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