halfbakedidea:

(via tofuttibreak)

YES.

So, yeah. Trying Tumblr out. Not sure if this is going to be a daily endeavor, an occasional distraction, or just one more thing I pick up because it’s shiny and different only to discard it a few months later because my mercurial (a lovely word which they used to use to mean ADHD) mind decided to move on to yet another shiny and different thing.

I will say that this place at least has the potential to hold my attention, if only because it’s so multi-faceted. Unlike Twitter, there’s no limit on what can be done or how much can be said. Unlike Facebook, it isn’t loaded with information-stealing, malware-dropping apps. And unlike LiveJournal, it isn’t run by the Russian Mafia. Which is important in as much as I no longer work in the jewelry business and am trying to get away from those guys. Though it is nice to know you can rely on someone to help you get rid of a dead body for the correct price.

Anyone who thinks I’m being serious should probably leave now.

So: Me. My name is Jay Whelan. I’m pushing 40. I am overweight, but working on getting my considerable girth down. I am trying and mosly failing to be a writer. I am trying and so far not doing too badly at being a dad—my seven month old son, Liam, appears in a photo somewhere below this post. I have many many years to go before I will know if I am a successful father. I am married. I am balding. These conditions are unrelated. I shave my head. I wear a beard, which has odd curls and is slowly going gray in weird patches—hence the blog title. I am coocoo for Cocoa Puffs. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a member of a Communist sock washing organization. I do not rock out with my cock out; however, I have on occasion been known to get the funk up with my junk up. I do not use Twitter, because the first four letters make me nervous about what I might become if I did use it. I avoided kumquats for much the same reason for years until I realized I was spelling the word wrong all that time. I am both touchy and feely. I am big on hugs, and consequently give big hugs. I am somewhat ill-tempered and consequently somewhat ill-mannered. I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, but I would hope there are at least a couple of shoe stores on the way. I am an excellent cook. I do not like the word “foodie” because it sounds like a social disease or a medical condition: “I’m sorry Mrs. Whelan, your husband is developing a FOODIE on the end of his falooombwehbweh; apply this salve to it twice daily and we’ll hope to hell that amputation is not necessary.” I am occasionally political and often correct, but I am never, ever both. And while I may occasionally be chillin’, and possibly even be thrillin’ or even illin’, I promise you I will never be spillin’.

Oh—also? I’m really weird. And if you hand’t guessed that much by now, you probably shouldn’t be here.

I’ll be around from time to time (hopefully), posting random thoughts, pictures, tunes, videos, etcetera. Followers are welcome; I will follow back. Questions, comments, and large sums of money are all equally welcome.

We now return you to the internet, which is already in progress.

One of these is me. One of these is my seven month old son. I leave it to you to decide which is which.