I’m not sure if I have anything to say
Blog, blog (anyway)
But I promise you that this was less than 60 minutes to write, and only seven to read.
Some of my best—I won’t say only—thinking comes at fast food joints. Nothing too alarming there. I don’t think.
One would think that other things would either captivate or prey on my mind on this beautifully torrential day.
Tell me if you have a solution to the world, domestic or (my) family economy—I don’t.
And I’m not sure exactly what we’re accomplishing by putting amazingly brave young American troops—and by extension, their whole families—in various theatres of war.
Yet, I’m stuck on another war, or is it WAR, as it relates to baseball. And it’s not even the pennant wars or even some good old-fashioned beanball wars. Or, even the Billy Beane / Michael Lewis/ Brad Pitt Moneyball wars.
Yesterday, I started a new gig, writing for a start-up company/website called www.jewocity.com.
We are at the beginning stages of, hopefully, creating something that will be successful and a lot of fun, but I do not wish to overstate or understate my contributions.
The site is not my baby. I am sure that its owner, Shai, has put in a ton of time, effort and money to launch it—the largest online Jewish Business Directory. I wish it every success and hope that my contributions will be valuable, valued and rewarded over time. While a paid gig, there is certainly a high element of sweat equity on my part as well.
So, what am I sweating and schvitzing about? The kind of stuff that I love doing, which is similar to what I have been doing, if ever-so-slightly targeted for a more specific (although I am sure, diverse in its own way) audience. In true Tip of the Goldberg-style, I hope to inspire laughs, smiles and just enough wisdom, even if most of my writing will be as light and fluffy as a good matzo ball.
People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
So, what are they supposed to do with them?
Can they bust them? Break them? Pass them?
I grew up in a (predominantly) brick home. I threw things all the time—but very few of those objects were stones. It took me many years to even get stoned, and I never even threw stones when I was in that state.
I’m not talking about New Jersey; I was usually stoned in PA.
I can’t say that it came suddenly, but when I take a step back, it seems just a little odd that we’re taking our three-year-old son, Benny, to school every day. Yes, it took me a long time to enter fatherhood and Benny’s been jabbering for months and months about going to school. This didn’t exactly sneak up on us.
And it is only pre-school, a two-and-a-half hour glorified play time that won’t determine whether he goes to Harvard at age 15 or still struggles with his GED at age 33. Still, my wife Ruby and I want Benny to get off to a good start. Has he?
Maybe, I’m seeking some unattainable picture of perfection here, but I’m just not sure.
Yes, he still loves school after his first three days, and there’s been no separation anxiety on his end. He goes right into the classroom and gives us almost nonchalant, teenager-like goodbyes when he enters Room 102. From my perspective, I guess this beats the heck out of the ten-minute wail, popularized by a couple of his classmates.
The following may be a little too much “inside baseball” for some, and perhaps not enough balls-to-the-wall geeked-up hardball for others. Yet, I think it offers a lot for both camps and even, I daresay, for the less-than-avid baseball fan.
So, whether or not you need to expand your reading strike zone, I hope that you will find something of more than passing interest as I dissect a portion of the national pastime. Well, I’d like to think that baseball still is that, even if ranks behind football, drinking and extreme online belching for many. Hey, don’t knock football if you haven't tried it.
Sometimes, it’s so easy to reflexively root for the little guy and decry the selfish, cheap, bean-counting, conniving bureaucrats that run corporations.
Sometimes, these knee-jerk reactions are wrong once you start to think rationally, and other times. these knee-jerk reactions are so instinctively right that you want to celebrate by ramming your knee into some jerk’s spine.
Ah, nothing gets me frothing at the bit more than a charity raffle contest held in a hockey rink in Minnesota. Say what? I said nothing gets me frothing at the bit more than a charity…yup, pretty ridiculous, Please read on.