From this day on, I own my father's blog

My apologies to Elton John and Bernie Taupin for the subject line, but my Dad won't pick up the blogging gauntlet anytime soon. His first encounter with the blogging world was not exactly pleasant.

To put it country simple, the man who shot down the Internet ten years - before he stumbled onto umpteen metal-detecting forums and found Karl Melville, the guy who sat behind him in high school home room, 40 years after they last saw each other - muttered, "What the ___ is a blog?"

Journals, much less online ones, aren't really his thing. Yet - he only discovered them Sunday, and still hasn't grasped the breadth of blogging out there.

And no, he doesn't about this.

I'll wait until he finds a useful one to tell him about mine - then again, maybe not yet.