Me by the numbers (from '15)

(874 words)

I’ve lived in 13 residences in 5 towns (Pittsburgh/Athens, Ohio/Nashville/Greensburg and Latrobe) over my 52 years.

I was tallying the number of places I’ve lived in the hopes it might lead to a decent post. Then I thought, gee, if I write about the number of places I’ve lived then sticklers are going to want to know the number of cars I’ve owned, the number of songs in my iTunes library and my waist size.

I thought that would be the easy way out so, of course, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Because the easy way isn’t always the right way, but it’s always easy and that’s alright with me.

So here goes . . .

I’ve owned 5 cars, 3 of them Saturns. The current 1 is a 2007 Saturn Vue with 149,898 miles.

I have 8,563 songs on my iTunes library, which is about 8,363 more than anybody reasonably needs, but you never know when you might want to listen to the 1968 hit “One” by the band Three Dog Night.

I still have size 34 pants into which I fit comfortably, but mostly buy size 36, which are often loose enough to require a belt. Obviously, this problem will be solved whenever pant manufacturers realize the benefits of making odd numbered sizes so if anyone asks my waist size I can just say 35.

I’ve been with the same woman 23 years and married to her for 19 of those years. She is ticklish and today is her birthday.

Happy Birthday Val! My gift to you today is omitting your age from this otherwise number-filled post. I love you!

We have 2 daughters, ages, 15 and 9.

In my life I’ve shared my home with 1 cat and 2 dogs and about 200 inconsequential tropical fish. The cat was Buster, who lived from about 1989 through 2004 and died from about 2005 through 2009. 

That stupid cat just wouldn’t die.

Casey was a male golden retriever who was born in 1992 and died in 2006. He was a good dog.

Snickers is of undetermined origin and was born in 2011. We’ve lived together 4 years and I am still uncertain about whether he is male or a female. He’s nervous 24/7 and sharing the house with him is like like sharing the house with a squirrel that barks.

I have 1 brother and we haven’t spoken in 5 years. It’s over disputes about my care for my 83 year old mother.

She lives in the South Hills condo she shared with my late father — he died at 76 in 2004 — since 1998. Last I checked about 2 months ago, she is No. 6 on a waiting list for a place we hope to move her to in Latrobe.

My wife says I should check more frequently, but checking feels ghoulish to me.

My brother has 2 sons, ages 23 and 21, and I love them both.

I have about 1 million friends. Each is essential.

I have been to 33 states and 8 sovereign nations, but only 3 if you exclude the little inconsequential Caribbean islands too pissant to even sustain a Mickey Ds.

I am 68 inches tall.

I weigh 194 pounds or about 10 pounds less than what I weighed in 1994 when I gained 20 pounds in 1 week eating like Elvis for National Enquirer.

I wrote more than 1,000 features for Enquirer from 1989 through 2004.

I’ve also written more than 400 features for once-prestigious titles including Esquire, Playboy, Cooking Light, People, Maxim, Sports Illustrated, Men’s Health, etc.

Who cares more about the latter than the former? Maybe 2 people.

Sometime in the next month, I’ll have sold my 2,500th copy of “Use All The Crayons!” Other outlets (Amazon/B&N) have sold more than 1,000.

The bio they use to introduce me at speaking events says I’m the author of 7 books. This is true, but only 2 of them matter.

In fact, one of the 5 that doesn’t matter is a novelty golf book that comes with a bubble pack of 12 adhesive tattoos.

Stephen King has written 54 novels and nearly 200 short stories and not a 1 of them comes with adhesive tattoos.

In 1990, I spent 1 night in a Pittsburgh jail for a crime I DID commit — drunk (sorta) and disorderly (definitely). 

On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being no fun and 10 being tons of fun, I’d rank my night behind bars a 9.

I’m friendly with 17 men and women who’ve done things to earn placement in the Guinness Book of World Records.

I tell people I’ve seen Bruce Springsteen live 173 times because it’s just such a fun lie to tell.

Honestly, I’ve seen Bruce Springsteen live 12 times, the same as the Rolling Stones.

I’ve taken 2 hot air balloon rides.

I’ve gone skydiving 2 times.

I am casual friends with 1 Miss America and 1 Playboy Playmate of the Year.

I’ve wrestled 1 alligator.

It took me 2 hours to write this, but during those 2 hours, I stopped to drive Josie 1.4 miles to school.

The chances I’ll write another post like this 1 at any time in the next 12 months?

Zero.

Related . . .

A day for real mourning: RIP Angelo Cammarata

Santorum’s right: Man marrying dog in Wisconsin

Remembering Elvis, again

Enjoying a good long jump with Playboy Playmate Claire Sinclair

Miss America and me

RIP Buster, the 19-year-old cat

The good, the bad & the Springsteen show

8,180

(755 words)

That’s the number of people who checked in to read “Eight Days To Amish” in May.

It’s second only to the 8,544 who registered in April 2010 after a history website flattered (and linked) to my story about Boston Corbett, America’s most famous eunuch and the man who killed the man who killed Abraham Lincoln.

That seemed like a freak. The month before I’d had only 3,681 readers.

This seems more authentic because I regularly get between 5,000 and 7,500 readers a month.

For an enigmatically named blog with no apparent purpose, the number seems substantial. I’ve been to Pirate games with fewer fans.

And 8,180 is just 1,820 soldiers shy of a division. And one division (well, give or take) was all Gen. Ulysses S. Grant needed to take Vicksburg.

Anyone want me to lead them to Vicksburg? If we get there by Wednesday we can be there in time for the festive arrival of the American Queen riverboat.

Grant’s requisitions included horses, arms and about 3,000 pounds of army hardtack.

All I ask is everyone bring a 12-pack!

Of course, how different will 10,000 blog readers be to 10? I still get paid the same.

And that’s, yikes, zero.

But to calculate it in those cold-blooded bottom-line terms would be to disparage you and one of my central tenets to living.

You because this blog, I guess, is of some soulful value. You look forward to reading it. You tell friends they have to check it out. I hear it all the time. 

In fact, it’s becoming more and more difficult for me to go anyplace in Latrobe where I don’t run into some stranger who recognizes me from this blog.

They tell me they love it. It makes them very happy. 

Then there was the time last fall when I was giving a speech at Penn State and was introduced by a cheerful stranger. Most of the people who introduce me merely use what’s on the back of my “Use All The Crayons!” book. That’s fine.

And that’s what this gentleman did. Then he started to freelance.

“I have to tell you about his ‘Eight Days To Amish’ blog,” he said. “It’s the funniest thing on the web. If I’m having a bad day I stop what I’m doing and I read Chris’s blog. It makes me feel better. It makes me happy again. It makes me feel like I can go on.”

Honest, about 75 percent of the time when I sit down to write 700 or so words for this four or five times a week it feels like a colossal waste of time.

Or it used to. 

Now I think of that guy (and many of you) when I start feeling that way. How could I quit something that means so much to so many?

He was the inspiration for the line I now use in all my presentations about colorful living:

“Do something you love to do each and every day just because it’s something you love to do each and every day.”

It could be gardening, making time for friends, reading, painting or playing with a cat or grandchild.

Don’t be dismissive of it if it’s something that adds no value to your financial worth. If it enriches your soul that’s reason enough.

With me, it’s writing.

And, by God, I think one of these days it’s going to pay off. Even a sourpuss pessimist would find it impossible to ignore all the good vibes.

There’s a positive buzz building about the books, the blog and my talks. 

I hope you’ll consider adding to it by telling friends to read the blog and buy the books.

Note the distinction:

I can’t get people to pay for the blog so I’m desperate for them to read it.

But I really don’t give a hoot if people read “Last Baby Boomer” as long as they buy it. 

I’m kidding, of course. I’m eager for everyone to read every word I write. It’d be great, sure, if they’d pay for them, too, but in this world where major publications can’t figure out how to make a dime from web content let’s keep it real.

I apologize for starting off the week with a discussion of numbers and money, but the 8,180 seemed worth noting.

It’s funny because the only number that really matters in this exchange is the smallest one we can name.

It’s the no. 1.

And that’s you.

Thanks for reading. 

See you in Vicksburg!

Related …

2,487

Happy birthday to Bob Dylan & my blog!

My career advice: Don’t be like me!

My business plan: Keep feeding the unicorn

“Last Baby Boomer” amazon reviews

What you need to do to earn blog name mention

(676 words)

I’m observing a new phenomenon that leads me to believe the blog is either succeeding or that reader perspectives have lurched into realms of the absurd.

Lots of people want me to mention their names in the blog.

They tell me they think that would be cool.

By this, I must infer they mean it would make them cool.

They are mistaken.

I know this because my blog everyday mentions my name and after nearly 1,500 posts over 7 years there is zero evidence it has made me more cool.

Worse, there’s plenty of evidence it has earned me zero of the commodity that might make me more cool.

That’d be more money.

Of course, I’m flattered people think this and would therefore love to accommodate them.

But that would change the character of the blog. Most readers are savvy enough to know when they’re being bludgeoned with product placement.

So, say, if I wrote, “I happened to be getting shitfaced with Stephen Hawking the other day and he told me a brilliant theory about how to lower my cable bill and still get local sports.”

The gratuitous mention would interrupt the flow of the story. And, plus, everyone would recognize the lie. Most of you know by now I stopped drinking with Hawking in 2009 after we got into a bitter dispute over the irreconcilable conflict between religion and science.

And he spilled beer on my lap (I believe it was deliberate).

It would be a disservice to readers just to drop in a line like, “My friend Tammy is nice!”

Worse, I’m sure it would lead to a punishing round of questions from my wife who would be eager to know more about Tammy and what she did that made me feel she’s nice.

So it’s best just to avoid mentions altogether.

I reserve the right to make exceptions whenever it’s any of the boys at the bars or Arnold Palmer. Most people are interested in reading about our interactions and — unlike that pushy klutz Hawking — Palmer and my views about the irreconcilable conflict between religion and science are mostly simpatico.

I have decided I will make exceptions when I choose for any arbitrary reason.

One is the request has to come from an insane blog devotee. They have to do things like stop reading the blog cold turkey for three months straight.

I had a friend do this and at first I was hurt. Why quit reading?

“I like to store them up and just binge read for two weeks straight while I’m in an Illinois tree stand hunting deer,” he said.

That’s truly devoted readership.

Another exception will be without exception anyone involved in “Make-A-Wish.”

I’m a real softie when it comes to that cause.

So if an organizational rep calls me and says, “We have a little girl who’s in real trouble. We offered her a trip to Disney World, but she said all she wants is to be mentioned in www.EightDaysToAmish.com.”

I’d say yes almost right away — after first forcing the charity to in exchange send MY daughters to Disney.

Learned it from Trump!

But I want to mention a name today because I got an alarming text from a lunatic reader, the kind of guy who’d spend frigid days in a tree stand reading my blog.

Well, it is that guy.

Still young and vigorous, a father of two daughters, he was suddenly stricken by a mini-stroke that caused him to lose vision. A battery of emergency tests left doctors thinking he might have MS.

He does not and his vision with treatment may be restored in six months.

The doctors say it may be stress related.

He just loves my blog — says it relieves stress — and I’m hoping he doesn’t say the doctors prescribe I double my blog output.

You have, I’m sure, someone like that in your life, someone dealing with an unexpected and scary challenge.

Please be sure to say a prayer for them and their loved ones.

And please include a mention for Dave Angus.

Related . . .

Binge reading my blog in a tree stand

Happy Birthday to Bob Dylan & my blog

Shiny new home page for “Eight Days To Amish”

Arnold Palmer gave me boogies on Monday

Florida: Airborne over Disney

To err is humon: blogs and typos

(662 words)

I contend the gracious maxim, “To err is human,” should always include at least one deliberate typo.

“To err is humon.”

It’d be a handy reminder that even in simple sentences intended to forgive human carelessness mistakes are bound to happen.

My life is full of these handy reminders. Some of them read my blog.

I go to great lengths to ensure my blog is error-free. These prudent safeguards are not enough. Many posts remain rife with sloppy errors.

And I’m always grateful whenever anyone points them out. I invariably thank these people and go straight to the computer to make the fix.

I guess there are writers who become angry when readers point out mistakes in their blogs. They are embarrassed.

I’m not like that at all and have trouble understanding the reaction.

Do they think people expect from them perfection?

That’s hard to believe. I’m pretty sure most people who read blogs do so with the understanding that people like me who blog are in some way defective or else we wouldn’t have enough free time to blog.

So my primary goal is to four or five times a week write something either compelling or funny. People will find that satisfying even during the times when I mistakenly use the same same word twice.

But I aspire to more. I want to give readers a typo-free blog.

So once I’ve done the first draft I usually go for a walk and come back and re-read the damn thing five or six times again with an eye on catching typos, redundancies or flabby wording that takes some of the giddy yap out of the flow.

Then I dash home to post and begin weighing when it’d be a socially acceptable time for me to start boozing.

Ideally, that’s when I’d hear from readers about any errors they detect.

This sometimes happens with Dave, an eagle-eyed reader and avid follower of my blog.

In the interests of descriptive clarity, I should point out this isn’t the Dave who (still for now) owns The Pond, but not a computer. The only time that Dave reads my blog is when I print it out and show it to him, which I’ve done maybe twice in the past year. 

This is the Dave who so enjoys the blog he stops reading it cold turkey every August so he can then for two weeks non-stop binge read it while in his central Illinois tree stand.

I just love that (link below).

More description: This is the eagle-eyed Dave who years ago succumbed to hereditary hair loss and surrendered his thin remainders to a daily shave.

So let’s say he’s bald eagle-eyed Dave.

He said I should have a daily “Find-The-Typo!” contest where the first reader to notify me about a deliberate or careless typo would win a free book.

“It’d be like the cover of Playboy which has tiny Playboy logo hidden somewhere in the picture,” he said.

I find the idea charming for reasons that have nothing to do with cleavage. It’d be like outsourcing tedious editing obligations. But the last thing I need to do is find yet another reason to give my book — the one that on Page 1 says “THIS BOOK IS FREE” — away at no charge.

Plus, Dave would wind up with something like 80 free copies and might just be savvy enough to find a way to make a better profit from them than I ever have.

So, in short, I ask for your friendly understanding.

This is a recreational blog. It’s free. If you see a mistake, I’ll be grateful if you point it out, even more so if you do it without resorting to that sing-song school yard nyah-nyah-nyah taunt that still stings my soul.

To err is endemic to casual blogging.

And if you’re having fun and I’m having fun, really, who gives a puck?

Related . . .

Binge reading my blog in a tree stand

The vanishing stigma of typpos

Reading my sh!t on the crapper

Random thoughts on race, Ferguson & Three Dog Night

Shiny new homepage for “Eight Days ToAmish!”