I’m back … and I’m ready to handle it up!

While recently looking at my blog’s incoming-traffic data, I discovered that someone had arrived here through a translation link … which, when clicked on, led me to the page you see above.

Ever since then, I’ve been wearing a mariachi costume, downing tequila shots and spontaneously shouting “¡Arriba!” at all hours of the day and night. So, you know, same as always. The big difference, however, is that I now am insisting that everyone refer to me as Papà Arañazos. Por favor.

Gracias.

In other news: I got sick of blogging. Not only maintaining my own, but reading everyone else’s. I mean, all of these blogs (mine included) started feeling to me like a once-great television series that had gone on for too long. The first four seasons of “Breaking Bad”? Phenomenal. Season 5? Well, it’s still entertaining … and I certainly don’t blame the writers and producers and actors for continuing with the show. If given the chance, I most definitely would do the same. But Season 4 was a perfect story comprised of perfectly executed conflicts that led to a perfect and wholly satisfying climax. Whereas these so-called Mommy blogs and Daddy blogs? (Again: Mine included.) They just go on and on and on and on … generally without the benefit of attention-grabbing storylines and totally-worth-the-wait climaxes.

All of which eventually caused me to contract such an acute case of “Who gives a shit?”-itis that I took an indefinite blogging hiatus and decided to instead try my hand at fiction writing. And after several months of trying to create something out of nothing, I discovered a couple of things:

  1. Making up a compelling and coherent story is difficult.
  2. Discontinuing my blog didn’t result in me having more time to work on my fiction writing; it resulted in me not doing any writing.

So when last week I realized that I missed blogging, I figured I’d dip my toe back in the pool … if for no other reason than to at least do some sort of writing.

Also, I must confess that the following comment recently left on my blog made me realize just how important my writing is to some people:

What I don’t realize is in reality how you are not really much more smartly-appreciated than you might be right now. You are so intelligent. You realize therefore considerably in terms of this matter, produced me personally imagine it from so many various angles. Its like men and women don’t seem to be fascinated until it is one thing to do with Woman Gaga! Your personal stuffs nice.

All the time handle it up!

Handle it up indeed, my friend. You’re damn right I will. All the time.

(NOTE: For some reason, the plugin that guards my blog aflagged the above comment as “Spam” … which, clearly, was a mistake. I mean, just because the author included a link to a completely unrelated online store doesn’t mean he or she isn’t sincere — and, might I add, overwhelmingly correct — about me being “so intelligent” and having nice “personal stuffs.” And say what you will, but there is definitely no arguing the fact that it truly is a mystery how in reality I am not really much more smartly appreciated than I might be right now. Yer damn skippy I’m not. Even Woman Gaga would agree.)

In conclusion: I have no idea what the future holds for me, my blog, or my writing in general. I might try to be funny. I might just focus on documenting life so that my kids can one day read about their childhoods. I might even get all nutty and offer up some social and political commentary that will piss off and alienate a whole bunch of you. Whatever the case, I’ve realized that any kind of writing is better for me than no writing.

We’ll see what happens.

In the meantime: Handle it up, motherfuckers.

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Posted in Inspiration, Life, Writing | Comments closed

Jayna: 7 years

Jayna, 7th birthday retrospective

Dear Jayna,

You turned 7 five months ago and I am only just now writing about it. Sorry. Daddy had a severe case of blogger burnout.… [read the rest]

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Posted in Jayna, Jayna's Birthday Letters | 6 Responses

Zan: 9 years

Zan, 9th birthday retrospective

Dear Zan,

Not for nothing, but, um … didn’t we just do this?

I vaguely recall thinking, at some earlier point in my life, that a year was a looooong time. The annual recurrence of your birthday, however (and, sadly, of mine as well) now serves as a reminder that these “year” things are whizzing by with steadily increasing speed. Basically, I’ll be dead soon, is what I’m saying. Happy Birthday, son!… [read the rest]

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Posted in Zan, Zan's Birthday Letters | 16 Responses

We interrupt this embarrassingly prolonged silence to bring you an actual blog post

“Hello? … Yeah, this is him. … I have a what? … A blog? Oh, shit, that’s right.”

Ahem.

Hey, you guys! How’s it going? Me? No, I didn’t die; I’ve just been trying desperately to make the minimum monthly payments on my Mt. Everest-sized pile of debt … and since my mad website-building skillz currently pay more than my mad blogging skillz, I’ve been focusing as of late on the former endeavor … which explains why I currently am in Boston attending An Event Apart, a conference for people who build websites.

The best part about attending the conference? My employer is paying for it. The second best part about attending the conference? I got to hit last night’s Red Sox game with my Dad.

Fenway Paaahhhhk.

The best part about hitting last night’s Red Sox game with my Dad? He paid for it.

Actually, the best part about hitting the Red Sox game with my Dad … was hitting a Red Sox game with my Dad … something that neither of us had any interest in doing when I was a kid. (This is what my social-worker wife would call a “corrective experience.”)

Now, as with any plan involving my Dad, there was a high probability of confusion and chaos … which is why, when he called me from a stranger’s phone 40 minutes prior to game time and left me a voicemail saying that he’d forgotten his own phone at home, I was convinced that the likelihood of him and I finding each other in the mayhem outside of Fenway Park prior to, say, the 7th inning was anorexically slim.

(And for those of you asking: “Why didn’t you just answer your phone when it rang, dumb ass?” Well, firstly: I don’t appreciate being called a dumb ass. Secondly: I rarely answer my phone when I do recognize the caller’s phone number … but when I don’t recognize the caller’s phone number? The caller stands a better chance of contacting me via carrier pigeon.)

And so it was that I hunkered down at my favorite pregame watering hole, ordered up a delicious Fenway Pale Ale …

Fenway Pale Ale @ Boston Beer Works

… and prepared to watch the first six-or-so innings on the flat screen hanging over the bar.

You guys: Life really is full of surprises:

Daddy Scratches' Daddy. #RedSox

It is with tremendous glee that I tell you the photo above was taken during the bottom of the second inning … and it is with even greater glee that I tell you we arrived at our seats in the bottom of the first inning, just seconds before Big Papi hit a two-run, game-tying blast into the right-field seats.

Add to all of that some spectacular weather and seats that were located a mere eight rows away from the field …

Spoiled by the sweet seats we scored to the Red Sox game

… and what you have is a Hallmark-worthy evening of father-and-son bonding.

Thanks for the corrective experience, Pop!

And, hey, speaking of father-and-son bonding: My boy turned 9 last week … and I soon will post my highly anticipated* annual birthday letter. Stay tuned.

*My Mom really looks forward to it. That counts.

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Posted in Life, Red Sox | 9 Responses

This be my bad chariot

This be my bad chariot
Click the image above to view full-size photo.

I searched high. I searched low. (Actually, I only searched low … because I can’t afford high.) And finally… [read the rest]

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Posted in Featured Photo | 17 Responses