Allow me to re-introduce myself.

Each man just wants his own legacy. It's why carpenter's are always writing on walls. It's the same idea every man gets, to write his name and the date before he seals off a wall with Sheetrock. Sometimes they leave the day's newspaper. It's tradition to leave a bottle of beer or wine. Roofers will write on the decking before they cover it with tar paper and shingles. Framers will write on the sheathing before they cover it with clapboard or stucco. Their name and the date. Some little part of themselves for someone in the future to discover. Maybe a thought. We were here. We built this. A reminder.

Call it custom or superstition or feng shui.

It's a kind of sweet homespun immortality.

In art history, they teach how Pope Pius V asked El Greco to paint over some nude figures Michelangelo had painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. El Greco agreed, but only if he could paint over the entire ceiling. They teach that El Greco is only famous because of his astigmatism. That's why he distorted his human bodies, because he couldn't see right, he stretched everybody's arms and legs and got famous for the dramatic effect.

From famous artists to building contractors, we all want to leave our signature. Our lasting effect. Your life after death.

We all want to explain ourselves. Nobody wants to be forgotten.

Now I can't build a house. I'd get hung up on all the jargon. Seriously, its like speaking another language. Try talking to a contractor. Good luck.

And while the construction industry has passed me over. I've got this technology thing under wraps. I can write a blog. And snap, I will not be forgotten. I can't be. My words will be here forever. Here's to my legacy. My cyber remembrance. My digital footprints.

Among these lines of text and the many that intend to follow it you'll find me.

Now for those of you that don't function well in the abstract. Those of you that crave categorization and order. You mess-ophobics. What you'll read here will be a mix of social commentary, music, music, music, music, music, and sports. I know. I can hear the words as they trickle off your tongue, spraying bits of spit into the air in front of your ugly little face. Some unique legacy you're leaving for humanity, Eric. So be it. Go ahead and read it. I dare you.