The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for September 2011

What Do Triberr & A Drunk Moose Have In Common

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What do Triberr and a drunk moose have in common? The answer is nothing other than I happen to use them together in a headline. But because I am a social media guru and master of social media platforms I will provide the connection you now demand.

Let’s start with the story of the drunken moose that got stuck in a tree. I really feel for that moose. I have had a few nights like that. If I had more time and the inclination not to mention a bunch of cash I’d hire Joe Cocker to sing a different version of With A Little Help From My Friends. It would be epic and better than this version:

Alas my dreams of producing the next great viral video starring Joe Cocker singing about a drunk moose who got stuck in a tree are going to have to wait for a new day to come. The smarter readers will stick close to this blog because you never want to miss out on the opportunity to be on the ground floor of something special.

What? Do you really think that a man who blogs about flying clowns and used pumps would always be serious. How many of you have been interviewed by James Lipton or written posts that didn’t win awards but should have like The Problem With Blogging. Very few I am sure.

Moving on to the next topic a number of people have asked me to answer questions about Triberr. Since I am short on time let me say that Triberr is a tool that if used properly can be a very effective way to extend your reach and to meet really interesting people. Use it poorly and it can turn you and your Twitter stream into something you’d rather not be.

Additional information and opinions can be found in the posts just below:

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I don’t know about you but it has been a long week so your old friend Jack is ready to grab a beer and enjoy some down time. But before I do let me share a quick wrap up of the posts that I published this week:

Wanted

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Wanted the girl who loved the boy who wrote the words below. Take my hand and remember what was still is and can be again…

I had a dream. I dreamt of a place that I had never been to but always wanted to live in. You were there and your arms welcomed me to a place that until then had always lived inside me. You unlocked the passion and the fire that burns inside me.

You helped me to remember that love is meant to sting, that to be apart is to feel an ache that no drug can touch and to be together is to know the meaning of union.

You are my drug of choice, an addiction that I cannot give up. My air and my blood, the wind that fills my sails and were I to lose you I would be forced to revisit that dark place that I used to live in. I would be hollow inside, an empty shell and who knows what might choose to occupy that place.

I knew the day that we kissed that life was going to be different. Few people understand because so few have had the experience and even then few walk that path. When you walk through fire you risk being burned but you also open yourself up to untold rewards.

When just holding hands brings incredible pleasure, when whispers and caresses offer the height of joy and passion there is something special.

When I kissed you I felt your legs go weak and I held you tightly but I was not concerned because my arms were made for holding you tight and feeling your heart beat against mine gives me all the strength that I require.

I had a dream that became reality.

This was based upon the following prompt:

This week’s assignment was to write a personal ad, looking for love.

It could be from the perspective of a character, or one for you or someone you know.

The word limit was 300.

Past submissions are listed below

When Children Die

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There is a lot of joy in that video but I find it is tempered by new from my Facebook feed. Today I found out that death crept into the house of a friend and stole her son. He was nine months old and they don’t know the exact cause of death, but in many ways that doesn’t matter.

It broke my heart to read the news and when I found out that it happened several months ago I felt worse. I can’t say that we were the best of friends or particularly close but there was enough of a connection to merit sharing things on Facebook.

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This is not the first time that Facebook has been the bearer of bad tidings nor do I expect it to be the last. Truth is that social media has introduced me to some very exceptional people and among them are both triumph and tragedy. I have read more than one blog post about lost children. I have been swept up in their loss and grief and wondered why these things happen.

Yet I know full well that there are no answers to the questions that I ask. These stories that I read are nightmares that you don’t just wake up from. They are the monster under the bed that every parent fears and if you don’t feel a sense of dread than I wonder about your sanity and compassion.

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I know too many of these stories. Some of them are because I knew the child or the parent and some are because I know the blogger or have heard of them. And every time I hear these stories I hug my children tight and stare at them. Every time I hear these stories I wander into their room at night and watch them sleep. Their slumber is carefree and removed of worry and slowly I exhale and relax…grateful for what I have. These stories are the harshest reminder that we can get about how things could be worse.

The horror of it is just so very shocking and I only wish that I could more than say I am sorry. But I haven’t found a way to perform miracles so my efforts have to be exerted in other areas. I made a point this morning to write my friend a letter expressing my sincerest condolences. I made a point to keep it simple. I let her know that I was sorry and that there are people out here she can talk to.

I don’t expect to receive a response nor do I need to. I don’t know what this is like or how she is feeling and I won’t lie by saying that I am grateful I don’t. But I am confident in saying that it is important for mourners to feel like they are part of a community. They shouldn’t feel like they have to do this on their own. I am not equating my pain with theirs but they should know that our hearts are broken by this too.

I haven’t the words…so I’ll end by saying that I am really sorry for your loss.

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Be A Part Of My Community

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[The mysterious “they” say that great bloggers are good storytellers.  I am Jack and I want to be used as the example of a great blogger so I would like to invite you to share a story or two with me. And with a little luck at the end of the ride you’ll decide that it is worth your time to stick around and share the adventures that take place here. P.S. I would like to get a 100 comments on this post and 27 more people to become fans of my page. I’d also like money, a new car and an iPad but don’t expect to get any of those so why ask.]

“It’s the way you play that makes it . . . Play like you play. Play like you think, and then you got it, if you’re going to get it. And whatever you get, that’s you, so that’s your story.” – Count Basie

That quote makes me scratch my head and smile. At first glance I looked at it and said, “huh?” But after a moment of letting it marinate inside the old melon it dawned on me that it is perfect. Perfect because my understanding and interpretation of it is that it means to be yourself and do what you do and that is how I blog. I don’t spend time thinking about how to game the system. I don’t spend time trying to make sure that every post is perfect and every comment is profound. I write from the heart and occasionally through in bits and pieces of my head.

This is how I operate and this is part of what brings me joy. I like being a step to the left and a moment off the beat. I don’t care if people think I am weird. Won’t lie and say that I hope that they don’t. Won’t fabricate a story about how it doesn’t matter if I am cool because that would be false. I grew up during the 70s and sometimes I still want to be The Fonz. He may look like a dork now and Happy Days may seem dated but during it is day it was cool.

I mention all this because I have received a number of emails recently asking me for advice on blogging. And my advice is simple, find what brings you joy and write about it. If you are a business blogger find something in your business blog that brings you joy and tap into that sucker. Joy is contagious and people want to spend time with those who are happy. Joy and happiness will help you in your blogging journey. But don’t be afraid to kill a unicorn, spit on a rainbow and use the bunny to get a lucky rabbit’s foot because sometimes we need that sort of release.

See what happens when you hang out with an insouciant fool like me who loves to defenestrate his enemies. Ah, the joy of nonsense is quite stunning and profound. I know, if this was a bus some of you would be jumping off right now because the driver seems a bit unhinged.

“Mathematics may be defined as the subject in which we never know what we are talking about, nor whether what we are saying is true.” Bertrand Russell

If you are among the 17 long time readers or have had the occasion to dig through my archives you will see that my blog covers a variety of topics. I am a daddy blogger and you will find lots of material about parenting, kids and family life. But you will also find thoughts and ideas on politics and religion. And those posts often generate some crazy email and comments.

Earlier tonight a man sent me a 12,000 word screed about why he thinks I am stupid. According to him religion is bad and anyone who professes a belief in god is delusional. So I sent him a response asking him if I could hire him to haunt my house for Halloween and a bill for the letter. When he asked me what the bill was for I told him that God had instructed me to issue an invoice for food, shelter and nice weather.

Apparently he didn’t find this funny and he sent me some very nasty responses. Yes, I said responses. Most people will tell you not to feed the trolls but sometimes I can’t help myself.

I don’t care if he agrees or disagrees with me. Most of those posts are written as a way for me to sort through my thoughts and my beliefs. They bring clarity to my thoughts and help me better understand who I am and what I am about. Earlier today I left a comment on  my friend Kristen’s blog in which I said:

because these words are where you find the pieces of my heart and fragments of my soul. I don’t say that lightly or facetiously, writing is a critical part of me.

“I dwell in possibility.” Emily Dickinson

For more than seven years this blog has been my constant companion and most stalwart friend. It has heard my biggest secrets and borne witness to victory and failures. It is where I figured out what I need to be doing with my life and the place where I work on making those dreams come true. The gloves have come off and the shackles followed. Life is about possibility and opportunity. My joy is to take the possibility that I dwell in and turn it into the opportunity that I want to live in.

I would love for you to join me.

The Problem With Blogging Conference Speakers

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Microphone

The problem with blogging conference speakers is that we expect them to be experts on a particular topic and most of the time they aren’t. We sit in our chairs and hope that at least one member of the panel will be able to shed some insight and distill their words of wisdom and oftentimes it doesn’t happen.

It doesn’t happen because they aren’t experts in the field. They don’t necessarily know more than you do about blogging and how to be successful at it. Sometimes they are far less capable and talented than you are but the difference between them you is that when the call for speakers went out…they answered.

They stood up, raised their hands and said that they would fill a time slot. Bully for them and boo for you.

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You can call this Digital Envy if you wish. Blog Envy is real and every time I write about it I receive a ton of feedback. In part that is because bloggers love to talk about blogging but this isn’t about that. This is about my frustration with conferences that require a substantial registration fee to go hear people who aren’t experts in the field speak about it. I can’t say that I blame the speakers for volunteering their time. If you are trying to build a name for yourself this is one way to do it. You gain good exposure and you obtain a new line for your resume.

My grandfathers would have told me that this is all narishkeit and they are probably right. Narishkeit: (nar-ish-kite) foolishness (a nar is a fool) Why should any of this matter to me and is there a real reason for me to care.

It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.
Teddy Roosevelt Citizenship in a Republic,Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Old Teddy, he of speak softly and carry a big stick fame is correct and I am duly chastised. It is easy for me to poke holes in the fabric of the conference, to complain, critique and comment upon the shortcomings. It is harder to answer the call for speakers with a 500 word essay on what I want to talk about and why it would be a mistake not to include me in the line up.

And the beauty of hindsight is that it allows me to say that it was a mistake not to solicit a spot for BlogworldLA. I could have done so and I didn’t and I take responsibility for that but that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe that there is a problem with speakers. That doesn’t mean that I don’t think that some people are filling space nor does it mean that I am envious.

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There is a time in every mans education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Essay on Self Reliance- Ralph Waldo Emerson

And lest you think that I take myself too seriously I would have asked the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain to open up for me. I would have told them to play the theme to Shaft and then walked up, cool as can be and begun speaking.

Or perhaps I would have opted for this one

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And with a little bit of luck and some hard work I would have shared words that would have moved you. There are stories that I could have told and slides that I could have shared but it is not going to happen this time around and the only one to blame for that is me.

But that is the beauty of blogging. The chance to share our triumphs, failures and teaching moments with ourselves and our readers. We only get so many somedays so the best we can do is make tomorrow today.

He Screamed & So Did His Dad

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It is not supposed to be like this. Life isn’t supposed to mirror a bad sitcom or resemble a silly movie. The things that happen there are exaggerated for comedic or dramatic effect. Yet I find myself wondering when fiction morphed into reality.

The baby is coming…soon. It is not supposed to happen today or tomorrow. The magical due date says that D-Day is two weeks away. The books and docs say that it could happen sooner but that it probably won’t. I try not to read anything into her facial expressions but every gasp, grimace and groan makes me look for the bag and keys.

Real life isn’t like the movies. Those things are possible, but unlikely…right. There won’t be any speed records set on the way to the hospital. Nor will a motorcycle cop pull us over only to be convinced that we need a police escort to get there on time because no baby is going to be born in the front/back seat or any other place of the this beautiful blue Honda CRV. It is brand new, just a few months older than the child it will carry.

I live and die a thousand lives on the freeway. The commute between house to work and work to home has become grueling. What happens if the baby comes during rush hour. No, it won’t happen that way. No need to worry because that is a movie. Besides there are two more weeks and a baby shower this weekend.

A unisex baby shower that is. The guys want to know what happens there. They offer to serve as the designated driver just in case the father-to-be drinks too many beers. But that won’t happen. No sir, dad-to-be is in Secret Service mode. Every trip into the outside world  is carefully planned. He scans the area looking for danger and makes sure that no man, woman, child or beast comes close to the belly of the mom-to-be. During a trip to the mall he spots a man running wildly towards them and throws a block into the midsection of the runner that would make NFL coaches proud.

Relax. Breathe. It is ok. The baby is fine or so he is told. It is easy for mom to be. She carries the baby. Nature has given her secret knowledge and he isn’t privy to it.

Kids in the mall are screaming. Moms and dads of young children are covered in mysterious substances. They seem unaware of the goo as well as deaf. How can they not hear that screaming.

Night comes and sleep beckons. Tomorrow he will go to the highway  patrol to learn how to install the car seat.

A hand shakes his shoulder and a voice says “my water broke.” What, where, when and why aren’t I wet he thinks/asks.

Time passes and he is standing next to a boy who looks like Doogie Howser. Doogie tells him to hold her legs and tell her to push. She doesn’t need to be told. One look makes it clear that it would be dangerous to suggest it.

A head emerges but it is not clear yet what the sex is. This beautiful baby is covered in muck and goo. Dad remembers someone saying that babies looks like Winston Churchill and giggles. “Push harder, we need to find out if we have a boy or girl.” The air is thick with anticipation.

He screams and so does his dad. A son is born and life has just become simply amazing.

This was a post for the Red Dress Club which is now known as Write on Edge. The prompt is:

This week we asked you to let narrative take a backseat. We asked you to step back into a significant moment in your life and bring us back the sensory treasures you found there, the feelings, scents, textures, sounds, tastes, and colors of the moment.

I think this needs work. Time constraints prevented me from devoting as much time to it as I would have liked but for the sake of practice I jumped on it. I would rather try and fail than not try at all. If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below: