30 Seconds to see what I can produce

I have about 30 seconds to try and bang out a post. I am sitting here feeding my newest addiction, blogging. I blog because it provides an outlet that I don't have anywhere else. I blog because I love to write and the words flow from my fingers like an endless river. In my mind's eye I see a glacier that represents all that I have to say and it calves giant icebergs that go crashing out into the area we call cyberspace.

Some of it is meaningful, some of it is fluff and some of it is neither.

I blog because I love the interaction and I believe in learning and I am convinced and confident that this provides an opportunity that doesn't exist anywhere else. I blog because the computer doesn't judge, it just accepts the good, the bad and the ridiculous that I spew out without judgement and without reservation. Of course I am still looking for more things/people that accept my without reservation.

For that matter I could use a good steak dinner and a nice single malt, some quiet music and a good cigar. Haven't smoked a cigar in a number of years, it is very social and I like it. It reminds me of my grandfathers, who G-d willing will remain with me for many more years.

And now I see that I have exceeded my 30 seconds by 90 seconds and in moments the new and improved version of me will come and take me by the hand. It is dinner time and as usual my canny inability to make sense of the time I have is showing itself. One day I'll figure out a way to pause time so that I have time to do what I do. And now I demonstrate what I do best, I procrastinate, proclaim and project. Not sure if that makes sense, but it sounded good at the time. Later I think that I'll edit this down so that it makes more sense so if you find it meaningful copy it now with my authorized signature.

-Jack's Shack, signed by Jack of Jack's Shack where you never know what you read about or if it will be another repetition of topics covered earlier. Of course as a father I am endowed with not just the ability but the right to tell bad jokes and repeat my stories without a care as to whether you have heard them before. But take heart, I am good at elaborating and you just might find that they sound a little different later on.

Ok, now I am really late and my son is staring at me with a look that he stole from me. He ought to thank the stars that his genetic makeup includes that look, it is mine and I'd like to copyright it, but I think that he has got it down pat.

Of course it doesn't measure up to the exasperated look that women manage to put out. What is it about them that allows them to give you that death stare. And how is it that even little girls seem to be able to do it.

Ok, ok, ok, he is tugging at my arm, 35 pounds of terror poised to strike and ready at a moments notice to reign terror down on the house. He is a powerhouse of energy and far smarter than his abba. Thankfully I can still benchpress him with my pinky, for now I am safe. Back later folks with more important news than this nonsense.