My wife has a blog. My daughter has a blog. Even my granddaughter has a blog. So, why not the old man, too? I feel a bit like I've been dragged kicking and half-heartedly mumbling into the 21st Century where nobody reads, but everybody writes -- about themselves. Ah, sweet narcissistic blogdom.
Not only am I here, fully registered, passworded and walked through the amenities by patient Nancy, but I have made some insane promise to self that I will write something here each and every day.
Already that sounds a bit much, so there may be days when I don't get past the date and time stamp. Possibly on some of those occasions I will resurrect a piece of prose from my past, a piece that has languished in multiple copies and endless versions on hard drive after hard drive, just waiting for me to craft that sow's ear into something of merit. Maybe that's what I'll do, on occasion.
For this first post, I should clarify the line that gives this location its name. It's an old Navy bit, actually. When encountering anyone talking the ear off of an audience that is obviously getting a bit restless and in need of a rescue, you should walk up to that captive audience and ask them if this person is telling sea stories again. Regardless of their answer, you should then ask them if they know the difference between a fairy tale and a sea story. Whereupon, you tell them.
Fairy tales always start, "once upon a time ..." and sea stories always start, "Now this is no shit ..."
Over the course of any future musings here, I will attempt to consult a thesaurus in search of less Anglo-Saxon lead ins to my sea stories.
When in doubt, ride your bike. Or, at least write about it.
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