Bruce Springsteen was Born to Run. Steppenwolf Born to be Wild. Matt Damon Born to be Bourne. And me? Born to Blog. Allow me to introduce myself…
I arrived in 1951 in Louisville, Kentucky, long before Al Goreinvented the Internet. Now, at 68, I launch my Born to Blog World Tour ’19. Never mind that I’m an old fart who knows squat about blogging. Come along, and we’ll figure it out together.
Born to Blog will circumnavigate the English language and American society, from politics to pop culture and from spin to spirituality. We’ll nod knowingly and shake our heads in disagreement. We’ll whisper, shout, laugh and cry. And I promise you, I’ll pull no punches and waste your time only for amusement purposes. I also promise that the instant this blogging thing begins to feel like work, I’m outta here.
I have a penchant for addiction with world-class proficiency in destructive habits, which I seldom escape without taking on another. I was the kid you didn’t want your daughter to date. If Jimmy Carter hadn’t pulled the plug on the Moscow Olympics, I was a lock for the Beer Guzzling Gold Medal. I chain-smoked Winstons on Moto Guzzi cycles at 80mph, covering 1,000 miles in a day for the heck of it. Think of the worst addictions confronting our society: I’ve either been there and done that or I’m too darn old to try.
Today, though, I’m bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and giddy with my recent victory over Mark Zuckerberg’s highly addictive Facebookjuggernaut. I don’t miss FB already, but it leaves a hole in my schedule. The familiar urge to do something to excess is calling with the urgency of Ben and Jerry at 3 a.m. Hence, Born to Blog. Zuckerberg can keep his billion-minus-one customers. I’m motivated by friends, not customers.
I quit drinking 31 years ago. It was difficult. But when you’re older than the single malt that’s ruling your life and corroding your esophagus, it’s time.
I quit smoking 30 years ago. That was simultaneously easy and near impossible. The habit was slowly killing me, endangering others, and yellowing my pearlies, which made wanting to quit easy. But stone-cold addiction to R.J. Reynolds’ damned nicotine was a formidable foe.
I quit subscribing to Hugh Hefner’s Playboy (solely for the articles) 25 years ago. When your kids are older than Miss February, harboring a crush on Barbi Benton gets a little creepy.
And now I‘ve gone cold turkey on Facebook.
Some people recreate in their garden or on the golf course. They paint and collect things. They read Stephen King and Diana Gabaldon. They play Fortnite and Minecraft and binge-watch Grey’s Anatomy and NCIS on Netflix and Hulu. Me? I dig words. God’s most generous gifts to me, after watermelon and chocolate chips, were consonants and vowels. I learned words with my nose in books, and He blessed me with a modest knack for assembling them.
Writing has always been important to me. Since childhood, I’ve never wandered from my crayon, fountain pen, essay book, typewriter (clanky Royals, clunky Smith Coronas and classy IBM Selectrics), word processor (groundbreaking Commodores and Radio Shack 100s), or computer. I celebrate that writing tools may evolve, but the composition process is eternal.
Facebook’s attraction, while it lasted, was twofold: Sharing warm and fuzzy moments with family and friends is terrific. A forum to air opinions is nectar for a journeyman wordsmith. But Facebookoccupied 90 minutes of my typical day, which was absurd: I’ve had relationships and open-heart surgery that were more time-efficient. Odds are, Born to Blog will have the lifespan of a Tsetse Fly, but come along and we’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
Published by Bill Amick
Claims to fame: Survived 67 years with open eyes and ears. Opinionated wordsmith. Unapologetic Christian conservative. Warrior exposing failures of Baby Boomers, aka GenMeMeMe. Quote: You break it, you own it.VIEW ALL POSTS BY BILL AMICK