The Catch

I don't go to blogs to read something good; I go to blogs to read something new. Each time I click on a blog-link and see the same old boring page, I've wasted two seconds of my life. And two seconds times a million adds up to a lot of seconds.

"Well, Reinman, you only post like, what, once every two weeks?"

Yeah. I know. Shut up. That's why I'm writing about this. I've decided, in the interest of blog readers everywhere, that instead of writing a medium-length good post once every week and a half or so, I'm going to write a short, crummy post every other day.

Except on weekends. And also not on days that I teach. Or on days that I'm too busy. Or on days that I have nothing to do but don't feel like blogging.

So basically, the posts will be just as infrequent as they are now, except instead of being long and good, they'll be short and crummy. Done and done.

* * *

The subject of this short, crummy post: Catch-22. Ever since I finished reading that book, I've been calling everything a catch-22, whether it is one or not.

For instance, for the past few weeks, a cereal box has sat in the cuboard with only a handful of crushed multi-colored crumbs sliding around the bottom. I couldn't throw the box away, because it still had cereal in it, but I couldn't finish it off, because it didn't have enough to fill a bowl. See, catch-22.

The Jilb found the box this morning.

"Why are we saving this?"

"Catch-22," I say.

She shakes the box.

"Oh, I see..." she says. I nod. Then she throws the box into the garbage can.

"Catch!" she instructs the can.

Fine. She wins this round. I just hope she doesn't find my stash of pens that are almost out of ink.