Here are some rules.

We need to set a few ground rules for this blog. Settle in.

1. No excessive bummery. Oh, I know - that seems to be the most important part about modern writers. Hey, are you having a bad day? Need to feel the cool breeze of insightful writing to lift your spirits and elevate your mind? Well here’s an insightful article from the Atlantic about how we’re all going to die of tonsil crabs within the next 32 days. Happy New Year, and don’t forget to wash your crying towel. They get moldy after a while.

I actually love the Atlantic (revealing a possible bias, gasp, whatever shall we do, clutch your pearls), but I’m sure as hell not going to invite its writers over for coffee and a Friday night board game. Insightful journalism? Absolutely, and I respect it as a magazine even when I don’t always agree with it. But a cozy blanket it is not. And I want to make you some blankets.

And it’s unfair of me to pick on the Atlantic; pretty much all press, written or otherwise, is just a giant bummerfest these days. People hate to read. Apparently that has driven most editors to thinking that the way to rope readers back in is by incessantly reminding them of their mortality. You guys don’t read Highlights anymore? Well, we’ll replace the word searches with pictures of dying orphans. That’ll bring the children back!

So none of that here. Realism and investigation are hugely important - and if I were doing this writing thing as a profession, I’d do much more of that - but that’s not why you’re here. I’m serving up cuddles and kittens, in the form of my own brand of cranky sarcasm. There’s nothing more comforting than hearing a middle-aged teacher rail on about how ferry rides are boring. Better not quit my day job.

2. Don’t take it seriously. Seriously. If I say something that inadvertently offends you, feel free to tell me and I may listen. But I’m also doing this for fun, and a life without offense is a life without spice. Wanting to kill me because I said something mean about Atlanteans’ hairstyles look stupid and that they should be banned from living underwater? Good. I just gave you a free workout. Imagine how hard your heart is working as it beat, beat, beats that blood around your aging body.

Heck, I’m offended by the existence of Taylor Swift, but I definitely don’t want her to stop living. I’m secretly thankful that she gives me such an easy musical target. I mean, have you heard those melodies? They sound like a nursery rhyme as re-sung by a five-year-old donkey with a severe attention deficit disorder and one eye on the feeding trough.

Ahh, I can feel my heart rate rising already. Thanks, Tay-Tay!

3. Tell me if I’m unnecessarily inserting personal details into everything I write. The other day I was innocently looking up reviews for mattresses. (Yes, I know that the last sentence can be used as the number one indicator of impending middle-aged-boringhood but I yam what I yam.) Kids, I want you to imagine a time, long before you were born, when you could search the Googles for something like “mattress review” and come up with a simple article about - wait for it - mattresses. They might even be two paragraphs long if the author was really feeling it.

I say this because today when you search for such a thing, you find that every narcissistic self-important Instagramming author on every website out there has published numerous lengthy articles about their “personal journey” towards mattress completeness. These hugely informative (sarcasm!) articles always involve a tragic back story involving giraffes, or a exciting rare disease that has left the author devastated by their lack of ability to distinguish between Kardashians, or a good three-paragraph intro that really lets us get to know them, their partner, their 500-square-foot Brooklyn apartment, their tiny dog named Dogatha Christie, and their views on the crisis in Darfur.

Look dude, I just want to know if my mattress is going to give me scoliosis. But thanks for the journey!

4. Suggestions are welcome. I can prattle on endlessly about the minutiae in my life. I find it all fascinating, but something tells me that you all won’t care as much about my deep thoughts on how napkins should be folded as I do. So if you have something in the world you’d like me to attack/praise/denigrate, feel free to ask. If you know how to get hold of me, that means that I know you well enough to listen to you. Congrats. You’re in the Gene-Jacks club. We meet once a month at the local bakery. Bring your sense of humor, your monthly dues - a low low $50 - and at least five different ways to say “yes, your highness”.