Today, I checked the BFZ's sitemeter for the first time in months and I was appalled by what I found. The daily average number of visitors to the BFZ has fallen right off a cliff. It has dropped by over 50%!
Now, I know that in 2012 my posting has been less than regular. I'll go weeks, sometimes even close to a month without posting at all, and then I'll reemerge to post some lame piece of drivel. I think much of the blame can be laid squarely at the feet of yours truly for the sorry state of things around here. However, I also agree with President Obama that George Bush is also partly to blame.
My blogging has not been up to par. I'm not fishing for comliments here- just stating the facts. In fact, I have posted 54% fewer times than at this same point last year (2011- 183 posts and 2012- 99). Even so, I could still beat last year's posting record of 372 posts if I were to post 1.43 times a day for the remainder of the year. I'm not sure I'm ready to promise that, but I think that is a worthy goal.
The good news is that you all appear to be keeping to the first and second rule of the Bummer-Free Zone, and I thank you for that.
For those of you who have faithfully continued checking in despite my lack of recent content I want you to know that although the BFZ has fallen on hard times I will not be shuttering the place for the summer like in 2011. In fact, I remain committed to bringing back the former glory of this humble corner of the internet.
Bummer-Free Zone!!!
Sunday, June 24, 2012
THOUGHTS I HAD BUT DIDN'T SHARE (until now)
1. That woman's hair looked like a man's beard.
2. America needs a twenty-five dollar bill. Our twenty-fifth president, Teddy Roosevelt, could be on it with a bull moose on the reverse side.
3. I have never once in my life had a single use for my toe nails. I don't need them.
4. I find Bible covers a little unmasculine... kinda like a purse.
2. America needs a twenty-five dollar bill. Our twenty-fifth president, Teddy Roosevelt, could be on it with a bull moose on the reverse side.
3. I have never once in my life had a single use for my toe nails. I don't need them.
4. I find Bible covers a little unmasculine... kinda like a purse.
SARAH
and her smile was the sun coming up.
Her face was like the familiar outlines of home,
And the hills round about her form.
Her eyes were like windows at night,
And I, a passerby, peered in and beheld my home.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
THE PAPER MAN
One night in college I was sitting at my desk thinking longingly of my long-distance girlfriend, Sarah, when I heard a slight rustling sound behind me, and turning I laid my eyes for the first time on the little paper man.
The little paper man is a very knowing and sympathetic sort of person who visits the loneliest people in the midst of their misery. Perhaps they are imprisoned, or maybe homesick at summer camp or long-separated from those whom they love. Maybe you've been visited by the little paper man. If so, then you know what a kindly fellow he is.
He stood about six inches from the soles of his paper shoes to the top of his paper hat. In fact, every inch of him was made from a single piece of white, college-ruled paper. You know the sort- with faint blue lines, margins on the left-hand side and three holes punched along one edge. The little paper man could spiral his entire length like a tight needle so he could slide through a key hole and he could also flatten himself out so he could slip beneath a door. He could take the shape of a heart, flowers, the profile of a loved one or really just about anything. Mostly though he resembled a dapper little man in a white suit with faint blue pin stripes who made a distinct rustling sound as he moved, and whose voice sounded vaguely like the scratching of a pencil.
He begged me to lift him up onto the surface of my desk, which I was at first too frightened to do. Afraid of a paper man? Yes, if you are ever visited by something so unexpected as a paper man I expect you would also be a little cautious. However, as I already stated, the little paper man is a kindly soul, and after he explained himself I carefully lifted him up onto my desk. Being made of paper he cautioned me to be gentle as he was as frail and unsubstantial as...well...paper. I set him down on top of my desk and he set about kicking the clutter this way and that until he had cleared space enough for an 8 1/2 X 11 sheet of paper to lie flat. Then in a flash he simply unfolded himself into a crisp, clean sheet of college-ruled paper. There on the top line, in Sarah's unmistakeable handwriting, was written, "I love you! XOXOXO Sarah"
I stared at the paper for a few minutes, feeling quite overwhelmed and also a bit confused as to how I was supposed to respond. Then I heard a little voice which, as I mentioned before, resembled the thin scratchings of a pencil instructing me to take up a pen and write out a reply. I looked in vain for a mouth from which the voice may have come, but couldn't find one. As I put pen to paper and began writing out a response I heard the paper giggle as though it were being tickled. I wrote, "I love you too." and "This is strange, isn't it?," before signing my name.
After putting my pen down I watched in amazement as the paper wrippled like the disturbed surface of a tranquil pond before twisting and folding itself once more into the shape of a dapper little man in a pin stripe suit. He saluted me smartly and winked his eye before walking to the edge of the desk. He paused for a moment, gave me one last look over his shoulder, and then threw himself over the edge. However, no sooner did he jump then he transformed himself into the shape of a paper airplane that caught an upward draft off the radiator and floated out the window.
The little paper man is a very knowing and sympathetic sort of person who visits the loneliest people in the midst of their misery. Perhaps they are imprisoned, or maybe homesick at summer camp or long-separated from those whom they love. Maybe you've been visited by the little paper man. If so, then you know what a kindly fellow he is.
He stood about six inches from the soles of his paper shoes to the top of his paper hat. In fact, every inch of him was made from a single piece of white, college-ruled paper. You know the sort- with faint blue lines, margins on the left-hand side and three holes punched along one edge. The little paper man could spiral his entire length like a tight needle so he could slide through a key hole and he could also flatten himself out so he could slip beneath a door. He could take the shape of a heart, flowers, the profile of a loved one or really just about anything. Mostly though he resembled a dapper little man in a white suit with faint blue pin stripes who made a distinct rustling sound as he moved, and whose voice sounded vaguely like the scratching of a pencil.
He begged me to lift him up onto the surface of my desk, which I was at first too frightened to do. Afraid of a paper man? Yes, if you are ever visited by something so unexpected as a paper man I expect you would also be a little cautious. However, as I already stated, the little paper man is a kindly soul, and after he explained himself I carefully lifted him up onto my desk. Being made of paper he cautioned me to be gentle as he was as frail and unsubstantial as...well...paper. I set him down on top of my desk and he set about kicking the clutter this way and that until he had cleared space enough for an 8 1/2 X 11 sheet of paper to lie flat. Then in a flash he simply unfolded himself into a crisp, clean sheet of college-ruled paper. There on the top line, in Sarah's unmistakeable handwriting, was written, "I love you! XOXOXO Sarah"
I stared at the paper for a few minutes, feeling quite overwhelmed and also a bit confused as to how I was supposed to respond. Then I heard a little voice which, as I mentioned before, resembled the thin scratchings of a pencil instructing me to take up a pen and write out a reply. I looked in vain for a mouth from which the voice may have come, but couldn't find one. As I put pen to paper and began writing out a response I heard the paper giggle as though it were being tickled. I wrote, "I love you too." and "This is strange, isn't it?," before signing my name.
After putting my pen down I watched in amazement as the paper wrippled like the disturbed surface of a tranquil pond before twisting and folding itself once more into the shape of a dapper little man in a pin stripe suit. He saluted me smartly and winked his eye before walking to the edge of the desk. He paused for a moment, gave me one last look over his shoulder, and then threw himself over the edge. However, no sooner did he jump then he transformed himself into the shape of a paper airplane that caught an upward draft off the radiator and floated out the window.
YOU CAN QUOTE ME
"As a bachelor I viewed marriage principally as a necessity for the flesh, but over a decade of marriage my view has evolved to see it primarily as an opportunity for the spirit...with benefits."
JBT
JBT
Saturday, June 16, 2012
JUNE 16th IS THE BIRTHDAY OF OUR FAMILY! HAPPY 11th ANNIVERSARY, SARAH!
(Above: Sarah's and my passport photos as teenagers.)
ODD NUMBERS
I have always preferred odd numbers to even. I think most people prefer even numbers because they are symmetrical and clean, easily divisible by two, with no ragged ends and every digit paired with another. However, I think of even numbers as being leaderless like two columns without a captain at their head. The number eleven, for example, has two columns five digits in length marching two by two behind their leader, Capt. Eleven.
Even numbers lack leadership, and, as a result, I always prefer odd numbers. I can't wait to turn 35.
Even numbers lack leadership, and, as a result, I always prefer odd numbers. I can't wait to turn 35.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The house was abandoned, and the woods were creeping in, slowly reclaiming the place. "It must still belong to someone," I thought to myself. I wondered if the owner, probably out of state, sometimes wondered how things were getting on up at the old cabin. Somebody had cared about it at one time. It had no doubt been the site of happy vacations with lights glowing confidently out of the windows and the smell of food coming from the kitchen. On the edge of the porch sat a simple wooden chair. It had obviously been vacant for some time because a creeping tendril of a vine had twisted and climbed it's way up the leg and across the seat. The back of the chair was spattered with bird droppings. The only other item on the porch was a shovel, which I imagine had originally been left propped up against the door jam, but a wind or some other mysterious force had caused it to fall across the doorway with its blade curled upward. I had always been taught to leave shovel blades pointed down in case someone carelessly stepped on it and the handle came flying up. So I mounted the rotting steps and walked across the creaking boards of the porch. Then I flipped the shovel over. The ghosts of that place whispered their gratitude.
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