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 August 2015

Almost 69 Reasons Why Social Media Platforms Don’t Matter

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breedingLet’s cut to the chase immediately: I am not going to provide you with 69 reasons why social media platforms don’t matter. That is not because I can’t come up with 69 reasons because I can, but it is unnecessary.

What is necessary is gaining your attention and now that I have it here is what you need to know and remember.

The most important part of social media isn’t the platform but the people.

It is not complicated, but some people need to read/hear messages several times before they sink in so I am going to repeat it.

The most important part of social media isn’t the platform but the people.

I love blogging and I love Twitter but neither one of them is worth a damn without people. If people didn’t matter Facebook wouldn’t use a body part  as part of its name. Pinterest is exciting to its users because of people.

The reason I mention this is because we are inundated with posts that provide guides for how to be successful in social media. Most of those guides offer a tiny section where they say that content is king and that you should provide value to your readers, but that is not enough for me.

The most important part of social media isn’t the platform but the people.

People remember how you make them feel. If you make them feel valued and special they will spend time with you. They will form communities and help support you and the others in the community.

I am not a saint. I won’t try to portray myself as one. This isn’t an attempt at self deprecation or me saying “aw shucks, I am just a dad.” I am a man who has lots of good qualities and plenty of bad ones.

Some of the negative ones are things that you love and some are things you hate. That is really neither here nor there. What matters though is that I recognize that people make social media run.

What matters is that I am teaching my children to look at the world around them and give back. I want them to know that they live magical lives where they might not have as much as others but a hell of a lot more than many.

They never go hungry or worry about where they are going to sleep. Their clothes are clean, they aren’t thirsty and they get dirty by choice.

One of my responsibilities as their father and a dad blogger is to teach them to give back. I do that in person and I remark about it here so that in the future they remember.

The most important part of social media isn’t the platform but the people.

This blog isn’t solely about trying to build a platform for work or to secure an agent for books. It is not solely about chronicling the lives of my children or sharing my thoughts.

It is about doing the right thing in a general sense and today it is a reminder that social media is about people and so is life.

When you give back good things happen. Every now and then we need to go out and help people. I don’t care if you volunteer or give money solely because you think it gives you good karma because if do it you might help improve a life and that is worth doing.

This isn’t me trying to be profound or insightful. It is just my attempt to weave together two things under one roof. Social media isn’t about the platforms, it is about the people and so is life.

(This is an environmentally friendly post. It is recycled and originally ran here.)

Maybe All You Need Are Comfortable Shoes?

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There are guidelines that are supposed to prevent people from encountering a drunk and disorderly Smokey The Bear.

I suppose that is a good thing because one hopes that some of our heroes never cross that line between permissible decorum and shit that will get you thrown out of a bar.

Those of you playing the home game may wonder if I have intimate knowledge about what it takes to get kicked out of a bar and to you I would say…not a bar.

But I was kicked out of a pet store when I was seven. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time because I watched an older kid mess around with the animals and consequently we were both expelled from the store.

I don’t remember what he did but I remember the incident because I didn’t know the other boy and didn’t do anything but was tarred and feathered by his misdeeds anyway.

Call it an early lesson in learning that life isn’t always fair.

However in the interest of full disclosure I’ll acknowledge I was once kicked out of a party at an apartment for reasons I can’t entirely remember.

Call it an early lesson in learning that life isn't always fair.Click To Tweet

I was about twenty and very drunk.

The guys tell me that four guys picked me up and physically threw me out the front door. They also say that I was lucky because I offered to fight all four…at the same time.

I like to think the other four feared my inner Wolverine or Batman and that is why it didn’t happen.

But I’ll lay odds that since I successfully prevented two of them from tossing me out the collective group decided that it was smarter not to engage with an idiot who wasn’t feeling any pain.

Thankfully this didn’t take place in the age of social media or my idiocy might be part of a digital footprint that followed me around forever.

genius

The Traveling Jack Show Goes On The Road Again

It won’t be long before the Traveling Jack show goes on the road again.

Won’t be long before I’ll stuff myself into a tin can in a space better suited to a ten-year-old boy for an extended period of time.

Won’t be long before I’ll be in a position to look at the current circumstances and gain some more clarity about existing situations and perhaps be able to make decisions based upon hard data and not gut feelings.

Or at least that is the hope and the dream, the reality is probably far different.

The reality is probably closer to being told you are the right guy and that you have all that is needed but good timing.

Matter of fact I have been told that before and if I listen carefully I can hear the echo of said words in my head as well as my response.

Again for those of you playing the home game I’ll share I don’t always accept what I am told because people often say the things they think they need to say or the things that don’t force them to fight inertia.

They aren’t always in line with what they really want or believe, just what is easy and being a grade A knucklehead I am the guy who has often chosen to do things the hard way so I am a natural for going against the grain.

Go the distance


I like to think my Taurean nature and willingness to push further than the crowd serves me well. I like to think that the big victories are based upon hard work, a willingness to do the little things will be the reason I get to where I want to be.

But sometimes I wonder about luck and coincidence because hard work doesn’t always pay off the way we hope it will.

Father Knows Best

Confession: I roll my eyes at the parents who say they are fighting for their children when they tell me how important Target’s move to not mention gender is.

I roll my eyes at the push to make everything gender neutral so that boys and girls will have equal opportunities to choose what to play with.

Some of it is based upon my biases and some of it is based upon what I see with my son and daughter because I have given them choices and watched time and time again as they have gone towards the traditional choice.

I am not worried that they are being hurt by this any more than I worry that other children will be hurt by removing labels. I think it is silly, but I see no need to try and prevent it.

Anyhoo, one of the areas I see the biggest differences in my kids is in how they respond to people and how they tell stories.

My daughter includes every detail and pays very close attention to facial expressions and tone of voice whereas my son doesn’t.

She is prone to analyzing how something was said and what was meant by it whereas my son rarely does.

I like listening to both of them and have made it clear I am always happy to lend an ear.

Not so long ago my daughter told me about how some other girls were behaving and got angry because I asked her if she ever wondered if maybe these girls said exactly what they mean.

“Maybe there is nothing more than what you see/hear.”

Later that night I lay in bed and reminded myself it is good advice to adhere to and that sometimes you should take what you hear as being the truth.

And then I shook my head because I have spent far too much time around duplicitous people who made me question their motives and actions.

Sometimes simple is best so I’ll keep following my gut and see where it takes me and when they ask for advice I’ll know what to say.

Maybe all we need are comfortable shoes.

People Don’t Have To Approve Of You

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Basie
We are running at full speed and I think he is yelling at me but I can’t hear him nor will I stop to look because in a moment I’ll be spent and he won’t be.

In a moment he’ll pass by me and I know the smile that will greet me, assuming I am not doubled over huffing and puffing too hard to see his expression.

If this were a moment in time I’d say the sun is setting upon it and that soon my days of being faster will be behind me. It is not just because I am not in the kind of shape I want to or need to be in to run like I want to either.

It is because when we finish this particular orbit of the earth he’ll still be a teenager and I’ll be one step closer to fifty.

My physical condition isn’t so poor that I can’t slow the deterioration all people face or that I might not be able to find a way to use force of will to hold the line I have drawn in the sand because all things are possible.

But I don’t lie to myself about what is and what I see so I concede that his star is rising.

A father’s pride in his offspring and ego are struggling for dominance here, fighting to find a place where both are content to stand.

People Don’t Have To Approve Of You

We are talking about school and life, sharing stories about experiences we have had and I am doing my best to be present.

It is not because I am not interested in what he has to say but because some of it triggers my own memories and the wave of images flashing behind my eyes is almost impossible to ignore.

He is working out what he believes and what he thinks. Working out where he fits in and where he doesn’t.

Some of it is easy for him because he knows what lines he will not cross and where his principles are but there are darker corners where he hasn’t determined where to stand.

I tell him that life isn’t always as black and white as we would like it to be and that sometimes there are blurry areas.

“People don’t have to approve of you and if everything you do is based on getting validated by others you’ll live a hard and lonely life. That doesn’t mean you always need to be different because you don’t. Sometimes you need to go along to get along and sometimes you don’t.”

He nods his head and I tell him it is not always easy.

“There have been lots of times where I have felt misunderstood. It still happens. The question is whether it is important or not.”

“Dad, how do you figure it out?”

I smile and tell him you just figure it out as you go.

Do It Your Way

We talk some more and I tell him about a moment at my basketball game.

I describe how while we were shooting around the ball got stuck between the rim and the backboard and how the guys just stood around and stared at it.

“Did you jump up and knock it loose?”

I laugh, “nah, I can’t jump like that anymore and I didn’t try. Instead I dropped my shoulder and slammed it into the post so see if I could shake it loose.”

My son shakes his head and I laugh again.

“The guys gave me all sorts of shit about that. Would have been easier to get another ball and throw it at it, but I didn’t feel like waiting. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“What happened after that?”

Click To Tweet

“The whole thing shook but the damn thing didn’t fall. I was going to hit it again but someone threw a ball to me and told me not to break my shoulder. That happened a while ago and some guys still give me a hard time about it.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really, I don’t need their approval but I’ll be honest and say that if I was playing with guys from the office I might have done things differently but that that is a different situation.”

Work Smarter, Not Harder

We speak about the importance of working smarter and not harder all the time. Multiple conversations about the importance of doing things the right way and not just taking shortcuts to make things easier.

I try to explain why I might behave differently with colleagues compared to guys I play ball with in a way that makes sense.

It is important to me that he understand the nuance here and recognize appropriate behavior based upon circumstance but the truth is, I worry more about myself there than him.

The older I get the less I care about so many things. More and more things are classified as narishkeit in my eyes and their importance discounted.

Sometimes I wonder if that is because they really are or if I have just grown tired and frustrated and this is my excuse to let go.

I look in the mirror and say “do as I say, not as I do” and wonder who I am speaking to.

I Just Want To Be A Good Father

I got the smile I expected from him and take some good natured ribbing about being an old man and then I tell him I have a challenge for him.

“I am going to do a set up of pushups while you sit on me.”

He sits on my back and I bang out a handful of them and then I buck the kid off. I roll onto my back and tell him to try that when he has his own teenager.

“You’re still huffing and puffing old man.”

“Yeah, but I did it and I am not worried about what I am going to feel like tomorrow morning. This is just motivation to work harder.”

We smile at each other and start walking towards home, the sun is in the middle of the sky but for just a second I swear I see streaks of orange and red.

How To Crash A Party

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adventure fireworks

They tell me the secret to running a successful blog is to provide people with content they can use so I am here to do so.

Initially I was going to develop a blog post that told you how to have better sex through blogging but I realized I had already done that.

Besides we live during a time when specialization is the rule of the day.

So I thought about making this post about how to give a mind blowing orgasm to people who like to copulate while wearing rabbit suits but that seemed like an awkward title so I figured I out to tweak it a bit.

I came up with a modified Buzzfeed look that was close to 50 ways to give great head to your fetish wearing furry friends and realized I just couldn’t come up with 50 ways.

Dammit, that last line makes me sound like a lazy lover and who wants to be that.

You want to be the Casanova who works extra hard to please your partner so they look up at your sweat covered face and know that your persperation comes from the hard work you just put into trying to please them.

Dammit, don’t just lie on your back like a lump on a log expecting us to do all the work. Try pitching in a bit, give a little moan or something and make us feel like you are not thinking about doing the laundry or something.

Sometimes The Train Gets Derailed

Ever notice how you are reading a post and suddenly the whole thing takes a turn and you begin to wonder if the writer dropped acid, smoked a bowl and or drank a bottle of Everclear in the midst of writing it?

Me either.

Hell, I never change directions. I write a post that follows a simple path, something that has a  beginning, middle and and an end.

Hooray for chronological order.

Ok, I am lying. Sometimes I just write with reckless abandon and I don’t worry whether the reader will keep up, like what I am writing or appreciate it.

It is not always the smart way to write, at least not if you want to hold the attention of many readers but it is far more fun than always sticking to a structure.

I could write about how to crash a party or share stories about times I have done that. Some of you might enjoy those tales because they are fun, but sometimes it is more fun to just let the words flow from my fingertips with no destination in mind and no design.

sometimes it is more fun to just let the words flow from my fingertips with no destination in mind and no design.Click To Tweet

About Those Lazy Lovers

In the age of the Internet when Facebook makes it both possible and probable to run into your past it is easy to come across a person who might have shared an intimate moment with you.

Hell, it has happened to me and at least once I looked at the screen and wondered if my bad memories mirrored hers or if even worse, my good memories didn’t reflect hers.

Believe me your average fragile male ego doesn’t want to discover that the time he made his pal scream “Oh My God” it wasn’t because she saw fireworks but because she desperately wanted to him to finish and leave because he was terrible.

It is entirely possible that it could have happened because sometimes we just don’t know. Believe me there was a time when someone didn’t realize that pulling and tugging on parts like you are trying to clean a stain isn’t very pleasant.

Nor is it funny to catch a man with your teeth and make some comment about it would be better with ketchup, but I digress.

Deliver What You Promise

You may have been warned that this post was likely to be a bit different than expected but that doesn’t mean I am not going to try to deliver what I promise.

This may not be The 983rd Greatest Story Ever Told, but it certainly isn’t the worst either.

In a perfect world those of who are still reading are doing so because you find this entertaining and not because it is a trainwreck but I like to cover my bases so I have an audio component that provides some guidance for how to crash a party.

It has run here before, but some of you enjoyed it enough to request it again so your wish is my command. And with that I’ll leave you to it.

See you in the comments.

The 983rd Greatest Story Ever Told

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time and loveI could hear the echo of my father’s voice inside my head, “Boys don’t ever hit girls.”

He ignored my protests and told me he didn’t care what my sister had done. It didn’t matter if she hit me first or what she used. I was a boy. We weren’t allowed to fight back that way.

I told him again it wasn’t fair and he shrugged his shoulders at me. “We are bigger and stronger. Use your words to settle things. They will.”

He was right and so was I. Thirty-seven years ago they didn’t fight fair and they still don’t now.

I suppose the big difference between then and now is that it was much easier as a young boy to look at them as annoying people whose sole purpose was to bother boys.

Puberty changed all that. Those annoying people cast a magic spell on me and suddenly I went from not noticing any of them to having trouble focusing in school.

Hormonal overdrive and young love kept me from recognizing the kind of trouble that lack of focus could get you into.

But I found out.

Her name was Tammy. She was a tall blonde with bright green eyes and an electric smile. At 14 she was two or three inches taller than I was and quick to lord it over me.

She spent our freshman year of high school doing her best to tease and torment me. I tried to give it back to her and almost got my head taken off.

I don’t remember exactly what I said but I remember she was angry. When I told her she was acting like my sister she lost it. She stopped talking to me. When we passed each other in the halls she just looked through me, it was like I didn’t exist.

You would think that I would have appreciated the respite from the teasing and the incessant comments about my height, but I didn’t.

We didn’t speak again until November of the following year and to this day I can’t tell you if she even noticed, but I did.

Her refusal to speak made me so angry that I walked over to her. “You aren’t as special as you think you are!”

She just laughed, “look who finally grew.”

Until she mentioned it I hadn’t noticed that I was finally taller than she was. That wasn’t

I wanted to yell at her again but that laughter and the smile that accompanied it took the fight right out of me.

We went on our first date two weeks later and three months after that we lost our virginity in her aunt’s pool house.

It was young love and a healthy dose of young lust.

Her father almost put the fear of god into us. He came home early one day and surprised us.

We heard him and I tried to jump out of bed, but Tammy was fearless. She told me to relax and said there was plenty of time.

That became our line and our little joke. Life was filled with plenty of time and much laughter.

When it came time to go to college we ended up attending different universities. Neither one of us was worried about our relationship. We thought it was strong enough to survive anything, but we were wrong.

I don’t know when she slept with him or how many times she did but I know it happened. I wasn’t blameless either.

The girl I hooked up with was just as tall as Tammy and had those long legs that I loved, except she was a brunette with dark eyes. The moment I kissed her I knew that things had to go farther and that something else was dying, but hormones don’t care about relationships.

Within six months or so we had both acknowledged that it was time to go our separate ways.

It was painful but also somewhat exhilarating. Tammy and I had done almost everything a couple could do together and I was excited to be with other women.

That 18 year-old boy felt like a kid in a candy shop and for a while I really enjoyed it, but I noticed very quickly that these girls didn’t respond like Tammy did.

She would do anything and they wouldn’t. Hindsight makes it easy to recognize that love was the difference but that kid didn’t know it.

By that time Tammy and I rarely spoke and if we did we usually found ourselves fighting but it wasn’t like those days in high school.

Eventually we just stopped talking.

Five years passed and then I ran into her at a New Years Eve party. At midnight we kissed and it was like no time had passed.

Thirty-five minutes later we walked into my apartment and stayed there for three days.

Two days later she left for a two-year Peace Corps assignment in Africa. When she kissed me goodbye she said she loved me, laughed and told me not to worry because there was plenty of time.

She never wrote me.

Twenty-five years passed and the silence continued. We were just a memory.

Last week there was a knock at the door and I saw a beautiful blonde standing on my porch. It was like being transported in time, there was my Tammy, except it wasn’t.

She said her name was Heather and asked to come inside.

“My mom said if something happened to her I should find you. Her name was Tammy and I think you might be my dad.”

“What do you mean her name was Tammy?”

Her eyes filled with tears and so did mine. I guess we never did have plenty of time.

Important Moments
I wrote the story above this picture a few years ago during a period of time when I had far more time on my hands than I do now.

People have asked me more than once if it is a true story.

My answer to the question is always no but every now and then someone insists that I be honest with them so I admit it is truth and then wait for the 298 other questions that follow and make up more answers.

Yeah, I am bad that way.

If I give you an answer and you don’t accept it and continue to engage I am quite likely to decide to use my imagination to mess with you.

It is a bit juvenile but if you push me after I have responded then you might deserve what you get or maybe that is just a poor way of rationalizing bad behavior.

But I will also share this, parts and pieces of that story are based upon experiences I have had with some of my former…flames.

I haven’t had enough time to write the way I want to write. All I have had is time to place a few words down upon the page and though it has helped me scratch the itch it hasn’t fed the demon that lives inside.

That beast is hungry and he requires far more fodder.

Ever since I saw the trailer for Suicide Squad I have heard I Started A Joke playing in my head. Not the Bee Gees version but the one from the video.

Music is often a trigger/inspiration for my fiction and it is always tied into my work. In a perfect world I would write my stories and use various songs to help illustrate the tell I want to tell without concern of having to pay for the rights to it.

And of course I would be paid to write these stories, but I digress.

The 983rd Greatest Story Ever Told

I have mentioned a few times that my teenager is growing like a weed and that he is as my mother would say, feeling his oats.

My little man makes me smile with some of the goofy crap he pulls partly because I remember doing the same thing and partly because he is so damn happy when he does it.

There is a lightness about his being that I just love.

Early this evening he took that lightness and jumped on my back and tried to pull me to the floor. I laughed and told him he had only received a partial share of his Steiner Strength and told him until he gets the full dose he has no shot at winning.

And then for good measure I used only my left arm and won our match. I almost switched to the right so I could use the Princess Bride line about smiling because I am not left handed but we didn’t have much time and I wanted to talk to him about life.

Mainly I wanted to remind him to be willing to take chances and to try not to be afraid to step outside of his comfort zone.

“Dad, give me an example of what you mean.”

“I didn’t want to move to Texas. I wanted to stay with what I knew. Some of it was because I was afraid of change and some because I felt like I was being chased away and I don’t get pushed out or run from people or things.”

We went back and forth for a bit longer and he asked me what I think about my current job. I was honest and said that even though I am good at it, this is not what I want to be doing.

“If I told you why, it might bore you. It is only the 983rd greatest story ever told.

Why Not Dad?

The answer to that was simple.

We think we have plenty of time but we never really know for certain if we do.

If we look at our lives as being similar to the arc of a rocket ship mine is probably close to the highest point it will reach and then after a bit it will start to point downwards.

I don’t know how long I have before that happens so I prefer to make the most of my time and not make the mistake of the past of thinking I had endless amounts.

Sure, I can always start over. I can pivot, step left right, duck and then jump over the fire pit. Hell if I fall in it I can always dance in the fire but it doesn’t mean it is smart.

So I am doing my best to set things up so that I can live the kind of life I want to live. It is really not all that different from how I want to write or blog.

It Is What A Blog Should Be is very similar to the philosophy I try to live my life by.

I follow my drummer and dance to the beat I hear in my head. I hope my kids do the same and that they recognize the truth in old Doc Graham’s quote.

If you aren’t living the way you want to live do something about it because you never know when the last tick will tock.

It Is What A Blog Should Be

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broken heart
I never read the book, but I watched the movie and that line above is perfection.

Maybe it is because it is easy for me to relate to on a personal level or maybe it is because I enjoy simple writing that tells a story.

Those of you have been here for all, most or much of the journey know that I do this because I am compelled to write and not because I hope this will lead to a book deal, brand ambassadorship or fame.

If any or all of those things come because of blogging I’ll be very pleased but they won’t ever be the reason I stop or continue to blog.

I’m here because I am like the writing Captain Ahab but instead of a white whale I am chasing a great story or maybe it is more accurate to say I am chasing after the ability to tell a great story.

If the devil showed up and offered to exchange my soul for the ability to become a master storyteller I would be in big trouble because that is the sort of deal that I might actually consider.

But mostly because it would make one hell of a story.

Think for a moment how glorious it would be to tell the tale of the time Jack beat the devil at negotiating and how when the devil tried to get him back, Jack punched the horny dude in the nose and stabbed him in the ass with a pitchfork.

I may have grown up in Encino, but I come from the north side of the boulevard, no pussies allowed.

It Is What A Blog Should Be

Ask me what I want out of this experience and I’ll tell you that in addition to becoming one of the great storytellers I’d be happy to have people describe this joint as being what a blog should be.

Ask me why I about that and I’ll you how I sat in the corner of a coffee shop and listened to a group of twenty-somethings talk about what a blog should be.

Some of their conversation made me laugh and some of it made me feel really…old.

It is funny because even though I kid around about feeling like an old man most of the time I really don’t. I am always surprised by the reflection in the mirror.

Sometimes it is because I don’t particularly like what I see and sometimes it is because I see echoes of the guy I expect to stare back at me.

Jack punched the horny dude in the nose and stabbed him in the ass with a pitchfork.Click To Tweet

One of them kept telling the others about how important his blogs were and shouting about how he should be the top writer because he wrote his blogs faster than the other.

Initially, it made me smile because I understand the whole multiple blog thing and have a certain respect for those who maintain more than one.

But then I realized he was doing something that makes old Jack Steiner crazy. He was substituting the word blogs for posts.

In the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal but it is like nails on a chalkboard to me.

If you ate three slices of pie you wouldn’t say you ate three pies unless you really ate three pies in which case you ought to get off of your ass and start running, I like my readers to enjoy the benefits of good health.

But I digress.

wordsandmeaning
The Tools Of A Blogger

My favorite doppleganger wrote a quick post about how to make the most of our time.

It is certainly not his best work but it interested me because I have been thinking about what tools a blogger must have and which ones should be considered optional.

I picked up a single license for Social Warfare the other day because I kept hearing good things about it and the benefits it offers.

Disclosure: There is no affiliate link there, in fact there is no link at all.  That is not because I am irritated or unhappy with them but because I haven’t signed up for the affiliate program yet.

Fact is I have spent far less time with affiliate and monetization programs this year than probably any other time in my blogging career.

There is no particular reason for that other than I am just ridiculously busy and I spend more time roaming the plains and places of my world than I do in the blogosphere.

That lack of time in the blogosphere is the primary reason why the numbers here have dropped again. I don’t comment very often on other blogs and I don’t update with the same frequency as I once did.

Don’t worry. I am not going to quit blogging. I am just focused in other places, but I can guarantee I’ll keep writing and that sometimes I’ll fill these pages with more than you can keep up with.

This is all tied into how and why I have lasted for as long as I have. I march to the beat of a drummer who has no rhythm but that dude’s beat still makes me dance and that keeps me happy.

Happy is probably the primary tool a blogger needs. Happy keeps you coming back to the keyboard.

It is why I didn’t lose my mind when the blog blew up today and I had limited time to fix it. I am/was happy so it was important to me to take a deep breath and figure out how to fix it.

What Kind of Blogger Are You?

It is getting late and soon I shall have to find my pillow and answer the call of the snore.

But before I go I’ll share another thought, even though I am far from hanging up my keyboard I am thinking very seriously about what kind of blogger I am and what kind I want to be.

Don’t know that it matters or if I have to define it for anyone other than myself, but I am thinking about it.

See you in the comments…maybe.