These pretzels are making me thirsty
Welcome to my weird little world. I don’t like talking about myself. Unless I’m crafting a detailed, vulnerable creative nonfiction story from my life, where I’ll pour out my soul to you. Then it’s okay.
My name really is Christopher Robin. My mother tells me I was named after two uncles — Chris and Robin. But I was born in the late 70s, so who’s bullshitting who, Mom?
Most of my work has a soundtrack. There’s one in my brain all the time anyway, so I feel like sharing it. There’s a lyrical or…
6-word photo story challenge
Polio Survivor Victimized by Rogue Chair
This is a true picture from a few nights ago. My hilarious polio-surviving father-in-law has a history of falling down pretty much everywhere he goes. He’s a big, lumbering guy and falls fantastically. In this case, he was sitting innocently on the deck enjoying a glass of wine on a breezy beach evening, when this chair decided to rudely interrupt his peace with a violent crash to the decking below.
He was uninjured, luckily. His pride took yet another small knock, but he has survived to tell another harrowing tale.
A Counter Arts prompt response
I’m going to qualify this by saying that most of the shelves in my house do not belong to me. The shelf in the picture above looks like it could be in one of those vacation rental homes at the beach, covering all the necessary bases for a rainy day.
Books of note include How to Tell if your Cat is Plotting to Kill You by The Oatmeal, Terry Barr’s latest called Secrets I’m Dying to Tell You, How To Traumatize Your Children, and, I couldn’t be the real Christopher Robin without The Complete Tales…
And a little persuasion
Wait, no I won’t. I mean, because I know that you know some things that I don’t know. Know what I mean?
Allow myself to introduce myself. I’m Christopher Robin, also sorta known as the world’s averagest man the last bunch of years. Who cares. I’m not terribly smart, but I am a thinker. Many times I do that in front of and with you all. I hope you don’t mind.
Just older kids
When you were a kid, did you ever think that grown-ups knew what they were doing? At least for the most part?
Now I’m an official adult. Actually, I suppose I’m middle-aged. Shit. When did this happen? I didn’t get the memo!
But something I’m realizing in my rapidly advancing years is that NOBODY really knows what the fuck they’re doing. Go ahead. Get mad at me. Even argue if you want. But the truth is that we’re all simply making it up as we go.
Granted, some people are more knowledgeable at things because…
Escaping certain doom
It’s strange to say, but I don’t remember a time where my physical safety was in true jeopardy. Perhaps because of my lilywhite perfect little dream world I’ve lived in most of my life.
Yeah, that’s right — I’m riddled with white guilt. So what?
I’m sure there was one or 17 times was in physical danger. I was in the army long ago, after all. Despite not remembering myself ever being in any physical peril, I DO remember a time where my life was in danger. Not as in my existence, but my future.
Hi, kids. I’m Christopher Robin. I’ve recently been invited to join the wonderful editing team at Counter Arts. I’m thrilled to be working with this talented and compassionate group of writers, so I thought I’d introduce myself with a little story prompt.
It’s amazingly appropriate that Carlos Garbiras gave me this idea, because of how often I’m wrong about things. So many things.
Have you ever thought something was absolutely one way and then something came about to prove you completely wrong?
This happened to me just a couple weeks ago.
On my way to pick up my son from…
It doesn’t take much. Sometimes a moment of awe arrives when we least expect it; when we’re not looking for it.
A few weeks ago, my two nieces were in town for vacation. We had invited them to join us for the school picnic at Kennywood Park near Pittsburgh. So, my wife and I planned out how to manage four kids, ages five to nine, at the park. They’re all great kids, but it seemed like a big undertaking to make sure none of them were lost or damaged.
We set out with all four kids and a wagon full…
The other day I went on a little journey. I wrote about publications and writing and how sometimes nothing fits into a perfect little box. Anyone who read it was subjected to my inner monologue that probably should have stayed locked away, but it needed to come out so I could move on with life.
Then, of course, after I published it I received some great feedback, and I realized I may have been misguided.
Okay, not misguided — wrong. Okay, not wrong, just…curious. Yeah, curious.
A pub is a pub that can’t get no love from me
Holy shit, I’m old. Not that old, but “dad” old. Old enough to be comfortable looking and acting like a dad. And embarrassingly comfortable making terrible “dad” jokes while adapting lyrics from some 90s song. This probably happens to all parents. That’s why those commercials about becoming your parents are so damn funny.
Yes, that's my real name. Yes, I’m in therapy. No, that's not why. Confirmed world’s averagest fellow. Meh, good enough.