Day 2: The Origin of this Blog and Still Not Smoking

The Origin Story

My friend Bruce and I were sitting in a wine bar a few months ago while his wife was across from us talking with my then 6-month pregnant wife, Amy. Our conversation went as follows:

Bruce: I’ve got the perfect name for a blog you should write. It’ll be your personal account of the daily trials and joys of fatherhood.
Me:: What? (In my head: I will never ever ever write a blog. Blogs are for self-indulgent people with cats and/or participate in LARP)
Bruce:: Former. Boy. Tells. All.

As he paused at each word, his hand illustrated what it might look like on the marquee of a Hollywood premier. Or a Grand Opening sign in front of a mattress store.

Sadly, I am a sucker for glitzy presentations and all of my previous misgivings about writing a blog immediately left my head. All I could think was: MONETIZE. I was and am, after all, so very tired of not being a millionaire.

I panicked. I thought, ‘Someone much smarter than me has most definitely already snatched up this amazing domain name’. I ran home to check. Fortunately, I was correct in my lifelong theory that there is no one smarter than me . O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! I snatched up the name immediately (probably just seconds before a dozen hopeful daddy-bloggers were trying the same thing), and…

And there it sat for the next few months – me, every now and then, logging in with the usual temptation to indulge in whining about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, white, middle-class existential dilemmas.

I mostly posted pictures of my dog saying witty things, which, I notated for her (she has no fingers).

Smartest Dog in the World

Then, even the title started to irk…hmmmm…that is a picture of my son, Avi.

Here’s Darla:

Smartest Dog in the World

Anyway. Then, even the title started to irk me. It began to evoke images of some guy sitting down at his computer wearing hot pants and a sailor cap, writing his deepest confessions and fantasies.

Former. Boy. Tells. All.

So I here I sit, whining about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, white, middle-class existential dilemmas whilst wearing my hot pants and sailor cap. All the while… Not smoking. Day Two.