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 November 2013

I Want To Murder The Elf On The Shelf

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Hadyakh

I don’t know about you but I think the Elf on The Shelf dude is creepy.  When I posted that he reminds me of Chucky in disguise I was not kidding.

Post by TheJackB.

Hell, when I see him it makes me think of all of the benefits of a premeditated first strike. Take him out during daylight hours while he hibernates because when the house is dark all hell just might break loose.

Good thing I am Jewish because that little psychopath is never going to sit on the mantle in my home. No way, no how.

I’d rather run and play in traffic than to take my chances with him. I know, not the kind and gentle Jack you are used to seeing but let’s not forget that I beat up Santa Claus and cooked The Easter Bunny.

Serious Writing For a Serious Crowd

I played around with some more serious topics. Thought about writing again about how The Wiggles Don’t Play here any more. Thought about sharing some stories about how my kids are growing up too quickly and how much life has changed.

You don’t hear about Captain Feathersword any more. My son doesn’t go wild for Thomas The Tank Engine and instead of talking about the Hokey-Pokey my daughter talks about twerking, thank you Miley.

But I didn’t want to focus on that any more than why I don’t like using “Best” as my signature on emails or review the Lessons for Being Human.

I just want to keep writing for the joy of writing and because I think this post was junk. I almost deleted it.

Thought about it but kept it because sometimes I use bad posts to measure my good posts against or at least that is the theory. It is part of what you try to do when you engage in serious writing for a serious crowd.

He Hates What I Love

We are going away for the weekend and my son has done nothing but complain about how awful it is going to be. He doesn’t understand that part of why his whining frustrates me is I love our destination. It is one of my favorite places in the world and it holds great meaning to me.

I want him to love it too. Got no problem admitting that.

He has been there before but it is about five years or so. He doesn’t really remember it and those of his friends who have been more recently have badmouthed it so his opinion is skewed.

Truth is that he doesn’t have to love it. I don’t need or want him to be a clone of me but I would really like for him to have a better attitude about this.

My concern is that he is going to paint himself into a corner where he has to dislike it so I made a point to stop talking to him about it, especially when he told me it is wrong for me to abuse my power by forcing him to go.

That made me see red so I told him I would stop abusing my power to pay for other fun things like Chanukah gifts and a Bar Mitzvah. He gave me a half assed apology and I nodded.

I was 13 once too.

Most of the time he is fantastic, but when he chooses to be a pain-in-the-ass he does an outstanding job. The boy who loved watching The Wiggles used to melt down sometimes and I would dream about the day when he understood logic.

Now he does a decent job of trying to use logic and reason to argue his way out of things and might I add that he is like his father– too damn tenacious with some of this.

Time To Run

And now I have to go. I just heard the floorboard creak softly and I need to check it out. That crazy elf isn’t going to sneak up on me and catch me unaware.

I’ll go Judah Maccabee on him with my Curious George Menorah.

See you in the AM. Be good to each other.

Bloggers & Social Media Experts Are Delusional

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wallpaper - The ISLAND

Warning: I don’t know what this post is about so I can’t tell you if I am going to rant, write about my kids, talk about sex, writing or anything else because I am just writing now. It may not follow the headline or it might.

It is an exercise in free thought. This is me opening up the grand cavern between my ears and just clearing it out. Not going to be censored or edited. It is just my thoughts and that might get me in trouble, embarrass you and me or might not do a damn thing at all.

I really don’t know because I am just writing about whatever comes to mind because I am frustrated now. Frustrated because I am in the in-between place where I don’t have everything I want but am so damn close I can see, touch and taste it. Frustrated because my inclination is to push harder and that won’t work. Won’t matter if I push harder because I can’t make time move faster…or slower.

Drove around to clear my head and saw a sign for massage. Thought about getting one and then I remembered that just before I left for Texas a guy told me he got a blow job for $40 bucks in that place and thought about whether a $40 blow job makes you feel good, bad or indifferent.

Is she thinking about laundry or getting you out of there as fast as she can so she can get to the next customer. I didn’t stop at that place to get a massage nor did I stop at any other because I knew I was going to play ball that night and it didn’t make sense to do it nor do I want to go to one of those places.

It is not my thing but damn a good massage would be nice.

Post Length and Frequency

I have had multiple conversations with people about how often we should post and how frequently and I almost never agree with what I hear.

People keep telling me about how people don’t read anything longer than 500 words and how they don’t publish “too often” because they don’t want to upset their readers. They tell me that more people will read my work if I spend more time writing better posts and don’t publish as frequently.

Sometimes when we talk about these things I start to tune out and think about other things like how many people are getting $40 blow jobs and how many bloggers exaggerate about how well they are doing.

And then I wonder how many of you are going to wonder about me and $40 blow jobs and what that might do to my SEO. It doesn’t really matter much to me because I write because I love this stuff and because it is cathartic. And then I look to my right and I see a stack of old pictures and I see me.

I am about 20 or so and I remember that day. Just got back from camp and I got a goodbye blow job from my girlfriend before we both left to go back to school. I don’t know what happened to her or where she is now. Haven’t ever looked her up on social media platforms or really thought about her.

Probably says volumes about our relationship but I guarantee that moment was better than a $40 blow job.

What I Should Be Doing

What I should be doing now is focusing more intently on wwriting stories. What I should focus on is taking those stories from the rough, raw pieces they are and converting them into something that can be built upon.

This is guilt speaking now. Guilt because for years I have been saying this and I haven’t ever finished it. I take some of them and move them along. I put the words down and create the characters that you and I want to read about. Take those characters and put them in situations that are interesting and relatable and I see in my mind the foundation and completion of it all.

I see a couple who weathers multiple storms and who figure out how to overcome great odds and adversity because even though it is hard, complicated and complex it is what they do.

They look at 1724, 83168 and 5969 and see not just questions but answers because the numbers are a guide and they serve as puzzle pieces.

So what I should be doing is focusing on that and instead I keep mentioning $40 blow jobs but maybe it is because I can see story elements there and maybe that is what is driving this. I know some of you are thinking it is because I want a blow job that I keep mentioning it and there might be truth in that but show me a virile male who isn’t interested and I’ll say he doesn’t want to admit it.

Sometimes You Have To Do The Work

Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to be the one to do the work. I talk to the kids about the value of working hard and working smart. You don’t get much from outworking the next person unless you are smart about it. There is a lot of value in hard work because hard work is often the foundation of luck.

But working hard without a goal, without direction, without focus or point is a good way to exhaust yourself. Don’t mistake activity for achievement.

And when I write down these words in a longer post than I normally write so many things become more clear and the thoughts that are swirling around my head and distracting me have quieted down. Noise and chaos are at a reduced volume so I can focus on doing the things that lead to achievement and are not just activity disguised as busy work.

Which reminds me that bloggers and social media experts are often delusional or at least the claims they sometimes make are. I can’t stomach half the advice I read because it is the echo chamber spitting out the same tired advice and it is not always good or accurate.

I still don’t believe that people don’t read long copy and I still don’t accept that some of you are as successful as you claim to be. But I understand your ability to sell product/services to others is contingent upon your convincing people that you are so  I suppose it is an honest reason to lie.

Possession Of A Penis Does Not Make You Evil

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Red Umbrella

This is not the post I intended or wanted to write. These words are heavy upon my heart because I am a father and I sometimes wonder about the world my children are growing up in.

I look around and listen to the rhetoric and shake my head because so many people talk about things in a way that makes me wonder if maybe I am the crazy one because I just don’t follow their logic and reasoning.

And so I find myself shaking my head because I read more posts tonight about the world we live in and how some people designate it as a “rape culture” world and when I read the comments from angry women I wonder.

Sons and Daughters

I have a son and a I have a daughter so when I hear/read things that impact girls/women it doesn’t fall upon completely deaf errors. Since she is 9.5 going on 30 my focus on some issues varies. She may talk about dating boys but I know she is not really interested and that now it is designed to get a reaction from me.

But I think about what I want to tell her about dating and consider how to best protect her. Some believe in scaring the hell out of children so that they don’t do certain things but it is not the sort of tactic that I want to involve here.

I don’t want to teach her to fear boys and men. I don’t want to classify a gender as being inherently evil because they possess a penis and that is part of what I am concerned about.

Concerned because some of these “rape culture” posts are written in a way that suggests men are guilty until proven innocent. Written in such a way that they seem to me to be as bad as suggesting a woman who dresses a certain way is asking to be raped.

These posts make me shake my head and wonder what I need to do protect our boys from this unfair accusation and blanket labeling. It makes me angry because it feels like we have jumped onto Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and logic/reason is thrown out the window.

And then I think about my daughter and things I have heard/seen and read about and wonder what happens to her in all this.

What Should I Do

There is no period, question or exclamation mark in that subhead because I am not quite sure how I want that to read. I am the father of a son and daughter. I am supposed to teach, guide and protect them.

I look at these crazy, accusatory posts and think about how some mothers have given me the stinkeye at the park or been crazed when I walked into the same men’s room their sons are using.

Part of me nods my head in understanding and part of me shakes it because possession of a penis isn’t evil. Women do bad things too. Female teachers sometimes sleep with teenage boys but our sons don’t always get the same response because this isn’t always seen the same way as if a male teacher slept with a teenage girl.

When I think about my own dating/relationship history I see some crazy moments in there. I remember the girl who told me that if I could pin her I would be able to kiss her. And when the 14 year-old boy I was came close she started yelling no and I stopped. I had sisters, no was no and then she laughed at me and said that I gave up too easily.

Or the time in college when a different girl told me that I should have tried harder to kiss her at a party because I should know she couldn’t make it easy.

Blurry Lines

I have had conversations with women about these moments. The responses are never uniform. Some women have said they want a man to overpower and take them and others have made it clear that it is never right.

So I made a point to take a very conservative position. Better safe than sorry. Would rather be called a dud than prisoner.

Can’t help but wonder and worry about what will happen when my daughter really does begin dating. Will do my best to help prepare her and then hope all goes as it should.

And in the midst of all this I’ll do my best to help my son figure it all out. Help him understand that he absolutely needs to respect women and that they should respect him too. He is not evil because he has a penis.

It is a crazy world sometimes.

The Secret To Supporting Multiple Blogs- NaBloPoMo

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My Old Kitchen
My Old Kitchen.

I don’t believe in Writer’s Block nor do I suffer from it. The only problem I have with writing lies in how much I dislike most of what I write.

The words flow from my fingers onto the page and when I look at them I cringe and wonder why I would ever publish something as awful as what I am looking at. I stare at it and wonder why when I call the words forth they refuse to assemble in a way that is pleasing and then I just shrug my shoulders and move on because the only way to get to the other side is by going through.

I Just Murdered 800 Words

Yeah, I just deleted 800 words because I thought they were simply awful and I couldn’t stomach giving them life. It was another case of bad blogging and I wasn’t willing to be guilty this time around so you are getting this post instead.

This is where I tell you that NaBloPoMo is an exercise in which people blog daily and that if you can blog daily you can support multiple blogs because both of them are exercises in discipline.

Look at the blurry photo above and you see the new kitchen from my old house but I see 10,000 memories and that reminds me that the best bloggers are storytellers.

That is the trick we all want to master, learning how to tell a story that is so compelling people can’t help but keep reading. It is a big part of why I write daily because the goal is to figure out how to master that trick and I haven’t a clue how it is done other than to practice writing with reckless abandon.

Give Life To Old Posts

Sometimes I try to revive old posts by sharing them long after they ran with the hope that readers who haven’t seen them will find a golden nugget among them.

It is why I decided to share the links below with you. Something in it may resonate with you or maybe I still feel guilty for murdering those other words.

There is always time for one more story. All you need to do is write it down so that someone can discover it. I write bunches of them over here. Or you can check out one of the samples below

You Aren’t Supposed To Dance In Pools of Blood

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Red Swimming-Pool III DDC_4822

I was there.

I saw what happened.

You might not believe it but that is probably because you don’t want to believe it. Our bodies aren’t supposed to look like that. We don’t bend like that, at least not those of us that are still living.

And the blood, oh my lord, the blood. There were so many puddles of it splattered around the room. I couldn’t decide what was worse the footprints that led away from that indescribable scene or the pool of red that had collected in that one place.

It was like a train wreck or a car accident. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. Couldn’t stop staring at those things that used to be people.

Couldn’t stop wondering what happened and how. Did it hurt? Did they cry out in pain and or shock? Were they aware of what was happening?

Somewhere someone was crying or maybe sobbing was more like it. I can’t tell you why I wasn’t or how I managed not to throw up. I guess that I was numb and or in shock. At least I hope that is why I felt so much and so little.

They say that when you reach this point it is time to get out. They say that when you feel nothing your best bet is to find someone to talk to but I don’t have that. Truth is neither do they.

That is because we gave away our right to make decisions like that. That is because when we signed up we said we would do whatever was asked of us until such time as we were discharged.

Discharged. Every time I hear that word I laugh. It is such a plain and sterile word that says absolutely nothing and everything.

It is the perfect word for how they view us. We aren’t people to them. We aren’t humans that have blood, sweat and tears. We are just mechanical creatures that offer a bit more than the science fiction robots that use artificial intelligence.

Trust me, I know things. I know tales that I’ll never tell and stories that I’ll never share.

I want to. I really do. If I could get them out I might be able to sleep again but I can’t quite bring myself to walk down those gray halls of memory. I can’t go there in darkness or daylight. It is too much.

Except when I sleep.

Sleep always takes me back to that place and I see the things that I can’t stand to see. I remember what I want to forget. I stand in the places that I never want to see again. And I scream.

Or at least that is what they tell me.

I scream in my sleep.

No one wants to be near me then because they say what comes out of me doesn’t sound quite right. That is their way of trying to make me feel better but I read between the lines.

No one really wants to be around me in general because I am not quite right. Oh I can fool you for a while. I can make you think I am just like everyone else but sooner or later you’ll begin to see or sense things aren’t quite what you thought.

The other docs gave me some pills to help me sleep and said that they wouldn’t let me dream. They don’t work. I still see them. I still hear them.

Alcohol doesn’t work either. Doesn’t matter how much I drink or what cuz there is never silence.

Sometimes I think about my last normal day and wonder if I can ever find a way to go back. I picture it in my mind. I see this enormous canyon stretching out in front of me.

There is no bridge or way to cross it. Too far to jump and impossible to fly to. But somehow I still see everything that happens over there. It is all sunshine and roses. People laughing, children playing- just happy times.

That might be the worst part of it for me. I can see it. I can hear it. I can remember it.

But I can’t get to it.

It all goes back to the beginning.

I was there.

I saw what happened.

Doctors and Desire

Someone might want to tell the doc that there are better choices in music than the country music station we are listening to in the waiting room.

It is not because I don’t like country but because guys like me shouldn’t be listening to He Stopped Loving Her Today. You don’t want us to get lost in thought about people we loved and what happened to them.

Don’t want us thinking about days when we were whole and lives that we can’t ever get back. Don’t want us thinking about wives that couldn’t deal with broken men and who found now guys who were whole.

Some of us are aware that the rosy painted picture we have in our minds isn’t real and that we had hard times back then too. Some of us know that life was rough and that our marriages weren’t great before we left but we don’t think like we used to and we certainly don’t feel like we once did so you don’t want to push us.

Don’t want to push us out of the comfort zones we have built. Don’t want us to leave the hidey holes inside our heads that we have built because we haven’t much in the way of coping skills but we have lots of anger.

And we have lots of skill at releasing that anger in the most violent and destructive manner you can imagine.

I am here today because I want to do something about this. I am here because I was serious when I told the doctor that I have desires that I fear to speak about out loud.

And I am not afraid of much of anything anymore.

Truth is that my fear isn’t what normal people think of when they hear the word. My fear is that if I let go and let rage take over I will like it.

And there is no telling what will happen then.

Editor’s Note: This is part of a work of fiction I am writing.