The Quest for a Pasttime and Latent Estrogen

Ahoy,

I am a thirty-three year old man with something to say. Let me clarify the previous statement with the disclaimer that what I have to say will probably have no bearing on your life whatsoever. My words will not bring you fortune and fame. I won't clear up that nasty rash you desperately try to ignore. I cannot solve your deep seeded issues with your biological father. And most certainly, I will not make you any more intelligent than you already are. If you're stupid, you're stuck with it. May God have mercy on your soul.

What I can do is give you a few insights into the World of Me and maybe make you snicker along the way. That's a big maybe. Huge. Some people just don't snicker. Some people just eat Snickers. I call them laughter cannibals. They call me retarded.

***Jack, my two year old son just slid across the wood floor ala Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Tom (yes, we're on a first name basis) was clad in tighty whities and a buttoned shirt. Jack is sporting a diaper and a Go Diego, Go! t-shirt. The similarities are eerie. Jack is surely destined for a life of megastardom and underlying questions about his sexuality. That means only one thing. Therapy for him. Retirement for me. Yes! I win!***

I decided to embark on this blog because I needed a pasttime. Do not get me wrong, I have a lot on my plate. However, my previous hobbies were unproductive and time prohibitive. I was not the model of efficiency. Then again, I worry about the fruitfulness of this endeavor as well. Where are the readers going to come from? Readers are key. Anyone who writes and says they do it purely for carthartic reasons is lying. They were probably just looking for a clever way to work the word "cathartic" into a conversation. Of course you need readers if you write. This shit is already running around my head. I already know what I am thinking.

***Jack is humping the bookcase. I am pretty sure that is how Tom prepared for his role in Days of Thunder.***

So...the question persists: If I blog into an vast empty internet and no one hears it, did I ever blog at all? This has always been my hangup about the blog. I like the word "carthartic" as much as the next guy, but I also like the word "potpurri." You don't see me with dried herbs and obnoxious, crinkly cellophane wrapping around my house.

I am almost ashamed of what tipped the scales for me. I wish I could say that during "Die Hard 26: The One Story Floor Plan," Bruce Willis blogged about his various acts of heroism and slaughtered terrorists. Nope...it was Julie and Julia. Yep, the estrogen flows strongly through me. I try to make myself feel better by thinking of it as a cosmic power akin to the force. If I concentrate hard enough, I can levitate a hair tie and a tube of mascara at the same time.

It comes down to one simple principle - she did it. Why can't I?

***Jack is dismantling a xylophone while watching iCarly. And you know that Tom is watching the exact same episode at this very moment. In fact, I bet Tom owns the whole season on DVD. I am going to own my own island off the interest of Jack's wealth.***

So there it is...blogito, ergo sum. From the Latin phrase: I blog, therefore I am. Descartes was a big blogger. Huge. I heard he also made a killing on Ebay.

***Jack is headbanging the ottoman. The insane role is when you get the Oscar nod, right?***

Until next time, Mates! Remember to keep one hand on the turn signal and always check your blind spot.

-JP