ve ever seen is still Garth Brooks in Tulsa in 2015.

That one is hard to beat.

I had interviewed Garth right before that concert, which made the whole thing more special. It was his first show after a long retirement, and the crowd was insane. The show went almost three hours. He just wouldn’t stop. Every time he tried to end it, the crowd went crazy again.

I don’t even own Garth Brooks albums or listen to country music much, but living in Oklahoma, you know the songs. And that concert was unbelievable.

Yungblud is number two.

As far as rock concerts go, Yungblud might be the best rock show I’ve ever seen.

I’ve seen Styx, REO Speedwagon, Kansas, ZZ Top, The Beach Boys, Foreigner, Cheap Trick, and others in recent years. Most of those were great shows. But they are different now. A lot of those bands only have one or two original members. Some of the performers sit during parts of the show. Some shows are the kind where you sit for a few songs, stand for a hit, sit back down, and enjoy the nostalgia.

Yungblud was not that.

Yungblud was alive.

What Kind of Music Is It?

People put him in different categories. Some call him rock. Some say punk. Some say metal.

To me, he is alternative rock.

He has rock in him. He has punk in him. He has a little metal in him. Some songs almost lean pop. But overall, I’d put him at the top of the alternative rock world right now.

And I think his popularity is only going to grow.

If you get a chance to see him, I highly recommend it. Just know what you’re walking into. If you’re offended by vulgarity or the F-word, this probably isn’t your scene.

But if you like real rock-and-roll energy, crowd involvement, and the feeling that something unpredictable might happen at any moment, go see him.

And listen to the Idols album before you go. That way you’ll know the songs everyone around you is singing.

The Rest of the Weekend

The concert was Thursday night, but the whole weekend turned into a great adventure.

On Friday, we hung out in Grapevine, did some shopping, ate out, and just enjoyed the day. That’s part of what I keep talking about — staying active, getting out, doing things, saying yes to small adventures.

Saturday, we headed to Granbury because Stayton’s boat was ready. It was hot — around 96 degrees — and felt like a full-blown July summer day.

We took the boat out on the lake, which was fantastic. I love being on the water. We ate at Stumpy’s on Lake Granbury, one of our favorite places, then went back to their house and sat on the dock watching the sunset.

That night we watched Remarkably Bright Creatures with Sally Field. I had already seen it, but they hadn’t. It’s a fantastic movie and worth checking out.

Reconnecting With an Old Friend

The weekend wrapped up with something really special.

I had been in touch with an old friend from junior high named Mike Stearman. He had moved to Enid in the 70s, and we hung out with him in junior high and early high school. Then his family moved to Tulsa, and over time we lost touch.

I found him again years later and invited him to our wedding in 1998, which was really cool. Then we lost touch again. Later, I found him on LinkedIn and started messaging him every year on his birthday because, for some reason, I always remembered it was December 10. Mine is December 20, so maybe that’s why it stuck.

When I knew I was heading to Dallas for the Yungblud concert, I messaged him and said we needed to meet up.

So on Sunday morning, Stayton and I met him at 9:00.

We talked for three hours.

No wives, no distractions, just three guys remembering all the dumb, funny, crazy stuff we did as kids in the 70s. We easily could have talked for another three hours, but we needed to meet the wives for lunch and get back on the road to Enid.

That was one of the best parts of the whole weekend.

The Big Takeaway

So that was my Yungblud weekend.

A road trip to Grapevine. A sold-out rock concert. A weekend with good friends. A boat ride on Lake Granbury. Dinner at Stumpy’s. A sunset on the dock. A movie night. And a three-hour reunion with an old buddy from the 70s.

That’s a pretty great weekend.

And honestly, that’s the point.

Don’t sit at home and let life get small.

Go to the concert.

Take the road trip.

Meet the old friend.

Get on the boat.

Walk around the town.

Try the new thing.

You don’t have to act 23. But you also don’t have to act old just because the calendar says you’re older.

At 63, I went to a Yungblud concert and stood the whole time.

And I’d probably do it again.

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The post My Big Yungblud Weekend Adventure appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

“Don’t let the old man in.”

That line came from a conversation between Clint Eastwood and Toby Keith. Eastwood was about to direct and star in The Mule while pushing 88 years old, and Toby Keith asked him how he kept going like that. Eastwood basically told him he gets up every morning and goes out — and he doesn’t let the old man in.

That hit Toby Keith so hard that he wrote a song about it.

And I get it.

Because there comes a point in life where getting older is not just about birthdays. It’s not just about gray hair, wrinkles, sore knees, or how many times you say, “What did I come in this room for?”

Getting older is partly physical, sure. But a lot of it is mental. Emotional. Social. Spiritual. Creative.

At some point, the “old man” starts knocking on the door.

He tells you to stay home.

He tells you not to try new things.

He tells you concerts are too loud.

He tells you technology is too confusing.

He tells you your best stories are behind you.

He tells you not to start the podcast, not to write the book, not to launch the business, not to take the trip, not to wear the cool shirt, not to dance at the concert, not to post the video, not to learn the new app, not to talk to younger people, not to keep dreaming.

And you have to decide whether you’re going to open the door.

That’s what this episode is about.

Not pretending we’re 25.

Not chasing youth like some desperate Hollywood vampire.

Not buying every magic pill, cream, supplement, gadget, or “reverse aging” gimmick that pops up in your Facebook feed.

This is about something better.

It’s about staying alive while you’re alive.

It’s about staying curious, useful, active, engaged, creative, and open.

It’s about delaying getting old — not by denying your age, but by refusing to surrender to it too early.

Another phrase that contributed to this episode is one used by Yungblud.

“Don’t forget to live.”

I believe as we get older some of us do forget to live. This episode is about not forgetting to live.

Here are 50 ways I use to keep the old man out and most of these you should be able to use as well.

1. Get up and go out every day

The old man gets stronger when you stay inside, sit too long, and stop participating in life. Get up. Go outside. Walk. Drive around. Go to lunch. Visit a store. Take photos. Talk to people. Keep yourself in motion.

2. Move because movement creates health

Don’t wait until you feel healthy to exercise. Exercise is what helps you stay healthy. Walk, lift weights, stretch, work on balance, and keep your body used to doing things.

3. Walk daily

Walking is one of the easiest ways to fight aging. It keeps your heart working, your joints moving, your mind clearer, and your mood better. Even a short walk is better than no walk.

4. Lift weights

Muscle is independence. As we age, we naturally lose muscle unless we fight back. Strength training helps with balance, bones, metabolism, confidence, and the ability to keep doing normal life stuff without help.

5. Stretch every day

Stiffness makes you feel old fast. Stretch your back, shoulders, hips, legs, and neck. You do not have to become a yoga master. Just stay loose enough to move comfortably.

6. Work on balance

Balance is a hidden superpower as you age. Practice standing on one foot, walking carefully on uneven ground, stepping up and down, and strengthening your legs. Staying upright is a big deal.

7. Get down on the floor and back up

This sounds simple, but it matters. Being able to get down and get back up is a sign of mobility, strength, and independence. Practice it.

8. Go to concerts

Live music keeps something alive in you. Go hear the songs. Feel the crowd. Watch the lights. Let the bass hit your chest. Whether it’s classic rock, a tribute band, a local act, or a big arena show, go be part of it.

9. Attend live events

Go to festivals, parades, ballgames, comedy shows, art shows, movies, plays, car shows, fairs, and local events. The old man wants you to say, “I’ll just stay home.” Don’t make that your default.

10. Keep learning new technology

Learn AI. Learn your phone. Learn video editing. Learn new apps. Learn podcasting tools. Learn social media trends. You don’t have to master everything, but you should stay adaptable.

11. Don’t become afraid of change

The moment you start saying, “I don’t understand anything anymore,” you start aging yourself out of the modern world. Stay curious instead. Say, “I don’t know how that works yet.”

12. Stay connected to an audience

Podcast listeners, blog readers, social media followers, customers, friends, family, community groups — any audience keeps you sharper. It gives you a reason to observe, think, respond, and create.

13. Keep creating

Write. Paint. record. Design. Cook. Build. Garden. Take photos. Make videos. Start projects. Creativity gives you a future, and having a future keeps you younger.

14. Have something on the calendar

Always have something to look forward to: a concert, lunch, trip, movie, podcast recording, creative deadline, local event, or small adventure. Anticipation is powerful.

15. Try new things badly

Let yourself be a beginner. Learn guitar badly. Paint badly. Make videos badly. Try pickleball badly. Use AI badly. You stay young by being willing to look a little foolish while learning.

16. Spend time with younger people

Don’t try to act young, but stay around younger energy. Ask what they’re into. Let them show you music, apps, memes, tools, and trends. It keeps your world from shrinking.

17. Spend time with older people who are still alive inside

Find people older than you who are still active, funny, sharp, adventurous, and curious. They prove what is possible.

18. Stop saying “I’m too old”

Your words train your brain. Replace “I’m too old for that” with “I might need to train for that” or “I’ve never tried that before.” Don’t talk yourself into decline.

19. Don’t make old age your personality

Avoid becoming the person who constantly complains about young people, technology, music, prices, change, and how everything was better before. That ages you faster than gray hair.

20. Take care of your grooming

Trim the eyebrows. Trim the ear hair. Trim the nose hair. Keep your beard clean or shave. Get a decent haircut. Smell good. Look like you still have somewhere to be.

21. Update your clothes

Don’t dress like you gave up. Wear clothes that fit. Get rid of worn-out shirts, bad shoes, giant wallets, and anything that makes you feel older than you are.

22. Wear better shoes

You can wear comfortable shoes without looking sloppy. A clean pair of leather sneakers or sharp casual shoes can make a big difference.

23. Stand up straight

Posture matters. Rounded shoulders, forward neck, and a shuffling walk make you look and feel older. Pull your shoulders back, look forward, strengthen your core, and walk like you still have business to do.

24. Empty your pockets

A giant wallet, overloaded keys, and bulky pockets can make you sit crooked and look sloppy. Simplify what you carry.

25. Smell good

It sounds small, but it matters. Clean clothes, good hygiene, and a nice scent tell the world — and yourself — that you still care.

26. Keep your sense of humor

Laugh at yourself. Laugh at aging. Laugh when your knees sound like cereal. Humor keeps bitterness from taking over.

27. Avoid bitterness

Bitterness is one of the oldest things in the world. Don’t let resentment, regret, or anger become your default setting.

28. Stop living only in the past

Love your memories, but don’t move into them permanently. Use the past as fuel for stories, creativity, connection, and meaning.

29. Listen to some new music

You can still love Boston, Fleetwood Mac, KISS, and all the great stuff from the 70s. But occasionally listen to something new. It keeps your ears and brain open.

30. Watch new movies and shows

Rewatch the classics, but don’t completely ignore current culture. Staying culturally aware keeps you part of the conversation.

31. Keep asking questions

Curiosity is youth. Ask people what they’re working on, what they’re excited about, what they’re watching, what they’re learning, and what they think.

32. Stay useful

Help people. Teach something. Share what you know. Volunteer. Mentor. Create resources. Useful people stay engaged with life.

33. Build routines that serve you

A good morning routine can keep you from drifting. Walk, stretch, read, write, create, or plan the day. Momentum matters.

34. Protect your sleep

Bad sleep ages everything — your mood, your face, your brain, your energy, your patience. Prioritize real rest.

35. Eat like you want energy

You don’t have to be perfect, but food affects how you feel. Eat in a way that gives you enough fuel to live the life you still want.

36. Keep up with checkups

Get the physical. Do the bloodwork. Check your teeth. Get your eyes checked. Preventive care is not glamorous, but it keeps you in the game.

37. Don’t let health become your whole identity

Take care of your health, but don’t turn every conversation into medications, numbers, procedures, aches, and symptoms. The point of health is to live, not obsess.

38. Keep your home from becoming a time capsule

Keep the memories, but don’t let your house become a museum of a life you used to live. Freshen things up. Rearrange. Declutter. Make your space feel alive now.

39. Take photos and videos

Document life. Capture sunsets, walks, friends, events, concerts, pets, family, and everyday moments. It keeps you noticing the world.

40. Keep telling stories

Stories keep your memories alive and useful. Tell them on a podcast, in a blog, in videos, at lunch, or around the table. Your stories are part of your value.

41. Have a creative deadline

Deadlines create energy. Finish the episode. Publish the blog. Post the video. Launch the shirt. Complete the chapter. Deadlines keep tomorrow interesting.

42. Travel somewhere unfamiliar

It does not have to be Europe. Drive to a town you’ve never explored. Visit a museum. Take a different road. Eat somewhere new. Novelty wakes up the brain.

43. Say yes more often

Not to everything. But say yes to more invitations, more adventures, more chances, more conversations, and more moments that might become stories.

44. Call people

Don’t just wait for others to reach out. Call, text, message, comment, reconnect. Isolation makes people old.

45. Keep flirting with life

Not necessarily romance — although that counts too. Flirt with possibilities. Flirt with new ideas. Flirt with adventure. Flirt with the question, “What else could I do?”

46. Stay a little rebellious

Push back against expectations. Wear the shirt. Start the project. Go to the show. Post the video. Be a little weird. Normal can get old fast.

47. Keep a project that scares you a little

Write the book. Start the channel. Launch the brand. Apply for the thing. Record the episode. Big projects keep you from shrinking.

48. Don’t retire from being interesting

You can retire from a job, but don’t retire from curiosity, opinions, creativity, music, adventure, style, stories, romance, humor, or wonder.

49. Notice when your world is shrinking

When you stop going places, stop seeing people, stop learning, and stop making plans, pay attention. That is the old man sneaking in.

50. Fight aging with daily defiance

You don’t beat the old man with one big heroic gesture. You beat him with small choices every day.

Put on the shoes.

Take the walk.

Buy the ticket.

Record the episode.

Trim the eyebrows.

Learn the app.

Call the friend.

Start the project.

Stand up straight.

Laugh more.

Go outside.

Stay curious.

Stay useful.

Stay creative.

Stay in the game.

51. Remember the real goal

The goal is not to be young forever. That’s impossible.

The goal is to stay alive inside.

To stay curious.

To stay engaged.

To stay useful.

To stay creative.

To stay open.

To keep moving forward with a little spark in your eye.

Because every morning, the old man is waiting at the door.

And every morning, you get to decide:

Are you letting him in today?

Or are you putting on your shoes and going out to live?

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The post Don’t Let the Old Man In: 50 Ways to Delay Getting Older appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

Cirie Fields reflected on her 20-year journey, expressing immense gratitude during her final words on Survivor 50: “Thank you Jeff, for some of the best years of my life. I am forever grateful for what Survivor has done for me. I don’t even have the words to express how grateful and thankful I am for finding out there’s so much more to life than what I knew from sitting on my couch and watching TV.”

Every once in a while, an opportunity comes along that does more than offer the possibility of a new experience or an unexpected turn in life. Sometimes an opportunity makes us stop and look at ourselves differently. It forces us to think about who we are, what we have done, what makes us interesting, and how we would explain ourselves to someone who knows absolutely nothing about us. Recently, I took a shot at something that caught me completely by surprise. It was unusual, intriguing, and far enough outside my normal day-to-day life that I could have easily dismissed it before giving it any serious thought. Instead, I leaned into it. I said yes to the possibility. I allowed myself to wonder, even if just for a little while, what might happen if this unexpected door actually opened.

It didn’t. I didn’t get the thing.

Naturally, there was some disappointment. When you allow yourself to hope for something, even cautiously, it is hard not to feel a little deflated when it does not happen. But now that I have had time to sit with it, I can honestly say I am glad I tried. In fact, the experience gave me something I was not expecting. It made me examine my own life in a way I had not done in quite some time. It made me think about the stories that define me, the qualities that make a person memorable, and why I still want to raise my hand for new experiences at 63 years old.

Most of our days unfold in familiar patterns. We wake up, move through our routines, answer messages, handle work, run errands, take care of our responsibilities, and before we know it, another day has passed. There is comfort in routine, and I certainly have plenty of it in my own life. But every now and then, something appears that interrupts the usual flow. It may be an email, a phone call, a conversation, or some strange invitation that seems to come out of nowhere. It does not guarantee anything. It simply cracks the door open just enough to make you wonder what might be on the other side.

That kind of possibility can be powerful. Even when you try to stay realistic, your imagination starts filling in the blanks. You wonder what the experience would be like. You wonder how you would perform under new circumstances. You think about the conversations it might lead to, the people you might meet, and the way your ordinary life could suddenly take an unexpected turn. There is something energizing about that moment when life feels just a little less predictable than it did the day before. It reminds you that not everything has already been decided, that the future still has room for surprise.

Of course, the moment you let yourself hope, you also make room for disappointment. That is the trade-off. You can protect yourself from being let down by never wanting anything too badly, never reaching too far, never risking the embarrassment of coming up short. But that kind of protection comes at a cost. It can quietly turn into a habit of self-rejection. You start dismissing possibilities before anyone else ever gets the chance. You tell yourself you are too old, too unlikely, too far outside the expected mold. You convince yourself that trying is pointless, and by doing so, you spare yourself the sting of hearing no. But you also deny yourself the chance of hearing yes.

I am glad I did not do that. I am glad I stepped toward the opportunity instead of away from it. Even though it did not work out, I like knowing that I am still the kind of person who will take a swing when something interesting comes along. I like knowing that I have not mentally moved myself to the sidelines. There is a certain kind of internal aging that has nothing to do with birthdays. It happens when curiosity dries up, when risk disappears, when every unusual idea is met with an automatic “probably not.” I do not want to live that way. I want to remain available to life.

One of the most fascinating parts of this recent experience was that it forced me to think about myself from the outside. That is harder than it sounds. Most of us can answer the question, “What do you do?” without much trouble. I can say I run Enid Buzz. I create content. I host podcasts. I write, design, build brands, promote local events, and spend a lot of time turning ideas into actual things. Those are easy answers because they describe activities. They explain how I spend my time and what kinds of work I have chosen to do.

But the question “Who are you?” is very different. What makes you distinct? What parts of your life would matter to someone who had never met you? What stories reveal something real about your personality, your values, your sense of humor, or the way you move through the world? What would cause a stranger to remember you after meeting a dozen other people? Those are not résumé questions. They are identity questions, and they require a deeper kind of reflection.

As I thought about those things, I realized how easy it is to minimize our own lives simply because we have been living them from the inside. To me, building Enid Buzz over the years has become part of my everyday existence. It is what I do. I update, post, create, promote, write, report, answer, schedule, and keep the machine moving. But when I step back from it, I can see that creating a local media brand from scratch, growing it into something thousands of people rely on, and sustaining it for years is not ordinary. It is a story. Working in radio is a story. Interviewing people I once only knew from album covers, concert stages, and television screens is a story. Creating brands and podcasts and artwork and books is a story. Chasing creative ideas into my sixties is a story.

And yet, when it is your own life, you do not always recognize the shape of it. You are too close. The details become familiar. The unusual becomes normal through repetition. The things that might make someone else lean forward and say, “Wait, tell me more about that,” become things you barely think to mention. I suspect most people do this. The woman who spends years caring for an aging parent may not think of herself as exceptionally strong; she simply believes she did what needed to be done. The man who rebuilds his life after a loss may not call himself resilient; he just kept going because there was no other choice. The teacher who changed the course of a child’s life may never know the full impact. The business owner who survives through difficult years may think only of the stress and not of the courage it required.

We underestimate our own stories because they happened to us. We forget that a life does not need to be famous to be meaningful. It does not need to unfold under a spotlight to contain texture, humor, heartbreak, bravery, reinvention, and surprise. Sometimes it takes an outside opportunity to make us pause and take inventory. Not in a boastful way, but in an honest way. To say: I have lived. I have tried. I have built things. I have stumbled into strange situations. I have loved deeply. I have made mistakes. I have created things that would not exist if I had not been here. That realization can be surprisingly powerful.

This whole experience also made me think about what makes a person memorable. Not famous, necessarily. Memorable. Those are not the same thing. Some famous people are not particularly compelling once you move past the spotlight, while some everyday people become unforgettable after a single conversation. I think memorable people tend to have specificity. They are not generic. They reveal themselves through details. Someone who says, “I like music,” could be almost anyone. Someone who says, “The opening of a Boston song can still take me straight back to being a kid in the 1970s,” suddenly becomes more vivid. Someone who says, “I enjoy cooking,” is fine. Someone who says, “I make my grandmother’s noodles every time it rains because that was always her rainy-day meal,” gives you a glimpse into a life.

Specificity gives people texture. It turns facts into personality. Memorable people also tend to contain contrast. They are rarely just one predictable thing. They are the serious businessperson with a collection of old monster toys, the quiet neighbor who used to race motorcycles, the grandmother who loves horror movies, the local media guy who is also writing a time-bending novel about boys on banana seat bikes in 1977. Contrast creates curiosity. It hints that there is more beneath the surface, and that is what makes people interesting.

I also think memorable people are willing to let their enthusiasm show. They are not always loud, but they are present. They reveal what they care about. They are not too cool to admit that something excites them. The older I get, the more I appreciate that quality. I am much more drawn to people who are openly interested in the world than to people who spend their lives trying to appear unaffected by everything. Give me the person who gets excited about a favorite record, an old movie, a local diner, a strange roadside attraction, a sunrise, a vintage toy, or a memory from childhood that still glows in their mind. That person is alive. That person is paying attention. That person is memorable.

Another truth this experience reminded me of is that we still want to be chosen. We may not always admit it, especially as adults, but the desire does not fully disappear. We want someone to point and say, “You. We see something in you.” It begins on playgrounds and in classrooms, but it follows us into adulthood. We want the job, the opportunity, the invitation, the role, the client, the acceptance, the yes. We want to know that, out of all the people who could have been considered, someone noticed something in us.

There is nothing shameful about that. Wanting to be chosen is human. The problem comes when we allow being chosen to become the only measure of our value. It is not. A yes can be affirming, but a no does not erase who you are. Still, pretending not to care is not healthier. Sometimes we do care. Sometimes we let ourselves imagine the possibility. Sometimes we want the thing, and when it does not happen, it stings. That sting does not mean we were foolish. It means we were willing to want something.

There is real vulnerability in wanting something openly enough to pursue it. When you apply, audition, submit, pitch, ask, or otherwise put yourself forward, you are admitting that the outcome matters to you. You are allowing yourself to be seen reaching. That can feel risky because now the answer is out of your hands. It is much safer to stand back, make jokes, and say, “I could have done that if I wanted to,” while never actually doing it. It is much safer to talk yourself out of the opportunity before the opportunity can reject you. But safety is not always the same thing as fulfillment. Sometimes safety is simply fear that has learned to sound practical.

I think there is courage in raising your hand, especially as we get older. Age gives us wisdom, but it can also provide a long list of excuses. We begin telling ourselves that certain experiences are for younger people, that some doors have closed, that we have already had our turn, that there is no point in stepping into a room where we may not seem like the obvious choice. Sometimes those thoughts are realistic. Not every opportunity is right. Not every door should be pushed open. But sometimes we dismiss ourselves far too quickly. We assume we do not belong before anyone else has decided anything at all.

At 63, I know exactly how old I am. I am not trying to pretend I am twenty-five. My body occasionally sends reminder notices just in case I forget. But creatively, emotionally, and mentally, I do not feel finished. In many ways, I feel more like myself now than I did decades ago. I know what I care about. I know what kinds of ideas wake me up. I know that I still enjoy taking a left turn when life offers one. I do not want the second half of life to become a slow narrowing of possibilities. I want expansion in there. I want some surprise. I want to keep saying, “Why not me?” when something fascinating appears on the horizon.

That phrase can sound arrogant if it is used the wrong way, but I do not mean it that way. I mean it as a refusal to automatically exclude yourself from consideration. Why not me? Why not try? Why not enter? Why not begin? Why not step forward and see what happens? The world is full of people who never discover whether they could have done something because they convinced themselves not to attempt it. I would rather collect a few honest disappointments than a lifetime of unresolved question marks.

Not getting this particular thing was not the same as failing. Sometimes an outcome is shaped by timing, chemistry, fit, or decisions made in rooms we will never enter. You can be worthy and still not be chosen. You can be qualified and still not be the one. You can show up sincerely and still walk away without the result you hoped for. That does not mean you misread your own value. It means life did not move in that direction this time.

In my case, the value was not limited to the possibility of being selected. The value was also in what the experience stirred up inside me. It made me take stock of my own story. It made me think carefully about what I find meaningful in my life and what might make me memorable to someone else. It reminded me that I am still willing to put myself in play. It reminded me that I still want to be surprised by life. Those are not small things. Those are worth carrying forward.

I have lived long enough to know that disappointment usually fades faster than regret. You may briefly feel let down when something does not happen. But the things you never attempt can linger for years. The project you never started. The business idea you never tested. The trip you kept postponing. The person you never called. The application you never submitted. The opportunity you ruled yourself out of before anyone else had a chance to answer. Those unfinished possibilities can stay with you because they never reached a real conclusion. They remain suspended in the mind as “what ifs.”

So maybe this is a nudge, for me and maybe for anyone reading this. Take another look at the thing you have quietly talked yourself out of. It may be a creative idea. It may be a professional opportunity. It may be a personal challenge. It may simply be saying yes to something that feels a little uncomfortable because it is unfamiliar. Ask yourself whether you are truly being realistic or whether you are protecting yourself from the vulnerability of trying.

Some opportunities change our circumstances. Others change the way we see ourselves. They remind us that our lives are richer than we may have realized, that our stories have value, and that we are still capable of stepping toward the unknown. Even when we do not get the thing, the act of reaching can wake us up. It can clarify us. It can show us that we are still willing to participate fully in our own lives.

I did not get the thing.

But I am glad I tried.

And maybe, in the end, that is the thing I needed most.

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The post Some Opportunities Make Us Examine Who We Are appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

At first, I thought, “Eh, I don’t know. That sounds kind of weird. Maybe even a little lame.” But then today happened. I had ordered something from Amazon and needed to return it, and I discovered I could drop it off at Staples instead of UPS. Since our Staples is usually pretty quiet, I ran it in. A lady I didn’t know came up smiling and said, “Aren’t you Curtis Tucker?” I said, “Well, yes, I am.” She said, “I see your videos. I thought that was you, but I wasn’t sure until I heard your voice.” We had a nice little conversation, and I went on my way.

Later in the day, I had the Culligan guy come out to look at something under the sink. While he was working, he looked up and said, “You’re Curtis Tucker, aren’t you?” I said, “Yeah.” He said he watches my videos. Then tonight, Denise and I went to Hideaway Pizza. She saw one of her dental hygiene patients and went over to say hello. A few minutes later, he came over to our table to introduce himself to me because he watches my videos and had seen my tornado video. So that was three people in one day. That doesn’t usually happen, and that’s when I thought, “Okay, maybe the universe is telling me to go ahead and do this episode.”

So here we are. Now, I want to be very clear. This is not about me being famous. I’m not famous. I’m not a celebrity. I’m just a familiar face in Enid, Oklahoma, and there’s a difference. But it is interesting how an average, everyday guy like me went from working for someone else, to building websites, to running Enid Buzz, to eventually being recognized around town by people I’ve never met.

Back in the early 2000s, I had quit my regular job and started building websites and blogs for a living. My big idea was to build around 100 websites and make money from advertising, affiliate links, and Google traffic. That was the business model. Build the sites, keep them updated, rank high in Google, get visitors, and make money when people clicked ads or bought things through links. At some point, when you’re trying to build that many websites, you start running out of ideas. So I thought, “Why not build a website about Enid, Oklahoma?”

The original idea for Enid Buzz was not news. It was not events. It was not a community media brand. It was just me blogging about my memories of growing up in Enid. I wanted to write about the restaurants I remembered, the stores, old photos, fun memories from the 70s and 80s, and all the things around town that made Enid feel like home. So in 2005, I bought EnidBuzz.com and built a website. I also added a little directory with links to places like the City of Enid, the police department, the symphony, the YMCA, churches, sports complexes, and other local resources. I thought it would be helpful to have one place where people could find links to everything in town.

But back then, it was still mostly just a personal blog. There was no social media like we know it today. No live streaming. No reels. No TikTok. People weren’t uploading tons of video. Websites needed to load fast, so everything was mostly text and photos. I also didn’t really put myself front and center. There wasn’t some big “About Curtis” page. Most people didn’t know who was behind Enid Buzz. It was just one of the many websites I was running.

For about 10 years, I built and maintained websites. I made money through Google rankings and advertising. Things were working. Then, in 2012, everything changed. Google rolled out a major algorithm change called the Panda Update. Basically, Google started pushing down what it considered “thin content” websites and giving more weight to large, established sites. One day, my websites were ranking well. The next day, they were gone. Traffic disappeared. Money disappeared. My AdSense account showed almost nothing coming in. At first, I thought it was a glitch. It wasn’t.

I started searching for my websites in Google, and they were nowhere to be found. All those rankings I had built over years had vanished almost overnight. I spent the better part of a year trying to figure it out, trying to recover, trying to understand the new algorithm. But eventually, I had to face reality. My business had collapsed. So I had a decision to make. Was I going to quit the internet completely and go get a regular job again? Or was I going to start something new?

Out of everything I had built, Enid Buzz was the one thing that didn’t have to depend entirely on Google search rankings. It was local. I could build an audience directly in Enid. I could use Facebook. I could connect with people in town. I could create something that wasn’t just waiting for Google to send traffic. So I rebuilt Enid Buzz and started taking it seriously. Facebook pages had come along, and I started an Enid Buzz Facebook page. That’s really where things took off.

The day I decided to make Enid Buzz my full-time business, I started posting constantly. I treated the Facebook page like a newsfeed. Not one post a day. Not one post a week. I was posting news, events, press releases, community updates, photos, business information, weather, road closures, and anything else I thought people in Enid might want to know. Some people thought I posted too much, and honestly, I understood that. But I also knew what I was trying to build. I wanted Enid Buzz to be a constant stream of local information.

Today, that’s what TV stations, newspapers, and media pages do on Facebook all the time. But back in 2013, especially locally, that was not as common. I didn’t have a huge plan. I just knew people were on Facebook, and I knew Enid needed a steady local information source. So I put those two things together.

For the first several years, most people had no idea who ran Enid Buzz. Some people thought it was a woman, probably because a lot of the content leaned toward things like shopping, food, family events, and community happenings. Some thought it was connected to the newspaper. Some thought it was part of the City of Enid. Really, people just knew there was this thing called Enid Buzz putting out a lot of local information.

Then video started becoming easier to upload. YouTube was growing. Short videos became more practical. Social media started changing. So I started doing more video. If I went to interview someone, I would be on camera with them. If I went to an event, I might record a video. Eventually, people started seeing my face connected to Enid Buzz. That made me different from the newspaper, the radio stations, and other local pages. In a way, Enid Buzz started becoming Enid’s version of a TV station.

We don’t have a local TV station focused only on Enid. Oklahoma City and Tulsa stations will come here for big stories, but they don’t cover the daily life of Enid. So when I started showing up with a camera, interviewing people, covering events, and doing live video, people started recognizing me. Todd and I even did a weekly video show called E-Talk, where we interviewed people at a local coffee shop. You could hear cups clinking and people talking in the background, but it was real, local, and familiar. My face started showing up every week.

Then live streaming came along, and I started doing that too. I would go to an event and start with something like, “Hey everybody, Enid Buzz here,” or “Curtis Tucker here with Enid Buzz.” Over time, people started saying things like, “Hey, aren’t you that Buzz guy?” or “Aren’t you Enid Buzz?” Sometimes they’d say, “I know you from somewhere.” And I’d say, “Enid Buzz.” And they’d say, “Yeah, that’s it.”

For a long time, I did not like vertical video. I liked horizontal video. That was what made sense to me. I didn’t really understand reels, stories, or TikTok. But about a year and a half ago, I decided I needed to force myself to learn it. Before that, I had already been going out every morning on the trail and taking sunrise photos. I would post those on Enid Buzz with the day’s weather, holidays, and local notes. People got used to seeing my sunrise photos. Then I decided to turn those into short videos.

Every morning, I started doing a one-minute video. The first 30 seconds would be me talking: “Hey everybody, Curtis Tucker here with Enid Buzz.” I’d talk about the weather, what was going on that day, or something happening around town. Then the last 30 seconds would be footage of the sunrise. I’d add music, captions, and post it to TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, stories, and reels. And I kept doing it. Every morning. For almost 500 days. Even when there wasn’t much of a sunrise. Even when I was out of town. Even when the weather wasn’t great. I rarely missed.

That consistency changed everything. Before, people would ask, “Aren’t you that Buzz guy?” Now they ask, “Are you Curtis Tucker?” That daily repetition made my face and voice familiar. The videos don’t always get huge numbers. Some might get a few hundred views. Some Enid Buzz videos might get 600, 700, or 800 views. Some might get more on Instagram. But the power is not in one viral video. The power is in showing up every day.

A different group of people may see the video each morning. Over time, those videos have probably passed through just about everyone’s feed in town at least once. That’s how familiarity is built. Not overnight. Not by accident. By repetition.

Recently, I filmed tornado footage near Enid, and that video got a lot of attention. That wasn’t really a “me on camera” video in the usual sense, but people connected it back to me. It added one more layer to people recognizing what I do. They see the sunrise videos. They see Enid Buzz posts. They see weather updates. They see event coverage. They see local interviews. Then they see tornado footage. After a while, it all adds up.

Here’s the strange part. I didn’t set out to become recognized. I didn’t sit down one day and say, “I want people in Enid to know who I am.” It just happened because I kept showing up. I kept posting. I kept doing videos. I kept covering events. I kept answering questions. I kept putting my face and voice out there. And now, because Enid Buzz has a large local audience and reaches millions of views each month, people see me all the time. That’s the real reason people recognize me. It’s not fame. It’s familiarity.

It can be a little awkward sometimes. I walk around not thinking anyone knows who I am. But then someone will come up and talk to me like they already know me because they’ve seen me so many times online. And I get it. We all do that with people we see on TV, hear on the radio, or follow online. You feel like you know them, even though they don’t know you. Most of the time, I enjoy it. I really do. I’m not saying, “Don’t come talk to me.” I like meeting people who follow Enid Buzz or watch my videos. But it is a little strange when someone knows your face, your voice, your vehicle, and your daily routine, and you’ve never met them before.

It also means I have to be careful. Because people know who I am, I have to watch what I say and do in public. If I do something dumb, rude, or weird, there’s a good chance someone will know exactly who I am. I also try to avoid taking strong public sides on certain things, especially politics, because Enid Buzz serves the whole community. I don’t want half the audience thinking I’m against them because of a yard sign, a comment, or a post. That can be tough sometimes, but it comes with the territory.

Another funny part of running Enid Buzz is that people assume I know everything happening in town. If a helicopter flies over Enid, people ask me why. If a big plane lands at Vance, people ask me what it is. If police tape goes up somewhere, people ask me what happened. If the power goes out, people ask me why and how long it will be out. If a business is opening in an old building, people ask me what’s going in there. At Christmas, people ask me where Santa is going to be. If there’s an earthquake, people ask, “Was that an earthquake?” If it snows, people ask whether school will be canceled.

The truth is, most of the time, I don’t magically know the answer. I have to go find it just like everyone else. For power outages, I know where to check the OG&E outage map. For school closings, I have to wait until the schools announce it. For police activity, I usually don’t know unless there’s a press release or I’ve heard something reliable. Sometimes I do know what business is going into a building. Sometimes I know but can’t say yet. And sometimes I have no idea. But people ask because Enid Buzz has become one of the places people turn when they want to know what’s happening.

Enid is a city of around 50,000 people. We don’t have a local TV station dedicated to covering us every day. The Oklahoma City and Tulsa stations will show up for big stories, but they aren’t covering our daily events, ribbon cuttings, restaurant openings, community questions, school updates, local weather moments, and neighborhood happenings. The newspaper does its thing, but it’s different. The radio stations have DJs, but unless you see them at remotes or events, you may not know what they look like.

So in a strange way, I think I became something like a local TV anchor for Enid. Not because I planned it. Not because I had a journalism degree. Not because I was trying to be famous. But because I was the guy who kept showing up on camera, talking about Enid. And over time, that matters.

If there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s pretty simple: consistency works. If you’re trying to build a brand, a business, a podcast, a page, or a following, you don’t have to go viral every day. You don’t need every video to get 50,000 views. You just need to keep showing up. Use your face. Use your voice. Be helpful. Be consistent. Let people get familiar with you. That is how trust is built. That is how recognition is built. That is how a regular person becomes a familiar face in their community.

For me, it happened through Enid Buzz, Facebook, live video, interviews, morning sunrise videos, weather updates, and years of posting local information. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t fancy. It was just steady.

I’m at an interesting point now. I could keep Enid Buzz about where it is: a strong local website and social media brand with some video mixed in. Or I could grow it into something more like a full local video news source. The question is whether I want to take on that much more work and responsibility at this stage of life. I’m not retiring, but I am old enough to think carefully about how much more I want to build, manage, and maintain.

For now, I’m just going to keep cruising. I’ll keep doing the morning videos. I’ll keep posting local updates. I’ll keep showing up when there’s something happening around town. And if you see me out somewhere, yes, you can say hello. Just don’t be surprised if I look confused for a second. You may know me from the videos, but I may not know you yet.

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The post How I Became A Familiar Face Around Town appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

Hey Buzzheads, Shaggheads, and Zoinkers — Curtis Tucker, a.k.a. Shaggs, here from Shaggy Duck Studio with another episode of The Curtis Tucker Podcast.

This one is a little different.

If you’re watching on YouTube, this may be an episode worth seeing instead of just hearing, because I’ll be mixing in some of the tornado footage I captured during one of the wildest Thursdays I can remember.

I’m almost 63 and a half years old, and this past week may rank as one of the craziest of my life. But today, I’m focusing on one part of it:

My Thursday tornado adventure.

That title sounds casual on purpose. In Oklahoma, tornado watches, warnings, hail, and wall-to-wall weather coverage are part of spring. You never get careless about tornadoes, but after you’ve lived here long enough — and especially after you’ve storm spotted a few — you learn to stay calm, watch closely, and respect what’s happening.

Still, this one was different.

It formed near my hometown. It was clear, slow, powerful, and close.

A Normal Thursday Turns Fast

The day started like a typical Oklahoma spring setup: warm air, moisture, a dry line, and the possibility of hail, severe storms, and tornadoes.

Most of the day felt normal. I wasn’t glued to the weather. Later that evening, after taking Mr. Saucy Pants for a haircut and picking up dog food, I headed out to the studio to work on the podcast.

I turned on the TV and landed on David Payne’s weather coverage. A storm north of Enid, near Bremen, was showing signs of rotation. Bremen caught my attention because Todd and I had been there before to interview Gene Simmons and later Paul Stanley.

For a while, it looked like a tornado might cross I-35 near Bremen. The highway was even shut down north and south of town. Then, just before it got there, the tornado lifted and disappeared.

I thought about jumping in the Jeep, but by then it was too late.

Then I noticed clouds building south of Enid.

I checked WeatherBug, and there was a tiny little blip on radar. Nothing huge yet, but the ingredients were there. So I grabbed my phone, grabbed Mr. Saucy Pants, and headed south to a spot I use for storm photos — a flat oil road in the middle of a wheat field southwest of Enid.

My plan was simple: get some cool storm cloud pictures.

That plan lasted about thirty seconds.

By the time I parked, the storm was already on top of us. It started raining, then hailing. Inside a hardtop Jeep, hail is loud, and Mr. Saucy Pants was not impressed. He climbed into my lap, trembling, ready for the adventure to be over.

The rain was too heavy to see anything, so I headed home.

The Tornado Warning

When I got back, Denise and Piper were home, and the weather was on TV. Then all our phones went off at once. It was a tornado warning.

In Oklahoma, a watch means conditions are favorable. A warning means something may be forming or already on the ground.

Right after the alerts hit, David Payne said he thought he saw a hook south of Enid.

I looked at Denise and said, “I’m going to be so mad if there’s a tornado and I’m sitting here at home.”

So I left.

Because it happened so fast, I didn’t grab my good cameras, tripod, or extra gear. Just my phone.

I headed south on Cleveland toward Vance Air Force Base. The rain had stopped, but a few big pieces of hail were still clunking off the Jeep. The sky was dark, but visibility was good.

When I turned onto the dirt road along the north fence line of the runway, I saw it. A wall cloud!

And not a messy one. This looked like a spaceship dropping out of the storm. Smooth, dramatic, obvious. I knew immediately that was where the hook was.

It was right in front of me.

Watching It Form

I started filming out the window as the wall cloud lowered. I stopped on the dirt road with the runway, the storm, me, and Enid all lined up.

The cloud kept spinning. Little vortices started moving underneath it. I was about to say, “I think this is going to become a tornado,” when I saw dirt and debris spinning on the ground.

Just like that, it was on the ground.

At that moment, I had to choose: record high-quality footage for myself or go live on Enid Buzz and tell people what was happening.

I only had one phone.

So I went live.

That meant giving up the better video, the polished shots, and the classic “me with a tornado in the background” photo. But it also meant people in Enid could see where the tornado was and hear what it was doing in real time.

That’s the difference between storm chasing and storm spotting.

I wasn’t just trying to get cool footage. I was trying to help people know where the danger was.

The Tornado Moves Around Enid

The tornado became clearer as it picked up dirt and debris. It started as more of a tube or column, then later grew darker and more cone-shaped. The view was unbelievably clear — no heavy rain hiding it, no messy clouds blocking it.

It moved near the south side of Vance Air Force Base, then east. From my angle, it looked like it might be going through the base, but somehow it went around it.

Then it crossed Highway 81 and did its worst damage in the Grey Ridge area.

At one point, I had to move my Jeep out of the middle of the dirt road. When I got back to filming, the tornado looked darker and more intense. I think that was when it was hitting Grey Ridge and pulling in debris from homes, roofs, trees, and everything else in its path.

A guy I knew showed up with his family and offered to drive while I kept filming. That was a huge help. We followed the tornado down Southgate as it hit random buildings, a barn, homes, and the dump, sending debris everywhere.

Power lines were down. Poles were down. Signs were scattered. Emergency vehicles were moving in. Traffic was building fast.

The tornado eventually moved toward the east side of Enid near Brookside, then lifted before reaching Enid Woodring Regional Airport.

It missed Brookside. It missed the airport. It missed Vance. Considering how strong it was, Enid was incredibly lucky.

The Aftermath

The tornado damaged more than 40 homes and buildings, with Grey Ridge taking the hardest hit. Some homes were flattened. But somehow, there were no fatalities.

That is the miracle.

Later, the National Weather Service classified it as an EF-4. Trees were stripped of bark and leaves, and some homes were reduced to slabs. This was not just another weak Oklahoma spin-up. This was serious.

After the tornado lifted, my phone battery was almost dead. I headed back to the studio, charged it, and started trying to keep up with information coming in.

People wanted to know where to donate, where to volunteer, what was needed, and what was not. Reports were conflicting. Some people said take supplies to the Expo Center. Others said don’t. Some said nurses were needed. Others said they weren’t.

So at 12:30 that night, I drove to the Expo Center to find out for myself.

I talked to the Red Cross contact there, and she said they did not need nurses or volunteers at that moment. They had water, food, and clothing, and they asked people not to bring more items until they had a better system in place.

The next morning, I was back at it — posting updates, checking press releases, interviewing people at the Expo Center, and trying to keep Enid Buzz followers pointed toward the most accurate information.

Then the media requests started coming in. CNN, NewsNation, storm chasing crews — everybody wanted to use the footage.

It turned into 24 hours of nonstop tornado coverage.

Why This One Felt Different

When you storm spot in another town, your job is mostly technical. You report the location, direction, size, and whether it’s on the ground.

But when it’s your hometown, everything changes.

You know the roads. You know the neighborhoods. You know who might be in the path.

Watching that tornado move near Enid was eerie because I knew exactly what it could hit if it shifted just a little north.

My best friend Stayton and his wife were watching the live feed from Dallas, and she was yelling at the screen for me to go home to my family.

I get that.

But from where I was, I could see the tornado clearly. It was moving away from me. It wasn’t rain-wrapped. I knew where it was the whole time. In that moment, I felt safer watching it than driving back into town and losing track of it.

Had it turned toward town or disappeared into rain, I would have made a different call.

The Footage

Because I chose Facebook Live, I didn’t get the highest-quality video I could have captured directly on my phone. But I did get the live information out when it mattered.

I’ve downloaded the live videos and plan to edit them into one cleaner version, cutting out the parts where I’m moving the Jeep or getting situated. I’ll post that edited version on Enid Buzz so it stays available permanently, since Facebook Live videos eventually disappear.

I’ll also embed the footage on the Curtis Tucker blog page for this episode and include some of it in the YouTube version.

Just Another Oklahoma Spring Day — Almost

This tornado was strange. It formed quickly, moved slowly, shifted oddly, and missed several major targets by what felt like a miracle.

It missed Vance Air Force Base.

It missed Brookside.

It lifted before Woodring Airport.

But it still caused serious damage for the people it did hit.

That’s the reality of tornadoes. They can be fascinating from a distance and devastating up close. You can admire the power and still feel sick for the people who lost homes.

For me, this was probably the clearest, slowest, strongest tornado I’ve ever watched form from beginning to end. I’ve seen tornadoes before, but I don’t believe I had ever spotted an EF-4.

It was incredible, eerie, heartbreaking and it was very Oklahoma.

Have You Ever Seen One?

So that was my Thursday tornado adventure here in Enid.

Have you ever seen a tornado in person? Have you ever gone storm chasing or storm spotting? Would you want to see one, or would you rather stay far away?

And if you saw my tornado footage on CNN or NewsNation, let me know.

You can reach me at shags@shaggyduck.com or curtis@curtistucker.com.

Thanks for listening, thanks for watching, and if you’re in Oklahoma this spring — keep one eye on the sky.

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VIDEO

NEWSNATION INTERVIEW

PHOTOS
These are photos from the Gray Ridge neighborhood in Enid, Oklahoma.

The post My Thursday Tornado Adventure in Enid appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

Tonight’s episode is about those moments. The simple things that can instantly lift your mood, make you smile, or remind you that life still has plenty of good stuff tucked into it. Some of these are small, some are nostalgic, some are oddly specific, but almost all of them are the kinds of things that make you stop and think, “Yep… that just made my day.”

I got the idea when I got into my Jeep one day and my favorite song was randomly on the radio. It made me feel like it was a good sign and that I was going to have a great day. So I started thinking about other surprising joys we all encounter every day.

So here we go — a list of surprising joys that can brighten your day.

1. You get into your vehicle and one of your all-time top 10 songs is on the radio.
2. You put on a jacket and there’s a $20 bill in the pocket.
3. You hit every green light on your way somewhere.
4. You realize it’s the day your favorite TV show is on.
5. Your favorite thing to wear is freshly washed.
6. Your to-do list is at zero.
7. A one-hour meeting gets cancelled.
8. You get nothing but positive comments on your social media post.
9. A good friend calls you to meet for lunch.
10. Someone pays for your order in the drive-thru.
11. Your least favorite player gets kicked off your favorite reality show.
12. You get an email saying your order will arrive today.
13. Your restaurant app says you get a free meal.
14. Your French fries are steaming hot.
15. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the temperature is perfect.
16. Driving with your Jeep top off.
17. Something you manifested appears out of nowhere.
18. Your favorite podcast does an episode that speaks directly to you.
19. Your morning drink turns out perfect.
20. Looking up at the night sky just in time to see a shooting star.
21. You get a compliment from a stranger.
22. Driving down the street you grew up on and seeing your best friends’ houses.
23. Waking up and remembering a really great dream.
24. Spotting several fireflies outside your window.
25. You get to your desk and it’s completely clean and perfectly arranged.
26. Someone replaces something you thought was about to run out.
27. Watching your dog stick his head out of your car window.
28. You’re driving and catch the perfect sunrise or sunset.
29. Your pet lays in your lap and goes to sleep.
30. You get to help a turtle across the street.
31. Having a bird hop into your studio when the door is open.
32. Your favorite movie is on regular TV right when you turn it on.
33. The parts of your sandwich are perfectly placed and spread evenly.
34. Your steak is cooked to the exact temperature you ordered.
35. The ice in your drink is soft and crunchy.
36. Sitting outside on a porch on a warm summer night.
37. Smelling fresh-cut grass while out on a walk.
38. Getting a rubber duck left on your Jeep.
39. Having a ladybug or butterfly land on you.
40. Working in your office with the door open when it rains.
41. Looking at the clock and the minutes are your lucky number.
42. Smiling at someone and they smile back.
43. Getting into a bed with fresh, warm sheets.
44. Stopping in the middle of Disney World and saying to yourself, “I’m here.”
45. Going to the donut shop and every one of your favorites is there.
46. When a fragrance reminds you of someone you miss.
47. Watching kids play in the grass until it’s dusk.
48. Going through an old photo album you haven’t seen in years.
49. Having a bird’s nest right outside your window.
50. Seeing a rainbow, anytime, anywhere.

Ending

Maybe that’s the real secret to enjoying life a little more: noticing it. Noticing the little things that go right. The tiny gifts. The moments that don’t cost anything, don’t last very long, and probably wouldn’t make the evening news — but somehow mean everything in that moment.

A lot of joy doesn’t arrive with fireworks. It shows up in green lights, hot French fries, clean desks, summer porches, good songs, fireflies, fresh sheets, and old memories that still know how to tap you on the shoulder.

So tonight, maybe keep your eyes open for one of those little surprises. Because even on an ordinary day, joy has a way of sneaking in when you least expect it.

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The post 50 Surprising Joys That Will Brighten Your Day appeared first on Curtis Tucker.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this would make a good record for me, and maybe for my girls too. One day, when I’m much older, I’d love to be able to look back and remember the stages of my life. And for younger people, it’s also a reminder to ask questions while you still can. Ask your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents where they lived, what jobs they had, what their life was really like. A lot of family history disappears if nobody asks.

I was born in 1962, so the 60s were mostly my early childhood. I was born at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio while my dad was in the Air Force. We lived in Turkey for part of my toddler years, then eventually made our way back to Oklahoma. After my parents divorced in 1969, my mom moved us to Enid. My memories of the 60s are there, but that decade was mostly defined by simply being a kid.

The 70s were a whole different story. That was my decade. I grew up in Enid, went to Enid schools, and spent those years doing what kids used to do best—riding bikes, skateboarding, hanging out with friends, and living carefree. Those junior high years on West Broadway with our group of guys were some of the best times of my life. It was friendship, freedom, and fun, and that’s a big reason I still love talking about the 70s so much today.

The 80s were about college, growing up, and trying to find my footing. I went from Enid to Northern Oklahoma College in Tonkawa, then to Stillwater, and later to Central State in Edmond to study art and graphic design. The 80s were fun, but they were also about trying to figure life out—school, jobs, roommates, girlfriends, and just trying to survive on very little money. Looking back, there were a lot of good times mixed into the struggle.

The 90s were probably the hardest decade for me. That era was mostly defined by my first marriage, working at Evans Drug, building my graphic design skills, and starting to experiment with computers and side work. I bought houses, sold houses, drove Jeeps, even bought a red Corvette convertible at one point. But it was also a decade of stress, struggle, divorce, and trying to rebuild. By the end of the 90s, though, I had started building websites, learning the internet, and laying the foundation for what would eventually become my own business.

The 2000s were a much brighter chapter. That was the decade of marriage, daughters, working from home, and discovering how to make a living online. Denise and I were raising Piper and Chaney while I built Shaggy Duck Studio, worked on website and logo design, and eventually launched Enid Buzz in 2005. Those years were filled with family life, school drop-offs, dance lessons, vacations, and the blessing of being a work-from-home dad while the girls were little.

The 2010s were defined by change. I was still working for myself, but the girls were heavily involved in dance, life was busy, and then the Google Panda update hit and wiped out the business model I had relied on for years. Instead of going back to work for someone else, I made the decision to go all-in on Enid Buzz in 2013. That decade also included podcasting, offices downtown, a retail store experiment, lots of travel for dance competitions, and the beginning of my daily walks on the Enid trail—something that’s now been part of my life for over a decade.

The 2020s have been shaped by college years for the girls, road trips, football games, loss, and a lot of transition. COVID disrupted so much, including Piper’s graduation and both girls’ college experiences. We spent years driving back and forth to OU and Arkansas for games and performances. We also lost people we loved, including my mom and Jim Evans. But we moved back into this house, built this studio, and found our way into a new season of life.

When I look back, the 70s still win for me. They were the most carefree, the most magical, and the most fun. But every decade had its own identity. The 80s were about becoming an adult. The 90s were about struggle and survival. The 2000s were about family and building something of my own. The 2010s were about reinvention. And the 2020s have been about showing up for the people I love while continuing to build the life I want.

That’s really what this whole episode came down to for me: every decade leaves its mark. Some are fun, some are difficult, and some blur together until you stop and really think about them. But they all shape who you become.

So think about your own life. What decade defined you the most? Which one was your favorite, and why?

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I had a different podcast episode pretty much ready to go last week. I was on my normal schedule, getting it lined up around Wednesday or Thursday night, but I had a speech on Friday that I was getting ready for, so I got a little behind. Then over the weekend, something happened that was too funny not to talk about.

So I decided to bump that other episode to this week and go with this one instead.

This is one of those stories that’s kind of funny, but it’s also a little informative too. Because if you don’t really understand how some of these Facebook scams work, this is a pretty good example. And this one was so bad—so poorly done—that I still can’t believe it probably works on anybody.

But apparently it does, or they wouldn’t keep doing it.

The funny part is, this scammer was such an amateur that I was basically able to turn it around on them. I didn’t scam them out of any money or anything like that, but I did scam them out of about two full days of their life. And that means they weren’t out spending that time messing with other people.

So honestly, I felt pretty good about that.

How It Started

This all started Thursday night.

Now I’ve got a bunch of accounts, but I’ve got two main Facebook accounts. One is my regular Curtis Tucker account, and the other is Curtis Shaggs Tucker. The reason I even started that second one is because at one point Facebook wouldn’t let me monetize my original account, so I started another one. Then as soon as I got that second one going pretty good, Facebook finally let me monetize the original one.

So now I mostly use the main one, but I still keep the other one open in a different browser. I’ll have one open in one browser and one open in another. That way when I post something on Curtis Tucker or Enid Buzz in one account, I can go over to the other account and like it, which helps a little with engagement and spreading things around. It’s all part of playing the algorithm game.

Anyway, Thursday night, on my Curtis Shaggs Tucker account, I get a friend request from a lady whose name sounded familiar. And in my mind I’m thinking, I’m probably already friends with her on my Curtis Tucker account, and maybe she just wants to connect with this one too.

That happens sometimes.

I’ve had people add both accounts because they didn’t see where I said I don’t really post much on the Curtis Shaggs Tucker one anymore. So I was busy, I didn’t think much about it, and I accepted the request.

First Big Clue

If somebody sends you a friend request and you think you’re already friends with them, that ought to make you stop and look.

That doesn’t mean it’s always a scam, but it’s one of the easiest ways these scammers get people. They make a duplicate account that looks enough like somebody you know, and they’re hoping you won’t pay close attention.

I didn’t really pay close attention because I was busy and, honestly, I wasn’t too worried about getting scammed. It would take a lot for me to fall for one of these. I figured if it turned out to be a scammer, sooner or later they’d show their hand, and I’d just report the account and delete them.

Well, I didn’t have to wait long. As soon as I accepted the friend request, they immediately messaged me on Messenger.

That’s a huge red flag.

What the Fake Account Looked Like

Had I taken just a few seconds to check the account before accepting it, I would’ve seen all kinds of clues.

First off, if I had searched the name, I would’ve seen there were multiple accounts with that same name. In this case, it was one of these fake Julie Leach accounts. You’ve probably seen those. The “I won the lottery and I’m giving away money” kind of scams.

None of the accounts had very many friends. That right there ought to tell you something.

One of them had a little write-up saying something like, “I’m Julie Leach, $310,500,000 mega lottery winner. This is my giveaway page, and I’m giving away $50,000.”

These were terrible fake accounts. I mean just awful. No real history. Hardly any friends. Missing cover photos. Generic nonsense in the bio. Just all the classic signs.

Most People Aren’t Actually “Hacked”

One thing I think a lot of people get wrong is they’ll say, “My friend got hacked,” or “Somebody hacked their Facebook.”

That does happen sometimes, but most of the time that’s not what happened.

Usually what happened is a scammer made a fake duplicate account using that person’s name and profile picture. That’s different from getting hacked.

If you really get hacked, somebody got into your actual account, figured out your password, locked you out, and started using your real profile. That’s one thing.

But what happens a whole lot more is somebody just copies your name, grabs your profile picture, creates a new account, and starts friending your friends.

So to people who don’t look closely, it looks like it’s you.

But if they slow down for two seconds, they’ll usually see it’s a fake account with almost no friends and no real activity. A lot of these fake accounts don’t have a clean Facebook username in the URL. Instead, it’ll say something like profile.php with a bunch of numbers after it.

Now by itself that may not mean much to a lot of people, but when you combine that with the low friend count, no history, and the immediate message, it starts to become pretty obvious.

The Funny Part

Now here’s where it got funny.

This scammer was so bad at what they were doing, and so committed to the act, that I was able to keep them tied up for a long time. And the more I kept them going, the funnier it got to me.

I didn’t get anything from them except entertainment.

But I kept thinking, every minute this person is wasting on me is a minute they are not spending trying to fool somebody else. And if I can burn up a bunch of their time, then that’s a win.

So that’s basically what happened.

I ended up scamming the scammer out of their time. And honestly, for how dumb this scam was, that felt about right.

They really started believing I was going to come through for them.

I started pulling little tricks on them all weekend long. I kept stringing them along. Kept acting like I was almost ready.

Kept making them think those Apple card e-codes were just around the corner.

And they hung in there. Hour after hour. Message after message. Still hoping. Still trying. Still thinking they were working a real target.

Meanwhile, I’m over here basically reverse-scamming the scammer by eating up their time and laughing about it.

And again, the podcast includes the back-and-forth.

That’s part of what makes this episode fun.

You’re not just hearing me talk about it after the fact. You get to hear about the actual exchange, the ridiculous stuff they were saying, and the ways I kept them dangling out there chasing those mythical Apple card codes.

A Few Easy Signs to Watch For

If you’re on Facebook and don’t want to get caught by one of these idiots, here are a few easy clues:

If somebody you think you already know sends you another friend request, stop and check.

If they message you immediately after you accept, be suspicious.

If the account only has a few friends, that’s a big clue.

If the page has no real history, hardly any pictures, or looks half-finished, that’s another clue.

If it says they just joined Facebook a couple of days ago, come on.

And if they’re talking about giveaways, lottery winnings, grants, blessing people with money, or any of that nonsense, it’s almost certainly fake.

Final Thought

I know some of these scams seem so obvious that it’s hard to understand how they work on anybody. But they must be working on somebody, because these people keep doing it.

So I thought this was worth talking about for two reasons.

One, it’s funny.

And two, maybe it helps somebody out there recognize the signs a little quicker the next time one of these fake accounts pops up.

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