Social Blogger

For four years I tried to be the most social blogger in the history of blogging. When I created this blog in 2013 I had big plans. I was spending ridiculous hours living on my page and growing my connections in every way I could. I had dreams of being signed and no one could tell me what I could or could not do. For a guy that doesn’t care for the random meetup, I was meeting people constantly through social media and I was shocked that I liked it. I enjoyed the little windows into people’s lives that blogs gave and it was even more fun to be able to peak into a life without them knowing about it.

But I would let them know. I commented on everyone’s posts, reblogged people left and right, and willingly shared in the moment everything I was learning. It was way better than xanga.

Times change and people change, and some stay the same. That’s the hard part about blogging. It is like riding a bike, only now I’m not a hardcore rider like Gary and Jim. There they go huffing on by like speedsters and I’m peddling along on my new little pink bike that has this cute basket on it and doesn’t even have gears. It is a one speed.

How do you go from social to unsocial? It doesn’t surprise me really. It has been the same with everything I’ve taken on. It reminds me of bnet and the old channels I’d roam. It reminds me of the forums and the old boards I’d hawk. It makes me wonder what I’m still doing blogging really. It makes me feel so unsocial.

If I were to leave one tip to any new blogger that finds this site after I’m gone it would be this, you can do anything with a blog. You can reach anyone that wants to be reached and even some that don’t. It all starts with what you want and what you care to do to get it.

Try to recognize through it all what you have and what is there. Don’t always look for what is not.

-OM

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@smokendust

Why I hate baseball

“Hey Jason! Go play right outfield!”

Ok coach!

I don’t know how long baseball games last, but I can tell you how long I imagined they lasted as a child. I had to play baseball because I was growing up in Tennessee and all my friends were.

I learned some things though.

Outfield is a lonely field. It is a awful place they send the guys not fast enough for first and not cool enough to pitch. You only got to catch if you were friends with the pitcher, which made sense really… there was like a structure here. I didn’t fit in again.

There were things to do in the field though, like finding four leaf clovers! That’s not a bad usuage of your time and they bring you luck and an opportunity to brag to Caleb on the bench about how you found one and are now luckier than him. There were cars passing by, I can see them now, because we played on a single field in the neighborhood by our school. There weren’t fancy sports complexes yet for us midtown boys, but we’d all heard the rumors about the sportsplex being built in Germantown. Those burb boys always have the best stuff.

But what more do you need than a brown patch of dirty, some gloves, a ball… did you bring the ball Tim?

Good.

And the bat which never seems to be your turn enough…

We’d spend days broiling because it is the humid south, but that never stopped us from playing. When we graduated to the need to use a cup I was done. It is bad enough you want me to bake in the sun, but now I felt like my nuts were broiling too. I hated it.

I stopped playing baseball in elementary school. All I have now are memories of hot days and getting hit in the face with the ball once. That’s one of those memories you never lose.

-Opinionated Man

Jason

44.1

@smokendust

 

Why I don’t Ski

“So I want everyone to do the next step and place their feet out so their skis make a backward V,” the instructor said in the bored voice one would expect from someone that has given this lesson a million times. His eyes would occasionally drift to the slopes where everyone else was having fun.

I was still on step one. “What did he say? Something about Bacardi?,” I said as I worked to keep my skis steady. I was of the few humans, apparently, that thought people didn’t belong on long aluminum death sticks that shoot down mountains at the speed of a million miles an hour. And it wasn’t even a mountain we were on. I was skiing for the first time in Gatlinburg, TN on what could only be called a large hill. I realized this later in life when I moved to Denver, Colorado and learned what real mountains were.

“Ok so that’s it. The lesson is over and I want you all to try the bunny slopes first,” the instructor almost yelled as he hurried away to his next lesson or simply somewhere else.

My sister and I looked at each other and then headed towards the bunny slopes. They were easy and it was basically just a few yards of straight hill without the danger of being killed by the oncoming traffic I saw further down. We eventually got bored and I suggested moving to the next level up the “mountain.” Small decisions in life really do matter people.

Things were going great when I set off down the intermediate slope. Speed was good, no one had run into me, I was even able to look around and was starting to realize why people skied when things went drastically wrong. I started speeding up. That V shit that instructor was babbling about. Yea that shit didn’t work. It was like a roller coaster without brakes and suddenly all these people were around me. When did this hill get so crowded? I started moving to the right to maybe intentionally crash and call it quits when I didn’t crash. I started going back up the hill towards the bunny slopes. I heroically threw my body to the side to avoid any human casualties and laid there a minute thankful to be alive. I have never skied again.

Jason

-OM

@smokendust

44.1

10 Reasons Why I Use the Word “Fuck”

1. Things move faster when you yell the word “Fuck” at them. “Fucking move” works best obviously.

2. Because the word “motherfucker” has too many syllables in it and takes too long to say.

3. People have been telling me since the age of 6 not to use this word. Well fuck them!

4. The word “shit” lost its harshness years ago.

5. It still amazes me how a singular word can offend so many people just by its existence. I feel like all the Fucks in this world deserve my support now.

6. After I received my first farewell letter from a subscriber due to my language I knew I could never break up with the word Fuck ever again. Using it just makes my job easier.

7. I love words that have multiple uses.

8. I love this word when it is used as a verb.

9. I use the word “fuck” because it is part of my colloquial language and I won’t moderate my writing for anyone.

10. The last time I used the word “dammit” a pack of eager beavers appeared.

I am 34 years old. I don’t need your permission to use words. If you don’t like the words I choose to use read something else.

-OM
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Depression Settles at the Bottom

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I don’t view depression as waves, at least not for me. My depression feels like white flakes in a snow globe and are activated when something shakes me to my core. I become the center and the space around me becomes my world, a world I cannot see. While blinded I feel my swinging mood aiming for me like a gauntlet and I am the fool that has entered into it blind. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot escape.

It has been 17 years since I found out about my birth mom and my sister. It has been 12 years since I tried to kill myself the first time. It has been 9 years  since I found happiness again. Through those transitions I have relearned my depression. Through those years I have grown to accept it and myself.

People always want to fix things. Fix your smile so it looks just right, fix your attitude so it fits your new smile, and while we are at it let’s fix your past so you can finally move on. Depression? Take these meds, a few more pills. Lay back down on this couch… aren’t you comfortable yet? Tell me about your problems so I can tell you why they aren’t really issues. Let me know all your concerns so I can explain how you created them. Men and women in white coats scribbling your life away in a second. Trying to find the answers when we don’t even know the question.

Depression settles at the bottom. It never goes away. It never “finally leaves.” When happiness slams the door who is the first to notice and peep their head from waiting closet? Who knows just the right words to whisper in your ear so that you question the answers you once had?

Feelings come like a shaking sun and all you can do is stand there in your crystal prison and wait.

Waiting for depression to settle once more.

-Opinionated Man

Jason C. Cushman

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