Old Stories

An unintended result from this blog has been that it makes me pay close attention to what happens around me.  Sometimes it’s easy to slip into the habit of letting days pass by without noticing the funny little events that transpire throughout the day.  Since I feel like I need to write something everyday, I am always watching and listening, wondering if I can spin what I observe into an interesting blog entry.  It has gotten to a point where something will happen and my kids will say, “Dad, you should blog about that.”  I actually appreciate the new perspectives this blog has given me.

Having said that, I can’t help but feel frustrated when I have nothing to say.  Occasionally I’ll think of something really funny to write about, but the subject matter is questionable enough for me to reconsider and go to the wife for her approval.  I know I shouldn’t do this since I go into it knowing full well that she’ll put the kiabosh on any idea I am even remotely hesitant about.  For example, the other day I asked permission to write about the overwhelming number of “augmented” women in our neighborhood (If this makes you panic, wondering "do they know?"  the answer is yes, we know, we always know).  I promised to be tactful, discrete and nonspecific, but she would have none of it.  You can thank her for missing out on an unprecedented post worthy of the Pulitzer.  We’re talking the Tale of Two Cities of blogs.

When I have moments of writers block, I typically write about events from the past.  I like to live in the present, but please forgive me if I tell old, worn out stories from the past every once in a while.  I’m sure I have the wife’s approval on this, especially if it means I’m not looking to “augmented” women for inspiration.