Ode to Bad Blogging

Five posts are sleeping in my queue. They may see daylight in some future form but I am taking another break to gather and alphabetize my thoughts. In 2016, my oldest son gifted me a free Blog site which I impulsively titled with a baseball term although I was not planning to write about either baseball or suicide. I posted daily for five years while averaging single digit views per day. I was relieved to avoid “followers” which I mistakenly considered the WordPress name for trolls and stalkers. I realized my site was not private when a Portuguese cigar maker finally scared me with a “like.” After Alien Resort left a friendly “like” and comment, I explained to my handful of curious and incredulous regular readers that he was a stranger and not one of us using a pseudonym. Beetleypete generously explained how to properly wield a gravatar and I discovered how easy it was to increase “views,” considering the reciprocal interests of fellow Bloggers and bots. I was shocked when my earlier monthly numbers (e.g., 128, 141) were denigrated by a system of rounding off by hundreds (e.g., 2.7K, 2.8K). Intoxication with my new threshold wore off when my latest friends turned out to be advertisers, serial likers, non-readers, skimmers, Russian spies, and the Internal Revenue Service. Fearing attention from the External Revenue Service, I tried (unsuccessfully) to retire from Blogging while at my peak. Obverse predicted I would be back and I hated that he was right.

I am now sliding down the backside of the bell shaped curve as an ideal spokesperson for Bad Bloggers. Even attrition from my poor habits has not helped me keep up with reading and commenting. I hold the WordPress record for the number of log-ins required in a 24 hour period. Comments are closed by the time I arrive. I never bothered to read Proust because comments were no longer accepted after he died. The only pingbacks and cookies I understand are the pings in my back when I stretch for the cookies my wife hides at the back of her underwear drawer (as if I would never look there). I avoid Blogging challenges that trigger negative flashbacks to competitions and school homework. In real life I am a devil’s advocate by training and inclination. Whenever I sense unanimity, I have an urge to present an opposing thought. Sometimes I do not agree with or even know what I am saying. I would apologize to anyone I may have offended but I am saving my mea culpas for a dramatic death bed post.

Many experienced Bloggers thoughtfully post valuable tips for beginners. I never intend to ignore protocols. I am just lazy. I should go to the doctor, service my truck, and clip my toenails but get sidetracked binge-watching bad television and taping back together vital records my loved ones shredded while testing the limits of unconditional love. Bad Blogger advice is so rare that I am super qualified after embracing a wide variety of Blogs, just like I view all the art in a museum. I love lingering over posts displaying an author’s own photographs, cartoons, and nuggets of wisdom. I can google the Gettysburg Address. Warning: following Blogs in your fields of ignorance is dangerous. I am constantly making uninformed comments on posts about poetry (Why do your poems not rhyme), gardening (Why not hire a gardener), art (Sorry about skimming and assuming your preschooler painted the cow), science (Calculus clouds are my favorite), philosophy (Which came first: the chicken or the muskrat), history (My earliest memory is watching the Romans beat the Vikings in Super Bowl ICBM), and music (I have all but one of the albums Attila recorded). My cooking is limited to reheating leftovers in the microwave and I have been embarrassed trying to order take-out food on cooking Blogs. Elect me Bad Blogger Representative in November and I promise to return and not take your concerns seriously.

Banana Sunrise Chair

I attend big parties where everyone is welcome like Free Car Wash and Tax Return Day at the local car dealership. But I am no longer invited to intimate dinner parties. My wife Mollie claims guests were horrified when I politely asked to finish food that they had not consumed. I should have eaten right before dinner parties like I did for luncheon job interviews. Two weeks ago at a milestone birthday party on a dry docked ferry boat, Mollie prevented me from using the microphone to verify whether she was the oldest person on board. So I circulated among the elderly and subtly probed for age clues by introducing the topic of Medicare Wellness Exams. Mollie says she is not going to any more parties but my friend Finlo says she will change her mind when I finally flunk Medicare Wellness with a capital F.

Spoiler Alert: the three words you memorize to prove cognitive capability have remained the same: Banana Sunrise Chair. I once said “sunset” but the doctor let that slide. Before my recent Medicare Wellness Exam, I even heard those famous words used on an episode of Family Law. Still I get nervous. The doctor makes you draw a clock and set the hands at 11:10 to distract you from remembering the three words. I cannot walk from my den to the kitchen to get a banana without forgetting about the banana. Will future senior citizens be drawing rectangular digital clocks? I do not know why I try to game the system. I am stuck with crooked teeth because I corrected my overbite for the X-Rays. My glasses are out of focus because I memorize the eye chart when left alone in the optometrist’s exam room. At least I get a driver’s license if I commit the DMV eye chart to memory. My feet are an ugly mess from a combination of genetics, long distance running, and my own shameful negligence because I cannot even touch my toes without cracking a rib. My feet scare my grandchildren and the doctor keeps asking, “Are you sure they don’t hurt?” She wonders how I can hear with all that wax in my right ear. I am strangely annoyed when doctors keep pestering me to take statins. I feel like I have caught them in a conspiracy to save my life.

I also have difficulty filling out all the medical questionnaires. I have to check that I am never stressed to the point of depression because the next choice is two days every week. Fortunately, I can offer them something to pounce on when I admit to falling down in the last year. I am suspicious of anyone who has never been stressed, depressed, or taken a fall. Yes, my balance has deteriorated over the years along with every single other bodily part and function. I hold the Guiness World Record for falling at least once in 77 consecutive years. I can even fall out of bed. Doctors do not dwell on good news. They relentlessly dig for scandal. Mine just wanted a yes/no answer to whether I went to the dentist regularly. The wax in my ear caused me to miscommunicate in an awkward and embarrassing verbal exchange. I was still bragging about brushing and flossing my teeth “twice a day” when my doctor had already moved on to the sexual activity category on the checklist. I have always been uncoordinated but when you do something 10,000 times, you develop certain skills, For instance, I am instinctively balancing the steering wheel on my left knee which has freed my hands to type this very post on my

Cheesy Extenders

I say aye to my eyes. But sadly they are seeing signs of conflict everywhere. My opposing thumbs are now clenched in fists of rage. Botanists are not satisfied with annexing tomato as a fruit. They continue to pit garden dwellers against each other, claiming green peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, and other squashes for the fruit empire. Celery is being stalked even though it has no seeds. Botany terrorists blew up a cheese factory in Pearis. Da brie was everywhere. Republicans are trying to ban pre-shredded cheese to make America grate again. Democrats are refusing to recognize milk that is pasteurized before you can see it. My friend John runs a dating service for chickens on Vashon Island but is struggling to make hens meet. I remember the good thymes in the herb garden before the butter rumor which I will not spread here. We are no longer well connected. Without bees, soon bears will just be ears.

Furthermore, senior editor Phil has been confiscating my extender words. Good writers have all the advantages. Why strip writers with Mentally Erratic Stamper Syndrome (MESS) of their only tools? My 12 year old granddaughter Zofia has been labeled a vegan at school, apparently because she does not eat red meat. She consumes poultry, so I told her to identify as Megan, a meat-eating Vegan. She wondered why that did not just make her normal. I remember when normal existed and I trusted people who recognized my bad jokes. I can no longer even trust stairs. Lately they have been up to no good. Zofia thinks fast food is made by texting an order to her grandfather. I do not think she recognizes the part animals, vegetables, and fruit play in the process. On St. Patrick’s Day, we actually ate inside a restaurant. The host asked if we had reservations. I replied, “Yeah, but I think we will still eat here.” I cannot actually cook but I am going to prepare for Easter by making Holy Water because I can boil the hell out of water.

Earless

I name my posts before writing them because the title acts as a prompt and is the fun part. Likewise, I name my companies and print business cards before drafting business plans and bribing permit and licensing officials. Sherlock Homes Realty lasted until my friend Finlo said realtors in Ohio, Arizona, and Pennsylvania already used that name. My previous businesses (Pet Moles, U-Pick Weeds, Slug Recipes) did not survive past the naming process. The Day family ran a lumber mill on a 520 acre lake in Washington state but were too busy logging to coordinate the naming of the lake. Consequently Big Lake was neither creative not descriptively accurate (e.g., 4540 acre Little Kachess Lake is the 12th largest lake in the state). At least people with dogs and cats named “dog” and “cat” are whimsically accurate. For those seeking unusual names, Finlo found the rarest and/or most unpopular names using Wikipedia’s criteria of baby names that were chosen fewer than five times in 2022. Girls include Cerelia, Lozen, Niloufer, Rhonwen, and Toril. Boys include Finlo, Jadson, Springer, Tig, and Zesiro. Interesting that the name Springer Pete is rarer than Pete Springer. I interviewed the parents of Cerelia Box and learned a birth certificate typo changed her intended name from Cereal. Her older brother Tool always called her Cheerio and that nickname has stuck.

My last post was originally titled Earless but WordPress autocorrected to a real word (Fearless) while I was napping. I did my best with that plucky prompt but now I want to throw away the Earless sticky notes on my desk by adding this bonus Post Script. The first Earless Epidemic began in 44 B.C. when Mark Antony asked his friends and countrymen to lend him their ears. Simon Peter, Mike Tyson, and Alan Davies were later perpetrators of ear mutilations. Another famous ear event occurred in 1888 but I will not even go there. The British have gone to battle over ears, including the War of Jenkins’ Ear (1739-1748) and the War of Jennifer’s Ear (1992). The controversial Vacanti laboratory mouse had what looked like a human ear grown on its back (ca.1995). And the performance artist Stelios Arcadios had a third ear implanted on his arm (2007). All too eerie for me. So I am moving on to the eye, dropping my next post which is titled Tearless later this month. Unless I get bogged down trying to research and write it.

Fearless

Stamper Cronyism And Mysticism (SCAM) is back in Businessism. The lawsuits are litigated, the fines are forgiven, and the suspensions are served. We can no longer offer cryptocurrency cons, marriage meddling, or gambling guarantees. But we can roll out new theories for conquering fears. I was awkward as a youth and had a fear of falling. But after applying the Surefire Cautionary Altitude Mobility (SCAM) principles to my daily life, I am able to fall regularly. Likewise, I was afraid of going too fast on bikes, skis, and amusement park rides but now I get speeding tickets almost every time I drive. I always feared saying something stupid but have trained myself to make stupid statements literally every time I open my mouth. Just remember to Send Checks And Money (SCAM) to me for the Stop Cowering At Mirages (SCAM) brochure. It will explain how to conquer your fear of doctors, dentists, and dirty diapers. You will learn how to conduct your own medical exams with the included Scissors Cream And Mirror (SCAM) toolkit. You will be able to scare off swindlers with Sauerkraut Cauliflower And Mushroom (SCAM) sandwiches. Do not be afraid of gaining weight. I can help you do it in two easy and enjoyable steps: (1) Stop exercising; and (2) Eat whatever you want. Are you terrified by Scary Clowns After Midnight (SCAM)? Sign my petition to outlaw funny noses, big ears, and face paint. Best of all, I will teach you the high art of identifying any and all scams. They are everywhere if you look carefully for the telltale signs. Fearmore is not even a word. Be fearless!

My Trip to the Future

I splurged on the Lumon Industries Vacation Trip to the Future. I could barely afford the Budget Groundhog Day Package which took me only as far as 2030 and allowed me to retain memory of just seven experiences when I went through the Severance procedure mind wipe on my return trip: (1) Joe Biden thinks he is still President and issued an Executive Order adding “pink” as an additional rainbow color; (2) The Seattle Mariners still have not been in a World Series but their fans are ecstatic because Taylor Swift is dating their rookie Swedish pitcher Hans Uhm; (3) WordPress is flourishing (this post received 219 “likes”) and one of my Followers (I cannot remember which one) has gone viral and is a bigger social media star than Charli D’Amelio; (4) Johnny Tillotson sang “Poetry in motion” and not “Oh, a tree in motion” according to the prompter at the Cameron Karaoke Bar where I spent most of my time; (5) Humans no longer need to sleep eight hours a night when they plug into a one hour charging machine but some parents are causing a controversy by refusing to charge their children; (6) Napkins, postcards, board games, and fabric softener can only be found in museums.

The biggest shock (7) was the asteroid event that accelerated the already drastic climate change fluctuations. North American temperatures are frigid and getting colder as an ice age descends from the North Pole quicker than anyone could have predicted. Canadians refuse to move south because they would rather freeze to death than relocate to the United States. Americans are protesting at the southern border because Mexico will not let U.S. citizens enter even if they own property there (foreign property is quickly being nationalized). Some Americans are stepping over the Trump Lego Wall and swimming over the border. Others are wealthy enough to procure visas unless they have any criminal record or test positive for the American Virus (AV13) which turns humans stupid and ugly. Meanwhile, undocumented immigrants in the U.S. are flooding back to Central America because jobs are scarce and they are afraid of contracting AV13, the latest virus which rapidly kills brain cells while adding years to your life. A time traveler from the present inadvertently introduced the virus to the future. Hopefully the authorities will not find him.

Left at Starbucks

I drive with the Eventual Left Turn Signal so I can responsibly make unexpected left turns. I made a severe one last week because honking was involved. I had seen a huge sign to my left that simply said Oral Surgery. Big signs for grocery chains, automobile dealerships, and jewelry stores are enticing because people desire food, cars, and luxury items. What are the chances someone sees the words “Oral Surgery” and thinks, “I wonder if they take walk-ins?” Perhaps someone with an excruciating toothache or a masochist. I wanted to see if it was a Bar code-named Oral Surgery. It was not, so I went to an adjacent Starbucks instead. I was eavesdropping on a guy who was explaining why goats are bad and sheep are good. He was citing Matthew Chapter 25, when suddenly a woman burst in with the news that an old lady had been hit by a car out front in the crosswalk under the No Left Turn sign. The bearer of bad tidings was clearly exaggerating. The “old” lady was not old, no more than 50. And she was not hit but fell while stumbling out of the way. I could not offer corrections without reflecting poorly on myself, so I grabbed my Grande Hot Chai Tea Latte with Non-Fat Milk and went to check my car for dents. There were plenty but none looked fresh.

I begin each January with a new diet. This year I chose the Starbucks Diet. So far I have only gained three pounds and suspect Starbucks is ignoring my skim milk instruction. But I am able to stay up all night working on my Bankruptcy Petition. My wife wondered how I could spend $76 at Starbucks on one visit and make more than one trip on the same day. The key is tipping big. And occasionally bringing along my 12 year old granddaughter and her friend who have tricked me into ordering them oversized caffeinated drinks that taste like milk shakes. They never finish their Impossible Breakfast Sandwiches and chocolate desserts, so I do. They seem impressed, so their horror was a surprise yesterday when I polished off an untouched chocolate croissant left behind by another patron. Oops, she was only in the restroom. In our rush to exit, I left behind my unfinished Chai Tea Latte. No problem, as today I am turning left into every Starbucks in hopes of finding the Oral Surgery sign because my left lower molar has been aching ever since the ice chewing contest at the Kraken hockey game last night. This post was originally titled Oral Surgery but I was afraid no one would read it.

Devil in the Details

I saw my neighbor picking up mail. I did not recognize him behind his mask but he was stuffing letters into a backpack and wielding a screwdriver, apparently to fix the mail box lock. He said he couldn’t wait to retire. I cautioned him that you no longer have a reason to update your resume if you retire. He heard a siren and said he needed to get back to work. He sprinted to a running car which sped away with junk mail fluttering in its wake.

The best I have ever looked is on my resume. I sprinkled nuggets of truth amongst the omissions. This helps busy people jump to positive conclusions. In my Human Resources assignments, I “increased productivity” (number of complaints skyrocketed), “slashed budgets” (almost half our employees were laid off), and “improved morale” (employees were allowed to work from the Bar on Fridays). Follow up questions are dangerous. If an interviewer asks for details about your volunteer work with Leaders for Yesterday or your weekend Water Sport hobby, do not lie. But do not explain how you and other parolees ambush politicians with water balloons. Excuse yourself, head to the powder room, and do not return because working for a company where details matter is not for you.

Sometimes I accidentally inflate my credentials. I was once on a team of four Altar Boys. Only two or three were needed to carry patens for the priests who distributed Holy Communion. I was too uncoordinated to walk backwards in a long cassock dress, so I was very rarely chosen. One day Vern Acular showed up on crutches and said I would be giving Communion. When I told my Dad that I “gave” Communion at Mass, he yelled at me for the sacrilege of attempting to impersonate a Priest. Without taking shortcuts, sentences sound like this: “I got to shove the paten under the chins of the kneeling parishioners today while the priest gave Communion.” Most of the sentences in my novel read like that. I blame my Dad.

The disc jockeys on a local station and their listeners were recently making fun of people who did not change out of work clothes at home. Everyone seemed to wear jeans at work but some changed into sweat clothes afterward. I am so old that my work clothes included ties and I changed out of them into jeans when I got home. My resume says I never wear ties or jeans to Church. But I do not mention details like whether I wear a shirt or even go to Church.

Our 2024 Family Motto

When my daughter-in-law Asia becomes exasperated with my youngest son, she blames his alleged faults on my defective parenting. My three flavored defense: (1) my wife did all of the parenting in our household; (2) Asia chose to marry my son and either knew the alleged defects or caused them herself; and (3) Asia freely allows her two youngest children to live with my wife and me. I cannot report her counter arguments because they reflect poorly on me, diminish the brilliance of my defense, and expose my inability to spell Polish curse words. I infuriate her so much that she eventually absolves her husband and saves all wrath for me. Neither she nor my son ever thank me for repeatedly saving their marriage with a technique I like to call Paternalistic Arrogance Injected Negatively (PAIN).

Grandparenting is easier than parenting because you eliminate the fear that your mistakes will result in grandchildren living with you until they are fifty. When my 12 year old granddaughter Zofia is 22, I will be 86 or dead, whichever comes first. And I doubt she will be allowed to live in the Econo Nursing Home where my kids have already reserved me a cot. Grandparents do not have to stress about inflicting discipline to avoid grandchildren embarrassing them. I just tell people they are in our temporary custody until my nephew gets out of jail. Besides no amount of good parenting will ever eliminate parent/child mutual embarrassment. My middle son used vulgar compound words on the first grade playground that he never heard in our household until after he taught them to us. My youngest son was caught putting a dead bird and dog poop in mailboxes in grade school. We did not see that coming. Who would caution a child not to do that? It would only give them new ideas for mischief. To me, Zofia’s only job this year is to get promoted to 7th grade. I perfunctorily nag her to clean her room but she cannot hear me with plugs in her ears. I only say the words for my wife’s benefit anyway, although she cannot overhear me with age in her ears. My sons eventually learned housekeeping skills or married someone who tolerates messiness. Children learn talking, walking, hygiene, reading, and social skills all on different schedules when they are ready. Loving them is the best possible parenting.

This week Zofia and her 19 year old brother (who is diagnosed as mildly autistic) were skirmishing as only siblings can. I was ignoring them as usual. She finally hugged him around the neck (which he hates) and said insincerely, “Don’t you love me Sebastian?” He responded sincerely, “I’m trying but it is really hard.” We were all touched (both moved and crazy) and forged our family motto for 2024: “We are all trying but it is really hard.”

Resolved: Be Less Annoying in 2024

I feel more annoying in my old age, probably because insightful epiphanies have exposed some of my obliviousness. Logically I should have stopped chewing ice when Jon Tiger made me aware back in the 1990’s of how much that habit was annoying people. I identify him by name because the timid envy him for overriding politeness in favor of candor. Also, his moniker is so cool: short, punchy, and evocative of a spirit animal, similar to the twins Tom and Bob Cat, Jay Bird, Ann Teeter, and Jim Pansy. Digressions like this annoy my wife Mollie, whom I playfully nicknamed Mol Usca (she calls me Filly Stein). More precisely, she hates that I think out loud. Nobody minded when my Dad did that, apparently because his thoughts were profound and mine are antifound, more commonly known as lost. I refer to my unpaid editor as Phil Dirt because I thought the surfing disc jockey who went by that name was so hip. Phil says digressions are acceptable only if I put them in paragraphs. Unfortunately that allows WordPress to splice creepy and annoying ads in the middle of my posts because I am too cheap to block them.

I used to think people were worried about me when they told me at work that my shirt was untucked, my shoes were untied, or my zipper was down. My new working theory is that they are annoyed at me when my things are out of place in the Universe or when I am not observing protocols like wearing socks or combing my hair. Recently two different people physically put my Fitbit strap through the keeper loop that keeps the strap from dangling. They had warned me before but my youngest sister actually got up from her seat across the room at a party and fastened the strap properly. I understand untied shoes are a safety hazard but it takes great effort to get my hands near my feet and my wife makes me take my shoes off every time I come in the house which is every five minutes because I keep forgetting why I went outside. However, the Fitbit strap is soft, rubbery, and does not stick out at a right angle. It has never caught on anything over the years. The glasses that hang off my ears and nose cause much more trouble. The bill of my cap sticks way off my head (but I must wear a hat to hide my uncombed hair). Umbrellas also seem way more dangerous than dangling Fitbit straps. I am not against securing the straps but I am usually in too great a hurry to get back outside. I am continually taking the Fitbit off to shower, swim, and wash dishes because I am too cheap to get a waterproof one. I recharge it when I nap and never wear it for my daily weigh-in because it weighs 1.5 ounces. Wow, that research exposes the absurdity of unstrapping on the scale. So in 2024, I resolve to weigh with Fitbit on and deduct a half pound from my weight. Another Resolution includes doing more in private like chewing ice, flossing my teeth, and singing. And I will start going outside in bare feet.