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

Triberr

Timing & Time Management

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Life is nothing but a series of moments in time set against the backdrop of the people who share them.My goal is put myself in a position to savor and enjoy as much of that as possible. It is part of why I stopped wearing a watch. Those are the words I shared in a comment on my friend Kaarina’s post about time. Go read it, she makes some really good points.

Me? I am stuck in a moment that I can’t quite slip out of. I am lost in thought about a friend whose nine month old son died suddenly and another who lost her mother and sister this month. I am lost in thought about Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and these words stick with me

“On Rosh Hashanah will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur will be sealed how many will pass from the earth and how many will be created; who will live and who will die; who will die at his predestined time and who before his time; who by water and who by fire, who by sword, who by beast, who by famine, who by thirst, who by storm, who by plague, who by strangulation, and who by stoning. Who will rest and who will wander, who will live in harmony and who will be harried, who will enjoy tranquillity and who will suffer, who will be impoverished and who will be enriched, who will be degraded and who will be exalted.“

The children ask me about this. They ask me for my thoughts and look up at me with wide eyed innocence wondering what I will say. The dark haired beauty wraps her hands around my bicep, “abba, make a muscle for me.” I smile and flex. She tells me that I am strong, but not stronger than G-d and then immediately looks into my eyes to see what sort of reaction I provide.

I tell her to go check the other muscle and then I lift her up and listen to her giggle. ‘There are two things that I want you and your brother to remember about this time of year.”  I pause for emphasis and then continue, “now is when you think about what kind of person you are and what kind you want to be.”

“You need to be good because it is the right thing to do and not because you are afraid of getting punished.” She nods her head and her brother finishes my thoughts for me, explains to her that we are responsible for our actions and for determining our future.

“Why did the baby die?” She must have overheard a conversation because I certainly didn’t tell her. “I don’t know. Sometimes there aren’t answers”

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I am working hard to take advantage of the opportunities that present themselves because life is short and I can’t stomach the idea of missing out on them. I am working on my writing and trying to assemble the pieces of a story that I see in my head. Pieces that remind me that The Rules Of Blogging are things that I have applied to it or maybe the story is something that I have applied to blogging.

And I remind myself that this moment that I am living in now is so very short and it is my obligation to push harder to do the things that I want to do and live the life I want to live.  That wacky Shmata Queen has been lurking around here and though she doesn’t comment she knows that I harp on certain things. She knows that when I play ball I love to rebound. Rebounding isn’t about height, speed or strength- it is about effort. It is about desire. It is about who is willing to run one step further and that is why basketball can be used as a metaphor for life.

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There is a rhyme and a reason to why I use this joint to suss out my thoughts and declutter my mind. It is not because I can be a moody bastard or for anything other than because it helps me manage my time. And the way that it does that is by providing me with a venue in which I can determine what is most important to me. It provides a platform for me to speak to myself first in words that cannot be ignored. Read through these posts and you’ll see me illustrate how the past few years have had a bunch of rough spots. I don’t sugar coat it. While there have been great moments of joy there has been misery too.

This is where I call myself to the carpet and demand that I chart a new course based on what makes me happiest. This is where I start to map it out and that my friends is how I manage my time. I know where it is I am trying to go and what it is I am trying to do. Better to try to get there and fail than not to try at all.

And to my fellow MOTs I want to wish you all a Shana Tova Umetukah. May 5772 bring you all that you hope for and desire.

Would You Read This Story Part 3

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Based upon tremendous reader feedback here is the sequel to Would You Read This Story and Would You Read This Story Part 2.

Hanging Out With Hairy

Inside the car I remembered that I hate commuting. The fact that it would have taken me just as long to get to the beach as it did to travel to the office was immaterial. Normally I would have spent the ride plotting ways to prick “Big Ed.” The precious minutes of beach time that I was wasting would have been devoted to thinking about how many different ways I could call Harold, “Hairy.”

Did I mention that at times I can be juvenile, selfish and spiteful. Not my finer traits, but hey, at least I am aware of them.

This time was different. Instead of plotting my silly revenge, enjoying music or listening to the ridiculous rantings of the anonymous talk show callers I was lost in a place that I wasn’t so sure I wanted to revisit. I was back in the past. It was a bit like walking into my garage. There were all sorts of treasures inside and a bunch of junk that I probably should get rid of, but never had.

I have always liked thinking of my memory as being a big garage or warehouse full of stuff. It works for me. There is something appealing about it. Whenever I need to remember something I simply walk into the garage and find the box it is located in. The problem is that like my real garage those boxes are not only dusty but they sometimes include items that I didn’t expect to find.

Back when I was married the garage was my refuge. It was my cave, my domain and all who entered it understood that it was dangerous to screw with things without my approval. Not surprisingly the ex thought that different rules applied to her. Although to be fair I learned long ago that once a woman starts sleeping with you she assumes certain liberties, like trying to convince you that Laura Ashley sheets are cool for the master bedroom.

My internal monologue was disrupted by the squealing by a loud thump, thump, thump coming from the car next to me. If you want to piss me off it is always wise to play your stereo at levels loud enough to make the windows shake. I have said more than once that if I am ever involved in a road rage incident it is going to be because of that.

The noise got my attention and I made a point of looking around to see where it was coming from. There was a large SUV in front of me that seemed to be the culprit. Sometimes it is hard to tell. The noise is so loud that it could just as easily be coming from the side or behind.

The license plate frame on the SUV said something about being a proud student of Grapevine Community College. The G.C.C. administration should be proud of this sort of representation. It really says something. Then again, I am a part time writing instructor there so maybe I should be more charitable with how I think of the students.

The writing gig isn’t bad. For the past ten years or so I teach one or two creative writing courses each semester. In the beginning I wasn’t so sure about it. They didn’t have an existing curriculum so I had to develop one on my own. That was supposedly going to lead to my earning more but I am not really sure that ever happened.

That first year I taught by Braille. It was a lot of touch, feel and react. I wouldn’t advise doing it that way. The department chair made a point of instructing me not to do it that way. He gave me a lot of good advice that I ignored. Sometimes my issue with authority causes trouble for me.

But we got through it. Over time I developed a teaching style and I found that I was pretty good at it. Most of my students were truly interested in learning so it made it easier to engage them. And of course it didn’t hurt that quite a few were relatively attractive women.

On a side note let me mention that you don’t want to tell woman that she is relatively good looking. It is the kind of remark that creates a minefield that no man wants to walk through. It is not that different from being asked if a particular item of clothing makes her look fat.

Say that she is relatively good looking and she will set you up for a verbal beating. You can almost guarantee that it will be an interrogation of what and who she is relatively good looking compared to. If you suffer from the same fits of stupidity that afflict me it will lead you to saying that she is far more attractive than a hippo or warthog.

You’ll say it with a big smile that you think she’ll find endearing and then after she has eviscerated you’ll wonder why you didn’t just save time by hitting yourself in the head with a hammer.

In case you are wondering I sometimes use that as part of my lecture. The students enjoy laughing at my expense. It is not unusual for the women to laugh the hardest or tell me that I should know better. I smile and shrug my shoulders. The guys usually like this too. After class a few of them will come and share their own war stories with me.

I like to try and use these kinds of stories because they work well as ice breakers. Get the class to laugh. Get them interested and engaged and it becomes far more interesting to everyone.

Not everyone appreciates these tales. Every class is filled with at least one person who doesn’t appreciate a self deprecating sense of humor. Did I mention that they are usually female. Is this coincidence? I think not. That leads to another useful safety tip for the men.  Don’t try to use that last line or any derivation of it in class. You’ll do great with the women who likes to hang out with the boys.

But invariably you’ll upset one or more who will decide that you are sexist and in need of being reported to whatever authority they think will screw you the hardest.

Ok, I admit it, I am a bit bitter and irked with the fairer sex. But I have a good reason, really, I do. I can tell you her name, her sizes. Yes, I said sizes, shoe, pants, panties, bra, blouse, whatever. I don’t give a damn whether you think that is cool, weird or what.

I can tell you how tall she is, her weight, what color her eyes are and a million other details. It has been years and I haven’t forgotten what she smells like or how it feels to kiss her. Years later and sometimes when I close my eyes I still see her looking back at me.

Years later and I can’t forget. The last time I saw her we kissed each other goodbye and headed off to our cars.

But I am not going to go there. It took a long time to put it aside. It took a long time to accept that the life I thought we were going to share wasn’t going to happen. Took a long time to convince myself that I couldn’t just wait around, that maybe love wasn’t enough.

And until the girls decided to have lunch with me that was ok. I was ok. Until that little bit about her being single I was ok.

I’ll say one thing for being distracted, it made the time in the car go by like it was nothing. Of course the downside to that was that I hadn’t spent any time thinking about an idea for my next assignment. And now I had all of five minutes to try to come up with one.

Your Blog Bores Me

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Portrait of a sleeping cub

The mysterious powers that be tell me that if I want to included on the lists of best daddy bloggers or social media A-listers I need to step up my game and dole out copious amounts of wisdom.

I’d like to say that I cared enough to make that happen but I have an exceptionally thick head and I am unwilling to blog as they wish I would. Bully for them and boo for me.

I don’t know about you but I am tired of reading 1,298,398 posts on how to use Twitter, be a better blogger and or how to make millions of dollars by blogging for 2 hours each day.  Nor am I interested in reading more bullshit about the biggest names in social media.

Those posts bore me because they are among the weakest and worst forms of linkbait. Lazy people create those lists in the hopes that one of the really important people they linked to will notice their posts.

If your best effort consists of writing a list of 5-10 names and one sentence about those personalities you need to reconsider why you are out here. Because all you are doing is adding to the noise that already exists. If you are into meaningless chaos and confusion than by all means keep doing what you are doing.

It makes me wonder Why Do You Blog?

Why I Blog

I blog because I love to write. I blog because this is where I learn, clear my head and clarify my thoughts about life. This is where I chronicle the mundane and the magical. And because I blog I have been given some great opportunities and remembered that the dreams I hold dear don’t have to be limited to fantasy.

I am a Nintendo Brand Ambassador.  In my role as a brand ambassador I have received compensation in the form of various products (read games/clothing) and an incredible trip to Nintendo Headquarters. That trip was a hell of a lot of fun for a ton of reasons but what really solidified it for me was the opportunity to meet the other ambassadors.

It was the social part of social media and I loved it. I met people I never would otherwise have spoken with and had some fascinating conversations. I sat with other parents playing video games and laughing about you never know where life is going to take you.

Thirty some years ago I was just a kid who played Pong and Space Invaders. Just a kid who loved his Atari and never dreamed that one day I would be a part of this world.

I could write ten thousand more words about why I am here and what I am doing but that would be overkill. Suffice it to say that I know why I am here and what I hope to accomplish. So the ball is back in your court. Why do you blog?

What Do Triberr & A Drunk Moose Have In Common

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When Children Die

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Be A Part Of My Community

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I dwell in possibility.” Emily Dickinson

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

I would love for you to join me.