Amazingly after fifteen years, I’ve yet to bother with an about page for this blog... so, here we go.

I am an eight-year-old child trapped in a man’s body currently living in the Midwestern United States. However, I am working on freeing myself from possessions and relationships, as well as stacking cash, so that I may set off on an adventure—a grand tour. What’s out there? I don’t know. I’d love to find out.

Clearly there are dozens women out there. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. All of whom I’d love to meet—and fall in love with.

One may say I have a problem with women. It feels a bit cliche, but I do fall in love with the women I meet. Whether for ten minutes or ten years. I find I’m easy to fall in love with, yet easier to fall OUT of love with. So, I tend to play hard to want.

While I adore women, and genuinely enjoy meeting new people, I am quite the curmudgeonly introvert. If I don’t get enough solitude to bask in, I find my internal battery maxxing out at lower percentages. Currently, I’m overworked and over-friended, so I tend to find myself re-entering social situations at about 60% max. Getting pretty exhausted.

So, why the blog?

I enjoy writing. Getting my thoughts on the page help provide clarity. Some (many?) of my opinions are unpopular—let’s just say I’ll never be elected to public office. Hell, I’ll probably not even find much success as an influencer. Ever.

Speaking of...

Within this blog, you’ll find many allusions to social media—mostly, the Facebook. Social media makes me sad. It was designed to be a great uniter. A place to get reacquainted and stay close with those from your past and present who you like, but cannot, for whatever reason, enjoy the pleasure of their company on a daily/weekly/monthly/yearly basis.

All it really does, is show how big of an asshole everyone is.

Now, I’m not saying I’m not an asshole. I’ll probably offend most of the dozen people who stumble upon this space. But this is my space (no pun intended). It’s not necessarily designed to “go viral.”

Plus, there is plenty I actually write in a journal—with pen and paper, like a savage—because even the anonymous surfer doesn’t need to know.

So, why blog about anything? Especially without commenting turned on? Or caring about an audience?

Well, when I find an answer to that question, I’ll make a note to share it here. For now? We’ll call it a hobby.

Anyway, I find social media to be quite toxic. At best, it’s white noise for those who crave entertainment or drama. To be honest, I crave neither. I am that man who can sit in a room alone with myself and just be aware. Where’s Pascal when I need him?

At this point, there’s little draw for Facebook, or Snapchat, or especially Twitter (you people are an argument for “It’s never too late for abortion.”). And very little value.

Oddly, Instagram is the one I miss the most. It’s a beautiful place to interact with beautiful people who don’t really know in a beautiful way. It’s not totally free from the divisive influences of society, but it is highly-curatible (apparently, that is not a word).

Society be damned, I choose to see beauty in the world.

On copying...

Moving on, plagiarism is a thing. Let’s be honest, most of you have done it. Sometimes you get caught, you cite something, and feel better about it. Others call it INSPIRATION. Thanks to link-rot, I'm not even sure how valid my citations are...

Also, honestly, I don’t necessarily like my shit getting stolen either. I have had one or two original thoughts, yet some teenage girl could have had the same thought, and written it in the same prose in her polka-dotted journal. Who’s to know neither of us really were never influenced by each other’s writing?

So, don’t steal from me. If you think something on here is intellectual property, or whatever it is, I have better things to do that get a lawyer involved—so tell me and I’ll take it down.

If you stole from me? I probably don’t care enough to get my knickers in a twist. If the message is truly about SHARING with the world, then stop being such a hypocrite. Seriously.

Why the Roman numerals? Explain...

Okay, so at the end of 2019, I set a personal resolution for 2020. For each day of the year, that’s how many push-ups (press-ups for my British friends) I’ll do. January 1? One. April 1? Ninety-one.

Why? Isn’t it stupid to start with just one? Yes and no. It had to be something I could quantify in my mind as a checklist item. It worked quite well. I’m in remarkable shape, but around day 240, I was getting incredibly sore—all. the. time. Apparently, rest days are an important factor in any new workout regimen.

Anyway, it was easy for me. I could look in any cheap day planner, see what day of the year it is, and smash out the push-ups.

As 2021 approached, I intended to do it again, factoring in one rest day every seventh day... so, Thursdays. And I found that the rest days take me out of the groove, and one rest day becomes two. Four. A dozen. Perhaps one day, I’ll find a balance. Anyway, the day of the year in Roman numerals serves as a reminder that I should do some push-ups.

The second one, pertains to an online class I am re-taking... albeit at a slower pace. It refers to what day’s lesson I need to focus on. It may not always be there. Neither may this reference to it.

I like food and money—and drink

Finally, if you enjoy this blog, feel free to leave a tip. There’s a link to my Amazon wish list, and I’m considering adding PayPal, Venmo, and the like. I am also dabbling in selling my funny (to me, at least) T-shirt ideas at TeePublic and RedBubble.

Or if you see me in the wild, buy me a drink. I like my tequila like I like my girls—brown.