Against my better judgment, I told Catherine I would start a “blog.” She’s been nagging at me to “get with the times and stop being old, you old Whale.” Shit. Can you believe at my age I’m taking orders from a little girl I know? I hope she knows that this deal is going to be a strong PG flirting with a PG-13. “Tell people your thoughts,” she says to me. Do you know what would happen if I just went around telling everybody exactly what I thought about them at all times? There would be a lot of raw egg and cabbage and tomatoes and whatever the hell else other produce people carry around all over me, because, and she knows this about me, I’m a grump. “A grump with a heart of gold,” she says this one time, like I’m some hooker from a 1970s movie who only does it hard with strangers to pay for her grandmother’s medical bills. But it’s true, I love that little rascal. Christ knows my own kids never call me on the phone. I even got a cordless phone the other day. Part of my “getting with the times” thing I’m doing that I mentioned in my blog earlier. How the hell long is one blog supposed to be. I feel like stopping now, but I really haven’t said anything. I’m stopping now.