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Lord help me but it's time to write at length about a subject no one but me, Paul Simon and possibly Rick Springfield care about. I'm surprised no one's covered it; there's not a lot of awareness about it quite frankly. But if I and two certified legends care about it, there's no doubt that it deserves to be discussed.
At length.
So here we go: ****redacted****
Thank God it's out there now for everyone to see. No turning back now.
Recent posts

Rated "M" For Mushy

If you had a pulse in 1983, then you are already aware of the Journey song “Faithfully.” For those of you less fortunate, or who have lived under a rock or in outer space for various periods of time including 1983, let me fill you in: the Journey song “Faithfully” was quite popular in 1983.

With me? Good. I’ll move on.

Flash forward to Tuesday night. I had just pulled six days of long hours and late nights at work. Now, I love my job. Sometimes you have to do what it takes to get things done. I understand that, and was glad to do it. But the fact remains: I did not see my family for any reasonable or meaningful stretch of time for six days.
I got home at about eleven. My wife was waiting up for me, watching TV. To give you an idea of how tired she was – looking after a nineteen-month-old 24/7 by yourself for six days will do that to you – let me just say that the channels were flipping, but she wasn’t really watching. I could DEFINITELY relate.

But that’s not nearly as important as h…

Desolation, USA

Tumbleweeds drifted across barren keys. A soft wind blew past a dimmed screen. The power button yearned to be turned on, disillusioned and graying over time. The touchpad, sadly, lay untouched. A faint web stretched lazily across the long unused USB port, climbing halfway up the side of the lid. Echoes of a time long past emanated from dead curcuits, reminding the few who still cared of the salad days of a life ago. A lilting, tossed-off bon mot here. An overwrought, clearly ridiculous piece of seriousness over there. A random Shatner lamentation. Vistas of dusty fields filled with rich green and dandelion. Amazement at the world not revolving according to true Floydian virtue. A tossed Payday wrapper. Sunflower seed shells in and around the wastebasket. These are the things that are remembered, and in some parts of the Intertubes, rather fondly. Others callously disregard and harrumph the day away. These are they who must be held at bay, the whispering tones of discontent; no more ca…

A Very Special Episode of Floydjoy’s Blog

Okay, I’m not Mr. Spock or anything, but most of the time I do try to be like the Fonz when it comes to hard-hitting, emotional moments. In other words, I try to play it cool. Real cool.

But every so often something hits me just right and it’s all I can do to hold things together. I never see this coming, by the way; it always appears out of nowhere, like a stealth ninja or the train in Stand By Me.


Ever find something you did a long time ago and realize that you don't remember doing it at all?

No? Then I guess I am alone. Again. Naturally.

So I was just looking through some old Word files when I came upon what looks to be a fabulous opening to a short story. Check it out:



Jimmy Blasewell stood behind the counter, eyeing the scraggly dude in the worn Army jacket down the chip aisle.


That's all there was in the Word file. Now I'm pissed that I never finished it because that's a story I'd really like to read.