My name is Jim.

Jim from JimFormation

I’ve written articles and essays on the web for a long time. When I first started the word “blog” didn’t exist. It soon came to describe the type of writing I did and the type of website I had. For better or worse, most people will see JimFormation as a blog.

Enough about that. You’re hear to learn about me.


I am 5’9″ tall. I weigh a couple of pounds on either side of 145. I was born in June of 1964 (you do the math).

I shave my head to accommodate a bald spot that the ever-loving God decided I needed. I’ve known I would eventually shave my head because my sister, who used to cut my hair, would tell me, “You know, you’re going to be bald soon.” Thanks, sis. Now shut up and cut my hair. (I was a teenager when she said that.)

I occasionally grow a goatee. Not so much anymore because it comes in mostly gray. Another gift from God.

I have 2 arms, 2 legs, 10 fingers, 10 toes. Some of you may thinking I’m bragging.

My ears are beginning to cauliflower. (More on that later.)

I battle nose, ear, and eyebrow hair on a near daily basis. (I talk a lot about hair, don’t I?)

I have skinny legs.

Medical History

I snapped my ankle in a bad slide into home plate during a softball game in 2005. The emergency room doctor showed me the x-ray, “See here? That’s your tibia; it’s broken clean through. But we don’t care about that.” And then he pointed to a blank area on the x-ray, “See that? That’s where your fibula used to be.”

My fibula “burst” (his words) into pieces. I took seven screws and a plate to put it all back together. It’s still in there. You can feel the plate on the outside of my ankle. If we ever meet, I’ll let you touch it. It’s weird.

I had a second surgery on that same ankle a few months later because I bone spur had developed inside the ankle joint and tore away some cartilage in there. I was supposed to have a third surgery to replace said cartilage, but I never did it. I’m supposed to live a “low impact” lifestyle now that I’ve got a screwed up ankle. My lifestyle is decidedly NOT “low impact”; I have a feeling I’ll be paying for that later in life.

In 2009, I had a heart attack. 45-years-old. How about that?

I guess it could’ve killed me. The entire length of my circumflex artery was occluded. They had to open it with the longest stent they had. Over an inch-and-a-quarter long. Sucks, huh?

45-years-old. Three kids. Wife. House. Career.

I was in an ICU over the weekend. I felt fine. But the powers-that-be were pumping me with mondo drugs to make sure I didn’t have another heart attack. I didn’t.

Then I was transferred to a heart specialty hospital. I got a cardiac cath and a stent that same day. And was sent home the next. Just like that.

Cardiac doc says that there was no permanent damage to my cardiac muscle. As a matter of fact, my heart is more efficient now than before the heart attack. You see, I had a faulty mitral valve that leaked a lot of blood back into my atrium with each pump – a lot more than normal. They thought I’d need a replacement one day.

My heart “reconstituted” (Doc’s word) after my heart attack and tightened up that shitty valve. As far as I know, I’m the only guy on the planet that had a heart attack and came out of it healthier.

Family History

My mother and father divorced. My Mom decided that she liked drugs a lot more than raising kids. My Dad decided he’d like to raise his new wife’s kids instead of his. So, by default – or divine intervention – I was raised by my maternal grandparents, Nan and Pop. (You’ll hear about them a lot as I tell my stories on JimFo again.)

I met my best friend, Unky Rich, in fourth grade. We still live in the same town together.

I met my wife when I was 19-years-old. Married her five years later. Had our first kid three years after that.

I’ll tell the story of how we met later on a, ahem, “blog” post. But I’ll say this, I thought she was so beautiful when we first saw her that I was too intimidated to talk to her. At the time I called her the “fawn-eyed girl.”

Now I call her the “Wife-Beast.” (I’ll post about that nickname sometime in the future too.)

So our first baby. I call the ittibittiness because she was so small when I first met her. Her coming into my home is still the biggest life-changing thing that has ever happened to me.

Number two came six years later. We call him Boy Genius because he’s too damned smart for his own good. Even before he talked, he used to look at us with a face that said, “I can’t believe I got involved with these morons. I must be in the wrong place.” And now that he’s 14-years-old, he’s making plans to move to Europe.

Seven years later and, surprise!, another baby. I wanted to call him Magnus after the strongest men in the world: Magnús Ver Magnússon and Magnus Samuelsson. (Google them. They’re big.) I have a theory that you become your name. I wanted this son to be big and strong. I wanted MAGNUS!

Wife-beast said, “No.” So we named him something else (his first name is my middle name, his middle name is my first name). His nickname is Magnus. Hahaha!

And he’s always been in the 95th percentile for height and weight. He’s a big, boy.

If you’ve done the math, you’ve deduced that my wife will only have sex with me every six or seven years. At least that’s what I tell her dad.

Work History

… coming soon …


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