Wow, you say. That’s quite a title. Guess we’re not talking about habits-changing or business-biggification today, are we.
You are mostly correct. No, you are entirely correct.
Here’s what’s happening today. I introduce you to one of my favorite people on the internets, tell you an amusing tale full of coincidences and weirdness, and then make you an offer you can’t refuse. Or something.
Warning: slight shockingness to ensue.
If you’ve been reading this for a while, you know — or think you do — quite a bit about my reading habits. You know I mostly read stuff that’s related to my two themes of
1. self-work (rewriting your patterns and habits) and
2. biggification (growing your business in a smart, mindful way).
But, as it turns out, I also read a bunch of stuff that has nothing to do with those themes. Because I am a writer. And because I am a sucker for anyone who can really, really write.
Today we’re talking about my second favorite blog in the world. This is about to get a little awkward because (cough) in order to tell you about it I am going to have to use the word vagina.
Yes, I just said VAGINA on my business blog. I wrote it actually, because saying it out loud (in the specific context of “hi, this is my business blog”) weirds me out a little.
Because I’m going to have to say VAGINA several times over the course of this post, I’d like to distract you by jumping in and mentioning that today’s post is actually brought to you by the word VAGINA. Like on Sesame Street.
And now I’m writing VAGINA again.
About to do it again (sorry).
That’s because I’m trying to tell you about this one amazing blog I really like that you should read because it’s my second favorite blog in the entire world. And in order to do this I have to talk about the wind in your vagina.
Sorry. I knew I was going to mess that up. I didn’t mean the wind in your vagina. It’s the name of the blog, see? Ugh. Never mind.
I know that the wind in your vagina seems — on the surface — like a pretty horribly inappropriate
theme name for a blog. Especially for a daddy-blog. Just trust me on this one.
There’s a beautiful explanation that will make you go “Oh!” and then become a rabid fan of Black Hockey Jesus..
Because Black Hockey Jesus — the anonymous, brilliant, twisted, compassionate man and daddy behind this blog — is a seriously terrific writer. I read his stuff religiously and madly love every touching, sweet, insane word of it.
A (very) short history of my affair of the mind with Black Hockey Jesus.
Black Hockey Jesus and I have oh, let’s say disparate ideas of how we met. The version on his blog is shaky at best.
If I were Black Hockey Jesus I’d respond to that with something bizarre, wise and inscrutable like “such is the mysterious nature of the universe”. But I’m not Black Hockey Jesus, so let me just point out that I’m the reliable one in this screwed-up relationship.
Here’s how it really happened.
I said something brilliant and witty on Twitter. As is my wont.
A short time later Black Hockey Jesus showed up in my inbox, swathed in layers of post-modern mystification (a disguise in disguise in disguise) and asked me to be his master.
At which point I went and consulted a certain good book. I refer, of course, to my rather bedraggled copy of “The All Powerful Master Handbook: Your Guide to Stepping on the Backs of Those Who Revere You”.
The guide reminded me gently but firmly that you are always to turn away anyone who comes to you, begging miserably for crumbs from your table of wisdom.
Saying no makes them come back and beg for more. And it makes you look busy. Busy is good. And I quote:
Thou shalt refuse all supplicants no less than three times. Perhaps two and a half times — if and only if on the third time you set for them a distasteful and/or monumentally boring task.
See also Chapter 21: Wax On, Wax Off.
I told Black Hockey Jesus that I would have to talk things over with Selma, my duck. He was impressed.
And he couldn’t let it go. I admit, his obeisance had a certain charm. When he asked me to play Dr. Phil to his Oprah, I tried to play coy by setting conditions (no mustache, no southern accent). In the end he won me over by calling me Black Havi Jesus.
No one has ever called me Black Havi Jesus. It gave me chills.
Also, he had the random coincidental weirdness of the universe on his side. My 9th grade crush on his friend Gabe, for example. Our mutual and obsessive channeling of Shiva, Hindu god of destruction and deconstruction. Stuff like that.
Where we’re going with this …
Well, you can read about it on that blog I was talking about (please note my attempt to sneak out of having to say vagina again).
Black Hockey Jesus explains it better and with more cursing, but basically the idea is that we will go all good cop, bad cop, bad duck on your problem or issue.
You throw out a habit or issue you’re working on and Black Hockey Jesus will try not to make fun of you mercilessly while Selma smiles beatifically.
Then I will do my guilt-free, non-judgmental meeting-you-where-you-are thing, and together we’ll give you some ideas.
Just like Oprah, Black Hockey Jesus gets to be the beautiful glowy one with all the charm, and just like Dr. Phil, I get to be the homely advice-giving sidekick. Is that fair? What is fair?
Never mind that. Here’s what I want you to do:
1. Leave a comment here so I know you know that I haven’t gone crazy, and that tomorrow or at least very, very soon we’ll be back to our regular habits-centric vagina-free programming.
2. Head over to The Wind In Your Vagina (ahh, it looks so much better in caps) and read everything he’s ever written.
3. While you’re there, leave your issue or collection of stucknesses in the comments section of his most recent post and/or send them to email@example.com with “Black Havi Jesus” in the subject line.
That’s it for now. *shakes head*