UFO's & the Catfish; the Alien is me.

     Gentle reader, I submit the following to you: it's true from beginning to end.  Part of the story contains a daydream of mine.  Nonetheless the entire story is true....   

     My cousin Chris and I went fishing together at Santa Ana River Lakes last Saturday night.  It was a beautiful night under the stars.  A fire going nearby, our bellies full of In-N-Out and Coors Light, we were feeling content, fat and sassy.  With our poles in the water, we had nothing to do but continue to drink our beer and talk about the random, sometimes esoteric, things that guys talk about.  Above us, the sky was treating us with meteors coming alight (better known as "shooting stars").  At one point Chris looked pointedly at me and asked

"Do you believe in UFO's"?
"You mean spaceships piloted by aliens from another planet"? I ask.
"Yeah man.  UFO's."
I said "I do believe that we are not alone in the universe.  I think it is idiotic to be so self-centered, so self-absorbed, given the incomprehensible vastness of space, to think that we are the only so-called "intelligent" life-forms that inhabit the universe. Our little planet is nothing but a small insignificant speck of dust in the big scheme of things. It is virtually impossible for there not to be other "intelligent beings" out there. The vast majority of astrophysicists would tell you the same thing. However, just like the astrophysicists, I do not believe that they are visiting our planet in spaceships."
"Huh.", he says.  "So you don't believe the stories of people who have seen UFO's, or stories of people who have actually been abducted and taken aboard alien spacecraft and had experiments performed on them"?
"No.", says I.  "I do not believe that those stories are factual.  I believe that some of the people telling those stories believe that it actually happened to them, in other words, I believe that they believe it.  But as for me?  I don't believe in aliens visiting earth and sometimes even abducting inhabitants of our planet."
"Huh.", he says again.

     And that was the end of that particular conversation.  As time went on we talked of women, sports cars, women, guns, women, beer, women, sports, etc, etc.  You know, guy talk.  All the while enjoying the beautiful Southern California evening, our crackling fire, the substantial supply of beer at our disposal, and the occasional shooting star.

     Then it happened: my pole bent nearly in half, the reel started buzzing loudly as line was being stripped from it.  I had a fish on the line and it looked like it was going to be a big one.  I sprang from my beach chair, grabbed my pole from its holder and waited for the next significant "tug".  Which came almost immediately.  I quickly brought the rod-tip straight up, thus setting the hook into the fish, and now the fight was on.

     It was an epic battle.  Man against beast.  I was using my wits to outsmart the creature, and he was using his wits to try and escape me.  The battle raged for hours (well, actually it was about four minutes) before I was finally able to bring the creature ashore.  It turned-out to be a catfish.  Considering the lake we were fishing it was a very good-sized catfish.  Around six or seven pounds.

      With Chris helping to hold the fish, I carefully used my needle-nosed pliers to remove the hook from its throat (it was embedded rather deep), and then held the fish up for me and Chris to examine.  He was a magnificent looking fish.  Perfect markings, muscular and healthy, a prime specimen.   I asked Chris if he wanted the fish, to take home and cook.  He said that although he loved catfish, the thought of having to clean and gut the thing just sounded like too much damn work.  I wholeheartedly agreed with him.  The prospect of arriving home and looking forward to a shower and bed - only to have to deal with the fish first - sounded like a damn chore.  So it was agreed that we would release him ... hopefully to live a long and happy life.

     So I placed the fish into the lake and gently moved him back and forth, allowing water to pass through his gills and re-oxygenate his blood.  He finally "came-to", gave a strong swish of his tail, escaped my grasp, and was gone back to his own planet.  Chris said that every time he releases a fish he cannot help but wonder how the fish will spend the rest of its life.

    Then it dawned on me: what would this fish say to his friends when he returned from his frightening adventure?  Would they believe him?  Would he himself believe what had just happened?  I pictured the conversation going something like this:

"So there I was guys.  Just out for a little cruise.  I figured I'd grab something to eat before heading home.  I saw a nice place to stop, picked-out the food I wanted, and started on my way home.  When all of a sudden WHAM!!!  This invisible force began to pull my body, like some kind of tractor beam.  It was like I was being pulled from the inside. The force kept pulling me higher and higher.  I fought with every fiber of my being....but to no avail.  Higher and higher I went.  Up towards outer-space.  Sometimes I was able to fight my way down towards our planet, sometimes I was at the mercy of whatever was pulling me up. Up, down. Up, down.  I finally was pulled up past our own atmosphere, into outer-space proper.  I could not breathe.  I was terrified.  Then this huge alien grabbed a hold of me.  It was the UGLIEST thing I've ever seen.  And there were TWO of them!!  Their eyes were not on the sides of their heads, they were on the FRONT of their heads!  They both had a strange protrusion beneath their eyes, and each had two other strange protrusions - one on each side of their heads.  They did not have dorsal fins that I could see, but their pectoral fins each had five weird appendages.  The  appendages seemed to be jointed and prehensile.  And one of them used these appendages to hold me still while the other produced a strange, exotic surgical instrument of some type.  The alien took that surgical instrument and shoved it down my throat.  And when pulled out, the instrument held some strange-looking "J"-shaped object...and that "J"-shaped object had been pulled out of the insides of ME"!!

"Oh bullshit, Henry.  You sure can tell some whoppers.....but this tale beats them all", says Carl.
"I'm SERIOUS"!!, cries Henry.  "It really happened.  I'm not fucking with you"!!
"My ass", says Steve.  "You're so full of shit your eyes are brown."
"Yep", says Greg.  "You sure do have one hell of an imagination there, Henry."
"No, REALLY"!!, says Henry.  "Then just when I'm out of air, just when I think I'm toast, they somehow move me back into our atmosphere and manipulate my body in a way that causes me to regain consciousness.  I then kicked as hard as I could and hauled-ass outta there.  I left those aliens in the dust!!  I was way too fast for those giant dumb-fucks.  No way were they gonna get a hold of ME again.  I sure showed them"!!!

"Uhn-uhnn. Nope. Don't believe it for a second.  You gotta put down that bong once in a while Henry", chimes-in Jake.
The others all agree: "Cut back on the weed Henry."  "Maybe Narcotics Anonymous would help."  "Perhaps cocaine would be a better fit for you."  And on and on it went.

"This is no joke!! You gotta believe me guys", pleads Henry .  "It really happened. I swear to you."

Finally, among much giggling and name calling, Henry slowly swims towards his home, feeling ostracized by the guys he thought were his friends.

     All too quickly, Henry is forever an outcast.  Henry's encounter with the aliens would ultimately have him labeled a "weirdo", a "nutcase", a "crazy" by all in his community.  Eventually his wife left him, his kids refused to speak to him, he lost his job and the only income he's earned in the past few years was by selling his story to the National Enquirer for $200.  (Enquiring fish want to know.)

     As for me?  Well, I know for a fact that Henry's story is true.  Hell, I'm the alien who abducted him.  But do I now believe that beings from other planets are visiting Earth?  No, I still do not believe that.  However, I cannot help but wonder....is Henry's story really all that different from some "Billy-Bob"'s in Arkansas?  Lot's of parallels there, if you ask me.  Kinda gives you something to think about, eh?

    So until next time:  Live Long and Prosper, May the Force Be With You, and.....ah hell, try not to make fun of somebody who tells you about their alien encounter.  Because aliens DO exist.  How do I know?  The alien is me.

                                                                   Cheers,
                                                                    Jimmy

                                                                   

The Doberman and me.

     I've got a little story I'd like to share with you,  gentle reader.  It's about having compassion for your fellow beings.  Even those whom you may dislike, or may dislike you.

     I currently live in an apartment.  But just a few years ago I lived in a house.  It was a wonderful little house in the northeastern part of Pasadena, CA.  Right at the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.  Very picturesque, quiet, great neighbors, an absolutely idyllic and peaceful place in which to live.
     I had wonderful next-door neighbors on my left.  A relatively young couple (in their early 30's).  Both were attorney's and they had two young children, one boy and one girl.  They were an American family that could have been straight out of central casting or a Norman Rockwell illustration.  Young, upwardly mobile, with well mannered children enrolled in a private school, a meticulously manicured yard, him: a BMW, her: a Mercedes Benz.  Just a young family who is doing quite well and living the American Dream.  Oh yeah, did I mention that they also had a Doberman Pinscher?

     That damn dog hated EVERYBODY but his own family.  He was an honest-to-goodness trained attack dog.  He was imported from Germany and responded only to commands issued to him in German.  And he only knew a few commands.  'Sit', 'stay', 'patrol', and of course 'attack'.  When the neighbors first got this dog they let me know about it.  That they had a real-life trained killer living with them.  That he did not have a name and if ever he should become aggressive toward me that I should tell him in a very firm voice "BLEIBEN".  Which means "stay" in German. Well, that dog was like a robot.  He obeyed commands without hesitation.  He'd "snap-to" like a young Marine being told "ten-hut!!" by his Drill Sergeant.  But he would only do so when told by members of his family.  The commands never worked when tried by anybody else...that included his next-door neighbor: me.
     Thus began my relationship with The Doberman.  Because of the fact that the fence surrounding my neighbors backyard (including the side that bordered my backyard) was only four feet tall, the Doberman could leave his domain at will.  He'd jump the fence the way you and I would step over a curb.  Any task that required me to leave the house was accompanied by much worry and much running.  Going to work in the morning I'd quietly open my front door, quietly shut it behind me, and then RUN to my car. Within two steps that dog would be over the fence in a dead sprint, teeth bared, looking to kill me. I'd get in my car and slam the door and give a prayer of thanks for actually making it yet again.  I could no longer use my beloved bar-b-que that I had in my backyard.  Hell, I couldn't even go out in my backyard to pick some oranges without getting mauled.  The guys who had mowed my lawns for the previous two years quit after only one encounter with the beast.  Finally, the neighbors agreed to have a new fence put in, six feet high, to keep that predator from killing me or anyone else.  I was going on a photoshoot in Missouri and would be gone for a week...they promised that the new fence would be in place by the time I returned.

     I was not without pets of my own, mind you.  Above is a picture of my pets, Cooper and Lady.  Two Triton Cockatoos.  The picture was taken in my backyard before the Doberman arrived on the scene.  They were a breeding pair, expected to produce young. $10,000 worth of two birds, cages, nesting materials and various other sundries.  I had raised them both since the time they were young enough to require hand-feeding.  Intelligent, fun-loving, friendly birds.  Both had huge vocabularies that I had taught them.  Both total characters that provided endless amounts of  love, amusement and laughs.
     As I said, I was going on a photoshoot in Missouri for a week, so I asked some friends of mine, a married couple, to look after my birds while I was gone.  I gave them a key and they were to come to my place every day and give fresh food and water, change the paper in the cage, turn on the t.v. and hang-out at my place for a few hours so that the birds would have some type of stimuli and not get depressed and lonely.  I was very meticulous in explaining how to care for the birds, to the point of writing a manual that I gave them before I left.  And every-other paragraph in that manual stated in bold letters: THESE BIRDS DO NOT HAVE CLIPPED WINGS.  NEVER LET THEM OUT OF THEIR CAGE IF A HOUSE DOOR IS OPEN.  THEY WILL FLY AWAY.
     Well, on the third day of my trip I received a phone call.  A door had been left open and both of my birds had flown away.  They were up in the tops of the very tall trees in the backyard and never flew more than a few houses away before coming right back.  But nobody could catch them.  To my friends credit, they did everything they could possibly do: they hired a professional "bird catcher", they contacted the Humane Society, they put up flyers all over the neighborhood.  Alas, on the fifth day of my trip I received another phone call telling me that both of my birds had been found dead on a patio about a block away.  They had died of exposure (they were not outside birds and could not tolerate the 38 degree cold of the night and did not know how to find food and water on their own).  I was devastated.

     So I returned home to find my house bereft of my two avian friends.  Just two empty cages:  one where they slept at night, the other where they had built a nest together and were going to have some babies.
     I'd had a long flight with no meal, I was tired and hungry.  And I was crying.  Absent-mindedly, I cut-up some veggies and put them in a foil pouch with seasoning and butter and started defrosting a steak, with the intention of putting both on the bar-b-que.  I opened a nice bottle of Merlot, poured a glass and went into the backyard to fire up my grill and allow it to preheat.  As soon as I got the flames lit on the bar-b-que I heard a growl, and turned to see the Doberman sailing over the new six-foot-high fence like it wasn't even there.  I did not care.  Still crying, my feelings were "fuck it, let the dog kill me.  I'm too sad right now and I just don't care".
     Teeth bared, ears back, headed my way with the speed and determination of a guided missile, the Doberman suddenly put on the brakes and slid about eight feet before finally coming to a stop right at my feet.  His muscular body slowly relaxed, his face softened, and instead of biting me he carefully nudged my hand with his snout. He then tilted his head to one side and said

"What's the matter Jimmy?  Why you crying"?
I said, "Because my birds died, Doggie."
"Your birds died"? he queried.
"Yeah", I said.  "They were my best friends and now they're dead."
"You mean them two birds that was up in the trees?  The two that be fucking all the time"?
I said "Yeah."
He said "They DIED"?
Again I reply "Yeah."
"Ain't that a bitch"? he says.
I said "Yeah.  It really sucks and am I'm hurting awfully bad inside Doggie."
To which he replies "Damn, I was planning on eating them."

     I didn't respond to that last statement of his.  We stood there together in silence, staring at the bar-b-que, lost in the kind of deep thought that only comes when watching flames do their hypnotic dance.  Finally, the dog gave a soft shake of his head and began to nudge my hand again with his nose.  Tears still streaming down my face, I began to softly pet the dog, giving the occasional scratch behind his ear.  He then asked

"Jimmy, do you mind if I give you a little piece of advice"?
I said "Sure Doggie."
He said "Now you go on and cry.  It's a good thing.  It's a good thing that you were blessed enough to have those birds in your life. You grieve and grieve hard if need be....and be thankful at the same time."
"I am thankful Doggie", I said.  "I just miss them so much."
The dog said "Sure you do Jimmy.  And that's OK.  But my advice to you is to grieve and always cherish the time you had with them, but be sure not to dwell on that shit too long.  You feel me"?
"Yeah, I feel you."
"I'm serious now" said the dog.  "Don't dwell on that shit too long.  That kinda stuff has a way of fucking with a nigga's head.  And I don't want to see you all messed-up.....being all depressed and shit. You dig"?
Still softly petting his velvety ears I told him that I understood.  That I'd try to move on and not let it keep me down for too long.

     At this point he turned his head and gave the back of my hand a few tender licks, while looking up at me with eyes that held a sadness that reflected my own.  He then turned and walked very slowly, dejectedly, with his head down, back towards the fence.  About four feet from the fence he raised his head, turned and looked back, his eyes still showing a great sadness, but now they also showed a small mischievous glint.  And he said

"You take care now Jimmy.  Keep your chin up."
I said "I will Doggie.  And thank-you.  Thank-you so much for your kind words."
He said "Hey man.  No problem my nigga.  I'm glad I could be there for you and I'm very sorry for your loss."
I said "You are too cool Doggie.  Thanks again."

     He nodded his head in understanding, turned away and crouched as if ready to jump.  At the last second he seemed to change his mind.  He looked over his shoulder and said

"Oh and by the way, just so you know, I'll be back to chasing and trying to kill your ass tomorrow."  At which point he effortlessly sailed over the fence into his own backyard....off to kill whatever he could catch.

     The above is a true story.  No really, it is.  And if it isn't, the moral of the story here is obvious:  try and show a little compassion in your life.  Even to your enemies.

                                                                  Cheers,
                                                                   Jimmy

Nervous, nervous, nervous.

     As you may have guessed from the title of this entry, I am Nervous, nervous, nervous.  And my feelings of worry are not being helped by the coffee I had for breakfast, the Rock Star I had for lunch, and the 5-Hour Energy Drink I had an hour ago. Why so nervous (aside from my idiotic level of caffeine consumption)?  Two reasons:
1) Today will be the ordered Third Reading of Assembly Bill 144 by the California State Senate's Appropriations Committee.
2) A bid I placed on eBay that will be ending within the next few hours.



    Here's what's up with the first reason: I had said in my last blog entry that, most likely, I would not preach on Second Amendment issues here in this blog.  And I'm not going to today.  But I would be rather remiss if I did not at least explain what AB144 is.

     AB144 is a bill authored by Assemblyman Anthony Portantino (D - La Canada/Flintridge) and co-authored by Assemblyman Tom Ammiano (D - San Francisco).  The bill, if passed, would prohibit the act of unloaded open-carry in the state of California. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

     I have a very keen interest in this bill.  And if it passes the Senate floor today it will be sent to the Governor's desk for signing.  He is expected to sign the bill if it does happen to cross his desk.  Very little chance he will veto it.

     I have devoted a substantial amount of time and energy (along with many other like-minded people) in an effort to defeat this bill.  This bill has shown-up under numerous different titles and guises over the past eight years or so.  And each time we've been able to defeat it.....but only to have it re-appear with different verbage time and time again.  But the bill has never made it this far through the legislative process and the forecast for it being defeated again is rather bleak.  The feeling this is giving me is akin to having placed a very large bet on a sporting event, the score is tied, there's only a few seconds left in the game, and the other side has the ball.  It is MADDENING!!!  I guess some people with gambling addictions get "high" off of that sensation.   To me it is sheer torture.  Now, should my side win, the feelings of joy and relief that would be added to the cocktail of adrenaline and caffeine coursing through my veins would be a euphoric feeling for sure.  But I could definitely do without it.  I'm having trouble sitting still and my mind is racing.  I don't think I could hold a single thought even if it had a handle. It's times like these when I can actually understand, maybe even envy, those who are apathetic to the goings-ons of our republic's political and legislative processes.  Maybe they're right.  Life would be much more simple if I were to just say "fuck it" and not care about some of the public matters that I do.  But if I'm honest with myself, I've got to admit the simple fact that I'm just not wired that way.  I'm a pretty hardcore American, that's just the way I'm built.

     Now onto the second reason I am so nervous: that eBay bid that I placed.  I placed a bid on a camera that I absolutely love:  the Fujifilm S1 Pro.  I have one of these cameras and I bought it when they first came-out around ten years ago.  But it recently stopped functioning and would cost more to have repaired than the camera is worth.  Of course, it goes without saying that its technology is quite antiquated compared with today's newer cameras.  But I don't care.  I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the S1 Pro.  I paid over $3000.00 for mine when I bought it.  Today one can be found in mint condition for around $400.00.  Well, I have other cameras that are newer and much more advanced and I can get along just fine without buying another one.  And I've had some very large, very unexpected expenses lately that would make buying a camera I do not need a fiscally foolish thing to do.  But I placed a bid on it anyway.
(Tip:  NEVER, I repeat, NEVER go shopping around on eBay after having imbibed a few too many cocktails.  Tee many martooni's is not good preparation for online bidding).  So I bid an ungodly high amount, just to make sure I won. I had no idea that there would be several other fools out there who are also keenly interested in this camera.  Thus the bidding has gone astronomically high, almost to the point of reaching my "max bid".  And my "max bid" is HUGE. Really, really huge. A great deal more than the camera is worth.  Well, the bidding war stopped a couple of hours ago, around $50.00 shy of my max.  I've been hoping against hope to get outbid ever since the price started to go beyond what is reasonable.  As you know, there is no way to retract my bid.  I really can't afford that camera, I don't have enough money in my PayPal account to cover it, which means that PayPal will use my credit card info, which means that if I win I'll be paying interest on the fucking thing.  UGH!!  This too is adding to my level of anxiety. Please, oh PLEASE let somebody outbid me.

     So there's nothing to do now but wait.  And wait.  And wait.  While my moods travel all across the spectrum and I become more and more expectant, apprehensive, optimistic, pessimistic, with every passing second.  So stay tuned, I'll let you know (if you even happen to give a shit) what happens on these two different fronts.  If you don't hear from me, you'll know that my mind finally said "fuck you buddy, I'm leaving", and that I truly have "lost my mind" for the time being.

     Well, this blog was supposed to be a way for me to practice writing for an audience, not just myself.  I've not proof-read the above (I never proof-read) but I'm sure it came-out more like a Journal entry than anything else.  But I'm just too damn nervous to concentrate.

     Writing usually helps to calm my nerves....but considering the events of the day, I'm pretty sure that I am beyond help.

                                                             Cheers,
                                                             Jimmy

 
                                                   

I might as well tell you now....

Gentle Reader,

I've got something I'd like to share with you before this blog has too many entries and ends-up swallowing the following information about me that I think is important for you to know.

I would like to start-out by saying that personally, I embrace most of the many differences we all have between each-other as human beings. I truly do. Variety is the spice of life, as they say. America is indeed a melting-pot and she would not be nearly as strong as she is today were it not for the diversity we are so blessed with. But embracing differences is by no means an absolute. I would even go as far as to say that it would be a rare person indeed who embraces all the differences they encounter in others.

Some examples may include; criminals (who skirt or break the law) may not embrace the differences they have with police officers (who try to enforce the law and would like to see criminals imprisoned). People who believe in the free use of public land (it is supposed to public after all) may not embrace the differences they have with environmentalists (who wish to stop the use of said lands in order to protect plant and animal life that may be harmed by public use, thereby doing a good thing and preserving the land for the public). When it comes to differences like these (I'm not even going to go near the can of worms that is Jewish / Muslim relations in the Middle-East), people on one side of an issue just cannot understand the irrationality and ignorant mindset of the people whose opposing views are "on the opposite side of the coin". Being only human, I too am guilty of not understanding the views of people whose thoughts (on the couple of issues that I am passionate about) are in direct opposition to my own. And the couple of issues I am passionate about are very hot-topic issues; issues that can lead to very heated debate, to the point of ending friendships or relationships. With all of that said, please allow me to submit the following:

I am a VERY staunch and hardcore supporter of our Constitution, with a special focus on its first ten amendments (a.k.a The Bill of Rights). And within the Bill of Rights, the amendments that are of greatest interest to me are the Second and Fourth Amendments. The Fourth Amendment is not much of a hot-topic issue among freedom-loving Americans. But the Second Amendment...well, this topic is one that can divide families down the middle and cause bad feelings that border on hatred between those who love it and those who do not.

For those who've not read the Constitution lately, here's a little refresher: the Second Amendment reads: "A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed". Sounds simple enough, right? Well just like beauty, interpretation of any given law is always in the eye of the beholder.

Now I'm not going to espouse my political views here and give a dissertation as to why I believe what I believe. And I'm not here to try and preach and "win you over" to my way of thinking, if you happen to be vehemently opposed to what my definition of "right" is. Maybe someday in a later blog entry, but not today.

What I do want to say, and what I think you should know about me before you decide to follow this blog is this: I am a very firm supporter of the Right to Keep and Bear Arms. I am strictly opposed to most, not all, but most forms of gun control and most laws that impose restrictions on the rights of law-abiding citizens when it comes to gun ownership and possession. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of weirdo militia member who trains at a compound in the hills of Missouri. And I am certainly not anti-government and am not looking to overthrow it. Whatever you take from this message please know this: I am not one of those "gun nuts" that are portrayed in the media who wears camouflage BDU's on a daily basis and never goes anywhere without a rifle hanging from his shoulder. Far from it. Most people would describe me as falling somewhere between surfer and preppy....who happens to think that if I've not broken any laws and have no criminal record, has never even been arrested, that I should not have to surrender any of the rights I've been endowed with by my creator, many of which are enumerated in the Constitution. Remember people, although the U.S. Constitution is one of the greatest documents ever written by humankind, it does not give you anything. The Constitution is simply meant to enumerate many of your rights so that they are not forgotten. Your rights are inherent in you. You were endowed with them by your creator. And as a sovereign citizen of the United States nobody can take them from you. Stop using the phrase "Constitutional Rights". Your rights are yours, they do not come from the Constitution. No matter which side of an issue your views may place you; yes or no, anti- or pro, supporter or opposition, your rights are yours and don't let anybody ever tell you any different.

So, in conclusion I'd just like to say that I know many who may end-up reading this blog may be very anti-gun. And that's O.K. It's great. But please be advised that I am a very pro-gun person thus you may find me repulsive and may wish to stop following this blog now. I have no idea what the future holds for this blog; I have no intention AT THIS TIME to ever use this blog as a pro-Second Amendment forum. So (hopefully) you will not have to listen to a bunch of rants and hyperbole in support of the Second Amendment if you happen to disapprove of guns. O.K? We cool here people? Now you know the number one thing about me that may make you hate my guts from the get-go.....so now you can unsubscribe from this blog or choose to never subscribe in the first place (if you are so inclined). I'd prefer if you didn't....but it is certainly your right.

Cheers,

Jimmy

Why a Blog?

Why, oh why a blog? Although this blog is currently titled "Journal for Jimmy", that's just a lame-ass name I assigned to it when I first opened a Google account about a million years ago. I'll look into changing it later. But for now I'm going to address the question as to why I'm going to engage in something as ridiculously sophomoric as (gulp) writing a blog. So pour yourself a glass of your favorite beverage, kick your feet up, and settle in. I've got a feeling this simple explanation is going to take a while.

First: why am I so anti-blog? Simple. Because everyone else in the world is already doing it....and the vast majority of them are blogging with no true sense of self-awareness. THAT is why I do not like blogs and am loathe to write one myself.

"What in the fuck is that supposed to mean"?

I'm glad you asked.

My sense of self-awareness tells me that I am charming, witty, of above average intelligence, am pretty darn good looking, uproariously funny, macho and manly yet sensitive, very precise and analytical yet a total romantic at heart, that I posses a wisdom beyond my years yet still view the world with the wide-eyed wonder of a child. Nothing unique there, right? I'd venture to say most people view themselves in much the same light.

HOWEVER....unlike like most people, I am well aware of the fact that I am the only human being on this planet who sees those aforementioned traits in me. And I'm absolutely fine with that. I know that my jokes and sense of humor tickle the shit out of me and me only. That the gorgeous hunk of man with the boyish charm that stares back at me from the mirror is seen by me and me only. I have no illusions. And it doesn't bother me one bit. Hell, I like me. I think I'm one heck of a great guy. But the vast majority of people, especially bloggers, seem to believe that all those coveted adjectival phrases that they would use to describe themselves are the same ones that others would use to describe them as well. And I've saved the adjectival phrase most coveted by bloggers for last. (insert drum-roll here) So return your seat-backs and tray-tables to their upright positions, fasten your seat-belts and hold on tight.....'cuz here it comes: People who blog would also describe themselves, and believe others would do the same, as GOOD WRITERS.

Again, no illusions here. I know I'm not a Good Writer. My writing skills are passable at best. My writing is not engaging, it is not entertaining. Hell, it can barely be considered English. But it seems that bloggers consider themselves to be modern-day Edward R. Murrow's if they are of the journalistic type. Or the embodiment of Mark Twain if they like storytelling. Or William Shakespeare if they lean towards the theatric. Or Henry David Thoreau if they're philosophical. Or Robert Frost if they think they are poetic. When in fact their writing skills leave very, very much to be desired. It comes back to that self-awareness thingy I mentioned earlier. I am completely aware of the fact that I am not a Good Writer. Most bloggers do not possess this sense of self-awareness and insist on filling the world with much unneeded and unwanted drivel in the form of blogs. And THAT, gentle reader, is why I do not like the cursed blog

Now I'm sure you're wondering "then why in the hell are you starting a blog you stupid fuck?" Good question. And wouldn't you know it? I just so happen to have an answer.

Since about the 7th grade, I have been told repeatedly by numerous different people that they like the way I write. Now hold on there...wait just a sec. I know, I know. That's an absolute impossifuckinbility. But it's true. And the frequency with which I've been told this has been steadily increasing as of late. And you know what? You are absolutely right. The simple thought that is going through your mind right now has not gone unnoticed by me: that my being told more and more often by people that they enjoy the way I write is happening concurrently with the sad fact that the collective I.Q. of the world's populace is plummeting rapidly. Yep, I noticed the correlation too: the dumber the people get, the more they enjoy my writing.

The reason for this blog really all comes down to this: a very good friend of mine is the Editor of a minor, yet relatively well-known, publication. Don't ask, I'm not ready to say which publication yet. He's got a Bachelor's Degree in Literature with a Minor in Filmic Writing (writing for films). He's also earned a Masters Degree in Journalism. So you'd think that with those credentials the guy would have at least a modicum of understanding of what good writing is. He should be able to tell the difference between writing that is captivating, engaging and entertaining vs. writing that is best left relegated to (gulp) blogs. But apparently he cheated his way through college and never learned a damn thing. This is evidenced by the fact that he has invited me to enter an audition process that will ultimately determine who will be chosen to write a monthly column for his publication.

Write? Audition to be a writer? Me? For a publication that has a readership of over 100,000 every month? Audition for a column of my own, with my own byline, where I can write about whatever my heart desires? Is he "nucking futs"? He wants ME, yes ME, to audition for this. The auditions are by invitation only, there will be only ten invitees, and I am one of them. If they all suck, he and his staff will find ten more to invite. But they find that scenario highly unlikely. They are very confident in those they've invited to audition. And that first ten, the ten that they think have the most potential, the first round of the draft, that first ten is to include little ol' me.

The submissions of writing samples for the auditions begins in late October. I told my friend that the only writing I do of any length and / or substance is to my Journal. It's just me writing to me. And what is written there is certainly not for public consumption. Hell, I don't even read my Journal. I have a very strict policy of NEVER re-reading what I've written in my Journal. Thus I haven't ever had the opportunity to critique anything "deep" or "with substance" or that may be "humorous" that I've put into writing. And I certainly have no experience in writing in a manner that is meant to be entertaining, informative, or whatever, to others. Here we go again with that self-awareness thingy....I know that I'm a horrible writer. I know that my writing is interesting to no one, not even me. I know that when people say they like they way I write they are just tossing about the niceties that one does in their day-to-day interactions with other human beings. Everybody likes polite people, few like rude people. "Gosh Ashley, you got your hair done. You sure were a lot prettier yesterday with your previous hairstyle". Nah. People don't say that. They say "Wow!! Ashley your haircut is soooo pretty"!! Ya see? Polite. Not rude. People toss niceties back and forth at each other like they would a football while spending a day at the beach. And that's a good thing. But not necessarily factual. Uh-huh. Self-awareness staring us in the face again. I don't know if my friend bumped his head just once really, really hard.....or if he had to do it repeatedly to get so "ducking fumb".

I guess how he got so clueless is irrelevant. I decided to accept his invitation to audition, and when I did he actually displayed a small glimpse of intelligence and a glimmer of taste: he suggested that I practice writing to someone other than myself. That I practice writing for public consumption. That I put the suggested writings on public display. That I start a blog.

So there you have it. You, gentle reader, are now privy to some totally useless and boring information: the reason I've started this blog and my feelings about bloggers and blogs in general.

If you've read this far I'd like to congratulate you on your endurance and, much more importantly, I'd like to sincerely thank you.

And finally I'd like to say to you, gentle reader, with nothing but heartfelt truth.......I am hoping that this blog finds you, and finds you well.

Cheers,

Jimmy