Archives for 2014
Outlines Kill Blogs, People & Aliens
The biggest challenge with using a pseudonym online is the difficulty presented in showing your work to prospective employers.
When they tell you they don’t think you are qualified to help them build their online widget factory because you haven’t shown them a portfolio that proves you have the skills and experience necessary to help www.ourwidgetsdontsuck.com.
Sometimes I want to snap a photo of the wry grin that resides upon my face and send it to them with a note saying “If you only knew what you were missing.”
It is the sort of passive-aggressive response that is unlikely to lead anywhere I really want to go so I haven’t ever done it. However when the email comes from a human I have been known to send a polite response that suggests they didn’t read my resume and that if they’ll give me five minutes I’ll demonstrate it is worth their time.
That doesn’t always work but it provides me with a sense of satisfaction that I have done what I could to try to facilitate things.
Outlines Kills Blogs, People & Aliens
Several of you have asked me to provide more details about how I write these posts and have asked for specifics information about how I come up with topics.
The high level answer is I almost never use an outline or come up with the topic before I start writing.
That loud gasp you just heard probably came from one or more of my English teachers who said we need an outline to keep our writing tight and focused.
Maybe that is true but it also true that chalk outlines are always used to mark dead bodies or at least we think they are.
Have you ever seen a dead body that wasn’t outlined in chalk? How do we know that poor devil wasn’t just some guy taking a nap. You know they decided to lie upon the ground and catch a few winks and were caught unaware by the chalk outline murderer.
A friend of mine said that is a ridiculous hypothesis but I asked him to tell me the last time he saw a chalk outline of a person and no police presence. Apparently the police agree with my ridiculous hypothesis.
Furthermore you don’t see chalkboards in most schools anymore and you don’t see peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in most any more either. The lack of the PB&J sandwich isn’t because the Duke of sandwiches isn’t still tasty, filling and nutritious. It is because many children have developed allergies to nuts.
So it is possible that they have also developed severe allergies to chalk dust which could lead us to the conclusion that chalk might cause a fatal reaction in some, hence the chalk outline killer is someone to be feared.
When I think back to my school days I remember getting into trouble more than once for clapping chalkboard erasers together or on the walls. That memory includes people choking and coughing on the dust which leads my twisted little mind to wonder if maybe I am immune to the chalk dust which could make me the perfect person to catch the chalk outline killer.
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The primary reason I am not a huge fan of outlines for blog posts is that sometimes the writer loses their voice among all that structure.
Storytellers Unite
I miss all of my grandparents and I will for the rest of my life but the hole my grandfathers filled is one that may never be filled.
For 42 years I was among the luckiest people around because I always had at least one of them in my life and now that generation is gone.
I miss them for a thousand reasons not the least of which is they were both better storytellers than I am. I miss listening to and learning from them.
In many ways my professional life has more similarities to what they went through than my father. Â That is not a knock against my dad by any means but sometimes it is easier to have a conversation with people who have walked in your shoes because they understand things in a way that others can’t.
And now I have reached a moment in time where my gut says they wouldn’t just get it they would know what to say. It might not be anything more profound than the only way to the other side is go through but that would work because I listened to them.
Yeah, I just acknowledged I am not always good at listening to comments or advice from lots of other people. I often tune it out because I don’t think they really understand what is happening or recognize that you can’t always apply what was to what is.
Sometimes I hear their voices talking to me, encouraging me to take one more step, to hold on a moment longer and sometimes I hear them yelling at me not to act like an idiot.
I never question whether it is my imagination or if they are talking to me from the other side because it doesn’t matter. What matter is the echoes of the past reach into the present in a positive way so why should I care what the reality is or not.
One Last Thing
Played two hours of ball last night, came home and walked up and down stairs that felt like jelly.
My son asked me to sit and talk so I listened to his stories about school and answered questions about this and that. When he was almost asleep he told me again that he is not sure where he fits in and said he doesn’t know what to make of the people at school.
I told him I felt that way more than once when I was in school and said it has happened as an adult too.
Told him life is a series of experiences and evolutions but I didn’t tell him sometimes revolutions come with those moments too. But I told him to keep taking it one day at a time and to remember I’ll always be there to help push him along and prop him up.
And somewhere in the back of my head this image of my grandfathers materialized and I could see them smiling. I could feel them standing close and I remembered introducing them to their great grandson.
Later on as I drifted off to sleep I remembered my maternal grandfather and I watching my son get fitted for a tuxedo for my sister’s wedding and I remembered his taking my hand and telling me how proud he was of both of us.
It is too bad he won’t see me catch that chalk outline killer, he’d really be proud then too.
How A Big P**** Helps Bloggers
Many years ago a woman asked me if I had ever measured myself. It wasn’t based upon prurient interest but stemmed from curiosity about how men think and act.

It came in the midst of a long, talk into the wee hours of the evening about anything and everything. The way I remember it she said something like, “do men really do that and if so, did you?”
So I pulled out a yardstick and said,”no, I never did find an appropriate tool for measuring it.”
That was tongue-in-cheek but it is tied into how I feel about trying to figure out who has the biggest, best and most successful blog.
Most of those conversations bore me because they tend to have as much value as trying to say that a man who is called ‘Tripod’ is better at some activities than someone called ‘Tiny.’
It is far too simplistic an approach to say that someone who has more pageviews and comments is a better blogger than another. Size isn’t always indicative of skill level or ability.
Sometimes all it proves is you got lucky to draw from the right bag of DNA and nothing more.
How Do You Define Success In Blogging?
This is always my starting place for a discussion. How do you define success in blogging is what you need to determine prior to engaging in any sort of legitimate conversation about success in blogging.
If you don’t come to a consensus first about what success is then all you do is engage in a silly conversation about who is carrying what in their pants and not about ability.
I have to leave in ten minutes to go coach my daughter’s soccer team so I am going to make this post shorter than I might if I had time to really let go and just write.
But if I had that time I would spend time talking about my desire to become a better writer and to improve as a storyteller. I would talk about how I need to review the posts in Twenty-Five Links That Will Make You A Better Writer/Blogger and see if they need to be updated/fixed/improved.
I’d talk about needing to review the links here to see if they are telling the story I want them to tell and then I’d mention that what I want from blogging is happening already.
Changes/Life Altering Changes
Blogging has changed my life. It has a had a profound, course-altering, ‘you won’t be the same because of this’ effect upon life. And then I would tell you the effect of that has been dramatic and I am grateful for it.
I’d say it has been a ten a year odyssey that has been filled with magic and hard moments but that I see daylight way off in the distance. It is going to take some time to get there, but I am on my way.
So if you ask me to define a successful blog I’d say mine is and that there is more to go and more to write.
But there is no time to write more now so I’ll be back in about four or five hours to write more because the only way you improve at this game is by reading and writing.
I’ll see you around in a bit. In the interim feel free to read more of the posts about writing and blogging, would love to discuss your thoughts in the comments.
When Gratitude Goes AWOL

It might seem incongruous to slap a Darth Vader quote on a picture of a surfer but it makes perfect sense to me because I am battling the urge to give in to the Dark Side.
My gratitude seems to have gone AWOL and my desire to go find it and bring it back home is almost non existent and tempered by the feeling that it doesn’t matter because the only person I trust now is me.
That is not to say I am without friends because I am fortunate to have many and to have the kind you can call at any time. People I could call and ask to come get me and no matter where I was in the world they would try.
But the kind of help I really want/desire is not the sort they can offer and I won’t ask for what they can because if they can’t help there I have nothing else to ask.
And the truth is I won’t say more than I have or go looking for what they can’t provide because there is no upside to it.
These are not words you’ll hear me say in person either and I am not sure I’ll publish this post or leave it up if I do.
These words are here now because they take the edge off and because they just might provide some much needed clarity.
Clarity For When You Lack Perspective
Whenever I find myself in the midst of an uncomfortable situation I think about what I would advise my children to do if they were in it.
Sometimes it leads me to think I hope they are smarter than their old man and sometimes I shrug my shoulders because shit happens and I can’t say for certain it won’t happen to them.
But what is driving the crazy feeling in my head is an internal seesaw in which I feel certain there is no way I won’t figure this out and a small whisper that says maybe I won’t.
Maybe this time when I fall off of the board the waves will finally have their way with me and I’ll be like Charlie Brown trying to kick the ball while Lucy is holding it for him.
It doesn’t feel particularly far fetched because the people I never thought to pull the ball out from under me did.
I don’t want to be that guy who doesn’t trust anyone and who always has low expectations because it doesn’t work very well for me. Â My nature is such that when I feel something I FEEL it.
When the kids tell me they are upset about life being unfair I nod my head and tell them I understand. I tell them to recognize it never has been and never will be.
Sometimes that leads us into conversations about fighting for equality but I always tell them there are limits to that, Everyone should have the same ability to work hard for things. You shouldn’t be limited or restrained based upon race/religion/creed and all that other stuff we learn as we grow up.
But we know some people are born with certain advantages and I am ok with that. If your family is wealthy you’ll have some advantages that come along with it and I don’t particularly care.
I Find Your Lack Of Faith Disturbing
That quote is directed at me. It is me yelling/giving myself a pep talk because of whiny monologue in my head about how things are and how I want them to be.
Kind of funny because if you know me you know I remark upon how many people are unhappy with the world because they live in a world of “I wish life was like XYZ” and not as things are.
Hell it would be great if I were four inches taller because I wouldn’t have to drop a single pound. Wouldn’t hurt if I could fly or had super strength but those are wishes for things I can’t control and are highly unlikely to ever happen.
I have the ability to influence so many other things in my life so there is little reason to let myself believe that I am stuck where I am forever because I can do something about it.
Somewhere in this blog I wrote about that and said something to the effect of, “if you don’t like your life make a change. Move. You are not a fucking tree rooted to one place.”
But I seem to have forgotten about that and when I reminded myself I wondered if I could really do it so it is appropriate to have a 7 foot tall Sith lord yell at me about my lack of faith.
Because I have gotten through every bad day and past every challenge.
So why won’t I find a way this time as well.
Cancel Christmas Because I Beat Up Santa Claus
In my mind the headline reads Cancel Christmas Because I Beat Up Santa Claus but I know that part can’t be true because headlines don’t use ‘I’ in them, or at least I can’t remember any that did.
But then again after recent events bits and pieces of my memory are a bit of a blur so maybe I am wrong.
It Is Hard to Say You Beat Up Santa
There are relatively few good ways to tell most people that you beat up Santa Claus.
Most of them start with he was drunk, aggressive and getting too friendly with my wife/kids but those are hard to come by.
My story isn’t quite like that. The jolly old man wasn’t making eyes at my woman or doing bad things to my kids so I don’t have any reasons other than I just don’t like him.
Something about that guy just chaps my hide. Maybe it is because as the Jewish kid I know he automatically puts me on the naughty list.
Once upon a midnight dreary when I found myself in a state between weak and weary I started thinking about how unfair it was not to be gifted with whatever sort of gifts are given to the other team.
Since I am a peace loving fellow I figured the best way to go about this was to figure out who Mr. Claus reports to. Once I had that information it would be easy to encourage him to share some loot with me.
When I began my research discovered the 1-800-Ask a Gentile hotline. I dialed the fine folks over there and much to my chagrin learned it didn’t work. Every time I called I got one of those error messages about the line not being in service.
Since my one track mind isn’t easily dissuaded I called the Vatican and asked to be connected with the pope.
Apparently he isn’t available to take calls nor is he willing to return them, especially when they are of a frivolous or silly nature. I don’t know about you, but a guy who wears a funny pointed hat shouldn’t chew on the butts of other people who enjoy silly.
Anyhoo, time passes and I am stumped. Mrs. Hackleshmackle, the librarian from my high school called me an idiot and said she don’t have to put up with my nonsense no more.
There ain’t no one at the Library of Congress who will answer my question nor is there anyone at the Smithsonian. But like I said, I am determined so I figure I’ll go to the local mall and ask the guy who is playing Santa Claus if he can help me out.
So I head on over to the Short Hills Mall and find myself talking to an elf who has a real Jersey attitude. I say, Snooky, I got no time to deal with an elf who smells like she doused herself with a combination of kerosene and Chanel Number Smellslikecrap. Just tell the fat guy I need to talk.
I don’t even want to tell you what sort of response I got, but it was pretty vulgar. Fortunately Santa heard us talking and he waddled over and what he said shocked me.
That fat old man used a series of four letter words in a fashion that cannot be described as friendly or jolly.
Well, no one gets a free poke at me so I told Santa that if he didn’t apologize I was going to kick his ass.
Jersey Santa didn’t take too kindly to that so he vaulted over the candy cane fence and came straight for me.
Santa, I ain’t one of your elves. The sarge told me he loved me because I am a hard charger with a head full of rocks. Step back or risk having your bag of coal shoved so far up your ass a match and a burp will start a fire.
Needless to say Jersey Santa didn’t take my advice but he did take five fingers in the mouth, a boot to the ass and a hard right to the gut.
Had there been a window he probably would have been defenestrated, but sadly luck was not on my side.
I’d like to say I got through the moment unscathed and unharmed but that wouldn’t be true.
Two of Santa’s elves jumped me from behind. One of them bit my shoulder and the other grabbed a hold of the kind of package that requires more TLC than they gave it.
And Santa, well he surprised me with a hook shot that almost knocked me on my ass. I have to give him credit for that one, it was almost as good as he got.
Twenty-five years later I still don’t get anything on Christmas nor have I ever figured out who Santa’s boss is. But I got some good memories and I didn’t get arrested, so I guess I got that going for me.
Editor’s Note: This post has appeared in various forms on this blog and elsewhere from time to time, most recently here. Based upon comments from the past I’ll remind you it falls under the narishkeit category and may or may not be true or exaggerated.
If you enjoyed this you might try It Wasn’t Worth Getting Arrested and The Flying Clown.
The Lonely Blogger
Yesterday I told you how I spent money I didn’t have because my heart believes I am going to make something special happen with the product/service I bought with the money I don’t have.
Today I offer you a quote and a picture that are tied into that product and the dream of the future. It is fitting to do so because today I feel very much like I am standing on the outside looking in…again.
Except this time I am far more cognizant of why I am standing on the outside looking in. This time I am doing it because I have reached a turning point in my journey and I can’t go any farther without acknowledging certain truths about it.
It is the point where you close your eyes and say you have perfect faith you are going to figure it all out and you are going to do so in a manner that is unorthodox and untraditional.
If the Hogwarts Express were real this is what you would feel when you pushed your luggage full speed at a wall knowing that you won’t hurt yourself because magic would transport you to the other side where you’d find yourself waiting for a special train to take you to a special place.
Ask me if I am frightened and I will nod my head. Ask me why I am doing this and I’ll tell you there are some things I know in my heart that aren’t the kind of thing you explain with logic or reason.
That is the rub and the riddle right there.
It Hurts My Heart
This afternoon my son told me he has another group project to do in school. I listened as he told me about how he feels like no one wants to be in a group with him and it hurt my heart.
I don’t know if it is true or his perception. I don’t know what to think here because I know it is possible he is correct and it hurts my heart.
My son is a beautiful boy with the kind of work ethic, good spirit and kind heart we all should have.
Sometimes I wonder if he sees and senses the turmoil inside my own heart and the uncertainty I try to hide behind my eyes. I don’t know if it would help him to hear me tell him why it exists and to try to explain what is going on because there is a lot there.
The kids have never gone hungry other than by choice. If you don’t like the food on your plate and choose not to eat that is your decision, but no one here has ever skipped a meal because the cupboard was bare.
He is aware that I am interested in moving us with a lower cost of living. He knows that he doesn’t get every thing he asks for but that is no different from times when I have been flush.
There is no reason for he or his sister to expect to get everything without working for it. Gratitude doesn’t come from never having to earn things. There is a balance I want to try to achieve between giving, getting and receiving.
I told him this weekend I feel like I have finally really figured out what I want to do and am doing my best to make it my career. Told him that he doesn’t have to make a decision now about what he wants to be or do and that he is not locked into one thing as an adult.
These are truths I believe but there are moments when I think about what kind of doctor or lawyer I could have been. When you hear me dream about what kind of baseball, football  or basketball player I’ll readily concede these are dreams, but I would have been good at practicing law/medicine.
Some say they think I would have made an excellent litigator but wonder how I would have handled representing someone or something I didn’t believe in.
But when I think about practicing law I like to picture myself as a scholar of Constitutional law. Something about that sounds both noble and interesting.
Old Doc Steiner would have gone to war with the insurance companies about the right way to practice medicine or so I like to think. He would have fought to give his patients the very best and railed against half ass measures.
I could have been those men and done those things except they didn’t have enough of the magic that words and storytelling have for me.
But they might have provided a more stable income and deeper pockets and maybe that would have helped mitigate some of the craziness and maybe my son wouldn’t feel as he does now, or maybe he would.
The joy of being a teen in middle school is that the carousel of life feels even stronger than it normally does.
The Lonely Blogger
You know writing can be lonely business and that sometimes you feel like some sort of social outcast. I don’t know why my brain works the way it does nor do I spend much time trying to figure it it out.
I am who I am and you will like me or you won’t. Or maybe you’ll be really lucky and love me and be loved by me. Woohoo, secret messages, but I digress.

Maybe the memories of the scars is why I choose to walk down this path or maybe it is because I am taking what comes easily to me and trying to do something with it.
I think what some people fail to recognize is I don’t spend all of my time picking and poking at these things. Most of the time it happens when I choose to write about certain things. It is like I flip a switch and the projector of my life starts flashing images at me to choose from.
It is an old fashioned projector I see in my head, the kind we used in schools. I can hear the clicking noise it makes as the film rolls through, see the bright white light against the wall/screen while the teacher feeds the film into it.
But I don’t remember it all, don’t remember everything with complete perfection.
Some memories have faded and some haven’t.
Some of those that have gone away come back to visit upon occasion, surprising me with their unexpected arrival.
The funny thing is the more I move into the future the harder I start digging into the past because those moments and memories are filled with story fodder.
So in order to move ahead I have to go back. Sometimes the contradictions in life just make me shake my head and smile.