Monday, January 4, 2010

What to do when your dad has a blog

This is my Dad. And here's a video of him. He's a big man with lots of opinions. His hobbies include throwing things out of trucks, telling stories about the olden days when my mom and he lived in an igloo in West Virginia and farmed dirt clods, grading his dirt road with his tractor, peeing on trees, singing to children, cussing the cold weather, cussing the people in charge of stuff, cussing the Republicans, cussing the Democrats, cussing the vetch in his garlic beds--ah, but here I've gone and started a list of things he's all the time cussing about, and if I keep it up, I'll never get to sleep, which I desperately need on account of I have The Shingles. Anyway, Dad has a garlic farm and a pottery business with his wife Janice, and he plays in an old time string band. He doesn't own a blue ox, but I think perhaps a giant ox would help with some of Dad's more delicate daily tasks.

And speaking of delicate tasks, Dad just started a blog, presumably to combat my yellow- journalism-style sensationalist slander. He phoned me a couple of weeks ago to tell me as much, and followed it up with, "... but I can't get back into it because I can't remember the password."

So, long story short, what you do when your dad has a blog is help him remember his password and then to set things up correctly, and then to read his posts and comment on them. And to write slanderous lies and falsehoods about him so he'll have something to contest.

Let the protestations begin! (By the way, if you want to read my dad's blog, it really is amusing:


  1. Jess

    Thanks for the helping me defend myself from the yellow press. I just saved the address to favorites, it's one less thing I have to remember.

    Your great grandfather, Luther Bradley, was a political cartoonist during the yellow press era, for a Chicago paper. He actually drew cartoons of Teddy and the Spanish American War during that can't help the yellow press thing come by it genetically.

    One bone to pick: How do you know I don't have a Blue Ox?

    Consider a the reasons you are a tough young lady:

    You come from foolhardy, exuberant stock that sees the world in color, not black and white.

    You did lived in an Igloo in West Va. most of the year and didn't die of pneumonia.

    You spent years on a cattle ranch in the Sierra Mountains of Ca., going to a three room school house.

    You ended up going to a college where they let you play with scorpions, in quicksand, 30 miles from the nearest road.

    You've done pretty good for a reluctant country girl. Make it a habit to get older and more opinionated.

    You gotta learn to live the mythology, girl!