Birthday Wishes

As much as I don’t quite understand them, I love my kids.

Let me step back for a minute, to explain that last comment. You see I don’t really feel as if I understand my kids, simply because they sometimes totally knock me off guard with the ideas floating about in their heads.

Take for instance my daughter. When I recently asked her what she wanted for her birthday, her response was that she hoped I wouldn’t mind “publishing” one of her poems on my blog.

Pretty awesome, right? I mean, don’t get me wrong – she also asked for the latest album from Of Monsters & Men – but I was somewhat taken aback that she would think enough of my endeavors, as to ask that hers could also be included.

Of course I said “no,” but I was just kidding. Cuz I’m a daddy douche like that.

Now, without further ado, and recreated as accurately from the source material as possible, here is what comes from the mind of my beautiful daughter when she puts pen to paper:


• The World After I Am Gone •

Growing up.

A hard experience.

O   b  st  acl  e  s

at every turn.

The swiftly moving

c  u

in the     v              a               s               t

sky, reminder that

the days are

ending and starting

 again. Acting as a clock.

A red sun on the horizon

blazing in my

eyes, aging


The future holds great


if only

the minutes


tick by

so fast.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

It is my future.

I am older now.

The swiftly moving

c  u 

Still reminding my

elderly body

that everyday and everybody

has a start

and a


Now it is

The world after I

am gone.

I am one with the sky and I watch the

aging people

look up at me,

the swiftly


c  u 

in the     v              a               s               t

sky, reminding

them that
















Happy Birthday, darling

I LIKE it!

With the notable exception of the mixed tape, I strongly feel that the single greatest invention of the modern era is the “Like” button. However, my love of this little button-that-isn’t-an-actual-button-at-all is not the reason I’m writing about it today. Rather, my purpose is to hopefully clear up any possible misconceptions that might be floating about, by explaining my use of it to you. A usage that admittedly some may say borders on abusage. Yes, I know that that’s not a real word. I don’t care. I sounds cool.

As many of you whom I follow know, I can be a pretty avid user of the “Like” button (let me know if I ever use yours to the point of breaking it – you know, where the button gets semi-permanently stuck, squashed slightly under the hard rubber perimeter. Lodged in there just enough so that you can’t get it undone without first unscrewing the back plate and dismantling the whole mess – and I’ll gladly get you a new one). Now I click your “Like” buttons for one reason, and one reason only. Whatever you wrote, that I just read, I liked. Pure and simple. You wrote it. I liked it. And I used the second greatest invention of the modern era to let you know. And I hopefully didn’t break it in the process. Now, maybe I didn’t like your post to the point of physically jumping onto my desk and screaming “Brilliant!”, but it was good none the less. And I felt you should know that. In part, because I know that out here in Bloglandia, you can never be quite sure as to if what you just published is actually good, or if you’ve just tricked your brain into thinking it was (I feel it’s safe to say, I naturally assume my brain is duped far too often).

What the “Like” button is NOT for me is a marketing tool. Or a brush-off. If I’ve clicked your “Like” button, it wasn’t in an attempt to say “hey, I’m over here! Come check me out and pet my blog!” Nor was it me saying “I really couldn’t be bothered to respond to this drivel. But I do feel you should know I popped in for a bit. You’re welcome” No, I have one firm rule about my button usage. I only use it if, after reading your post, my brain says something to the effect of “I liked that.” I also sometimes pretend I’m British and say “that was jolly good” or “good show!” And yes, the occasional desk-jumping “Brilliant!” can also be heard from time to time. *Proactive digression alert* Is it proper to use “time to time” immediately after making use of an “occasional”? I only ask because that last sentence seemed to simply fall off a cliff without the “time to time” bit. But now it just seems a tad redundant. Anywho, back on topic. What I was trying to say in the linguistic contraption above is this: if I’ve liked your post, I wasn’t simply waving at you to say hello (although as long as we’re at it, “hello!”), I was just letting you know that I think that you’re a good writer/photographer/artist/apologist/thinker/tinker/humorist/philosopher/protester/story teller/candlestick maker and/or chef. Although, to be honest, I never really read the recipe blogs, and I’m none to sure there’s even a one dedicated to candle craftsmanship. Please don’t tell me if I’m wrong.

“So, if you like my stuff so much t, then how come you so very rarely comment?” Well, here’s where it might start to sound a bit insincere, if not downright cheesy. But honestly, there are times when I feel that what was written was so perfect and/or complete that additional comments just aren’t warranted. And in fact, the comments made by others can sometimes appear to me to be either just idle (and sometimes downright creepy) adoration, or a shameless plug for the commenter’s site. In short, I see comments – made of an unnecessary nature – as simply serving to only muddy the whole point of the post, in lieu of enhancing it. And seeing as I would hate to muddy your post, unless I feel I really have something to add, I most often refrain. Unless I’m drunk at the time, of course, but that’s a wholly other story. Now, what I just said does not in any way pertain to my Blogspot cousins. Seeing as how your site won’t pony up the $19.95* required for a “Like” button function, I am “forced” to leave comments to show my appreciation. To me, it feels very much like putting on an overly starched and ill-fitting suit, just prior to coming over for tea on a hot summer day. As a result, I apologize if my comments on your pages seem to be born of either of the two scenarios I noted above.

And please, don’t even get me started on the mountain of security measures your place has just to gain admittance. Seems to me they could afford a “Like” button if they laid off just two of the apparent eight thousand CAPTCHA writers they have on staff. So, since I’m not allowed to “Like” you, I would ask that you instead accept this post today as your symbolic click, good for multiple uses, until such time as you have your own.

So, it looks like I’ll be letting you out a little early today, well under 1,000 words. Sorry if this one was a snooze, but I felt it was important to clear up any possible misunderstandings, as it has been weighing on me for a bit. As I mentioned before, to a certain extent we’re all just sort of free-falling out here, not really knowing if we’re understood or not. Unsure if we’ve “nailed it,” or have simply duped ourselves into thinking we have. And I wanted you to know, when you see my little square head directly beneath your “Like” button, you can rest assured that I feel you’re much more on the “nail” end of the equation than on the “dupe.” Good show!

So, to recap:

• If I click the “Like” button, it’s because I liked it.

• If I don’t comment afterwards, it’s simply because I feel you nailed it.

• Abusage would be a cool word.

Well, after just saying that, I suppose we could have actually wrapped up this post in well under 30 words. I hope this didn’t feel like a waste of time. And in fact, I hoped you liked it enough to take advantage of second the greatest invention of the modern era to let me know.

*I’m totally guessing at this price point. But if I’m close, let me know and I’ll be glad to float Blogspot a twenty.