First, thank you all for the incredible support generated by my last post. I debated with myself about whether or not I should post about being unemployed, and if people would be offended by the content. Luckily, myself convinced myself that I had enough conversations with other folks who were laid-off, that most people could understand the sentiment. And I was right.
But then again, I also was wrong.
Self-debate is filled with losers.
I haven't written in a crap ton (metric weight) amount of time. Why?
Lots of work, lots of travel, lots of kids, lots of moving, lots of Doritos, lots of 2016 World Series celebrating, little of time.
We all know the age-old story: Boy meets company. Boy loves company. Boy brings niche food product to national prominence. Boy meets FDA. Boy gets hit on head with proverbial cartoon mallet. Boy loses company. Boy feels weight of unemployment crushing his lower pelvis region. Boy writes on long forgotten blog.
So, it was a quiet weekend without a visit from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (and I don't mean Voldemort). That was until I received this text:
But I got the last laugh. I just invited over the geriatric nudist society to try out my new living room trampoline.
My maniacal elf is back, this time in 30's gangster form.
Unfortunately, I am not the bees knees like Larry. Perhaps I can wow ol' von Jingles with a Cracker Jack performance.
Do you feel it? That empty place in your soul where trivial, useless musings used to live. It eats at you day after day, wondering about what's happened to Jack Grubb and his fabulous blog. Sure, you tried to fill the void with cat videos and whatever links George Takei throws at you on Facebook, but nothing can replace Losing the Internets. I know; I felt it too.
You can now stop sitting in the back of your closet drinking Mad Dog 20/20 listening to Depress Mode records in the dark. I'm back, baby, so please stop flooding my inbox with requests...
I don't know if you noticed, but last winter a struggling studio named the Walt Disney Company put out a small independent film called Frozen. It's about the life of a magical, talking snowman and how he shows two sisters, one who has winter-based powers and one who doesn't, the meaning of true love. Oops...
It's about the life of a magical, talking snowman and how he shows two sisters, one who has winter-based powers and one who doesn't, the meaning of true love.
As a plucky, young sophomore in high school, my friends and I practically begged our theater director to let our school perform the stage production of Grease for our spring musical. It all seemed like a good idea. After all, a play about high schoolers in the late 1950's fits a high school play perfectly. The characters are relatable, the songs are catchy, and we could wear leather jackets and jeans. All in all, Grease kicks Oklahoma's ass.
I know, I know. It's been a while since I had time to sit and write on Losing the Internets, frustrating my fan to no end. I missed it too. The writing; the lack of response; the endless criticism from my editor of my grammer and speling. (Don't worry Queen, I misspelled those words on purpose for comedy's sake. I know that grammer is really spelled with a o.)
The reason for my absence is that I've been busy with work. In the last month, I created a database of over 5,000 grocery stores where I had to look each one up individually, and that takes an extraordinary amount of time banging away at a computer. On top if that I had two conventions where I acted as a knowledgeable exhibitor and a 100-foot sandwich to promote. By the time I have a chance to write, I'm so sick of the computer that I mostly just close my eyes and dream of bunnies. Horrible, horrible bunnies.
I'm hiding on my bed in the dark trying to be as quiet as possible.
"Is there a psycho killer loose in your house?" You ask, hopefully quietly.
No, it's a three-year-old child who has relocated herself from her room to the couch. I foolishly said that if she actually pooped during the day, she could have sleep wherever she wanted to tonight. Usually she poops in her Pull-Up during the night, which leads to all sorts of shenanigans. Today, right before her bath, she pooped, and then declared that she was going to sleep on the couch.
Jack Grubb writes an incredible blog, Losing the Internets, which is read by at least 37 people and over 2,100 Russian SPAM bots. In his spare time he helps small companies find their marketing voice. Jack currently lives deliberately in Appalachia, Kentucky with his wife, two daughters, Jack Russell and a Lego collection beyond compare.