I wish October would never end.
And I don't just say that because my birthday is in November and I'm beyond the age where that occasion is cause for celebration.
By now, everyone knows I hate February. July isn't much better.
Thankfully, October makes up for it all. It's the best month of the year, and there isn't a close second.
Think about it. With the exception of the freak chill happening today, the weather is gorgeous. The leaves turn colors and the scenery matches. If you're an outdoorsy type, there are limitless options for outdoor festivals, hiking and most anything else one might do that doesn't include air conditioning. If you are a sports fan, football season hits full swing, hockey season begins and the World Series drama unfolds. The cultured among us can enjoy a new season of symphony and opera, and even the couch potato is finally freed from summer reruns.
No matter who you are and what you like, there's something great about October.
On top of everything else, Halloween caps off the month, presenting a rare opportunity for adults without kids (or with available childcare) to use their imaginations to find a creative costume, go to a party and act like children for a night in our otherwise stuffy, overworked society. Those with kids get to watch them enjoy one of their happiest nights of their year.
Everyone wins.
I love October. I'm sad to see that it's almost two-thirds complete. November is good too, but it marks the end of sunny days and a transition to the time of year when people hunker down and try to stay warm in their houses after work, and then pretty soon everyone starts getting busy with holiday stuff and disappears for awhile.
But October isn't over yet. And we don't have to let it go quietly.
There are still 11 days left. That's plenty of time to enjoy the foliage and gentle autumn breeze and thanking God for creating it all. There's still time to meet friends at an outdoor patio somewhere to enjoy the last vestiges of sun until March. Halloween is still more than a week away--more than enough time to get creative about a costume and figure out how to make it happen.
In short, there are still plenty of chances to live. In the best month of the year.
Don't waste them. After all, it will be February again before long.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
My Puzzling Encounter with the Least Effective Protest of All Time.
On a sunny day in Nashville, eight dedicated protestors marched the downtown streets in what was either a slightly noisy effort to enjoy the weather or the worst protest of all time.
The protest consisted of, by my count, a total of eight people. It was the world's first protest that could double as a supper club.
To their credit, the group appeared to be a diverse group of races, socio-economic backgrounds, ages and physical abilities. To their detriment, these facts tend to imply that the protestors weren't a group of friends who decided to take a day off and march the streets, but the only eight people on earth who responded to whatever publicity there was asking people to show up and do this thing.
I inadvertenly came upon the protest while walking somewhere else during my lunch break. I almost found myself in the middle of it before I even knew it was there. When I got close enough to the protest to hear it (which was harder than one might think), the world's softest protest chant went something like this:
(Leader): What do we want?
(Group): Jobs!
(Leader): When do we want them?
(Group): Now!
It repeated like this for as long as I was within earshot, with the group rotating the leader role among them. It took at least 45 seconds for everyone to get a turn.
But then they turned a corner and I couldn't hear them anymore.
So, if a protest is organized on the streets of downtown Nashville and no one can hear it loudly enough to get annoyed, does it still make a sound? (In this case, the answer is "not if a motorcycle is passing by.")
Don't get me wrong. Other than the fact I enjoy being employed, I have no opinion on whatever it was they were protesting. But no matter the merits of the cause (and we'll get to that later), here's a Protesting 101 tip: if you only have 8 people show up for your protest, it's better to just cancel it.
If you don't stage a protest, people have no idea how many silent voices out there might agree with your cause. But if you go to the trouble of organizing an event, advertising it, and getting a permit, and still have only eight people show up, you cast the distinct impression that only 8 people on earth identify with your cause.
Whatever it actually was.
The whole event raised a number of questions. Foremost, are there really people out there against jobs? People who think jobs are a bad idea? Or are there people who think that jobs are ok, but would prefer them to come "later" rather than "now"?
If so, they were certainly put in their place yesterday. (As long as that place was within 20 feet of the protest, and no one's phone was ringing.)
Still, I can't help but wonder if the eight protestors really sought employment, wouldn't they be better served polishing up their resumes on their home computer instead of marching aimlessly around downtown? Do they think someone out there has a magic button they can press that will suddenly deliver jobs? But has anyone, in the history of time, ever protested their way into employment?
Perhaps these unanswered questions provide some clues as to why the protest was not better attended.
I like the spirit of this lost cause, even if it didn't make a lot of sense. Still, I almost wanted to go up to the group and ask if any of them were interested in doing some handyman work around the house. Part of me wanted to be part of the solution. A bigger part of me was hoping that one of them would accept my offer but ask to come over after the protest, which would put the protestor squarely at odds with the prior claim of wanting jobs "now."
I'm not quite sure who this protest was aimed at anyway. They didn't camp in front of a government building. They weren't trying to influence a government decision maker of any sort. They just walked around a commercial section of downtown.
Were they hoping some employer would happen upon them and immediately offer them all work? Did they simply want Nashville's downtown workforce, as finished their cushy lunch breaks and headed back to their air conditioned offices, to know that there exists an impoverished underbelly of eight people not able to enjoy such comforts.
It's a sobering thought.
I don't know if these people had any connection to the "Occupy Wall Street" movement, or even what that movement stands for, so don't take this as a political statement.
My point is just that I don't see what these people were trying to say.
In fact, I could barely even hear it.
The protest consisted of, by my count, a total of eight people. It was the world's first protest that could double as a supper club.
To their credit, the group appeared to be a diverse group of races, socio-economic backgrounds, ages and physical abilities. To their detriment, these facts tend to imply that the protestors weren't a group of friends who decided to take a day off and march the streets, but the only eight people on earth who responded to whatever publicity there was asking people to show up and do this thing.
I inadvertenly came upon the protest while walking somewhere else during my lunch break. I almost found myself in the middle of it before I even knew it was there. When I got close enough to the protest to hear it (which was harder than one might think), the world's softest protest chant went something like this:
(Leader): What do we want?
(Group): Jobs!
(Leader): When do we want them?
(Group): Now!
It repeated like this for as long as I was within earshot, with the group rotating the leader role among them. It took at least 45 seconds for everyone to get a turn.
But then they turned a corner and I couldn't hear them anymore.
So, if a protest is organized on the streets of downtown Nashville and no one can hear it loudly enough to get annoyed, does it still make a sound? (In this case, the answer is "not if a motorcycle is passing by.")
Don't get me wrong. Other than the fact I enjoy being employed, I have no opinion on whatever it was they were protesting. But no matter the merits of the cause (and we'll get to that later), here's a Protesting 101 tip: if you only have 8 people show up for your protest, it's better to just cancel it.
If you don't stage a protest, people have no idea how many silent voices out there might agree with your cause. But if you go to the trouble of organizing an event, advertising it, and getting a permit, and still have only eight people show up, you cast the distinct impression that only 8 people on earth identify with your cause.
Whatever it actually was.
The whole event raised a number of questions. Foremost, are there really people out there against jobs? People who think jobs are a bad idea? Or are there people who think that jobs are ok, but would prefer them to come "later" rather than "now"?
If so, they were certainly put in their place yesterday. (As long as that place was within 20 feet of the protest, and no one's phone was ringing.)
Still, I can't help but wonder if the eight protestors really sought employment, wouldn't they be better served polishing up their resumes on their home computer instead of marching aimlessly around downtown? Do they think someone out there has a magic button they can press that will suddenly deliver jobs? But has anyone, in the history of time, ever protested their way into employment?
Perhaps these unanswered questions provide some clues as to why the protest was not better attended.
I like the spirit of this lost cause, even if it didn't make a lot of sense. Still, I almost wanted to go up to the group and ask if any of them were interested in doing some handyman work around the house. Part of me wanted to be part of the solution. A bigger part of me was hoping that one of them would accept my offer but ask to come over after the protest, which would put the protestor squarely at odds with the prior claim of wanting jobs "now."
I'm not quite sure who this protest was aimed at anyway. They didn't camp in front of a government building. They weren't trying to influence a government decision maker of any sort. They just walked around a commercial section of downtown.
Were they hoping some employer would happen upon them and immediately offer them all work? Did they simply want Nashville's downtown workforce, as finished their cushy lunch breaks and headed back to their air conditioned offices, to know that there exists an impoverished underbelly of eight people not able to enjoy such comforts.
It's a sobering thought.
I don't know if these people had any connection to the "Occupy Wall Street" movement, or even what that movement stands for, so don't take this as a political statement.
My point is just that I don't see what these people were trying to say.
In fact, I could barely even hear it.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Nutty Saga of New Car Registration (a/k/a Car Registration In Hell)
I needed to get register and title our new car today. Actually, I needed to do it a week ago when our temporary tag actually expired, but today was the first day I had the time and patience for this:
7:35: Leave house to get required emissions test.
8:00: Test complete, head to county clerk’s office 1/2 mile away to register car.
8:10: Discover that while emissions testing station opened at 7, adjacent clerk’s office, for some reason, doesn’t open until 9. Brilliant.
8:16: Decide to go to downtown clerk's office instead, with a stop at home to grab forgotten screwdriver for use in affixing tag.
8:25: Come back home, grab screwdriver, notice that car has no screws provided in those two little holes where the tag attaches in the back. Also notice that one of the sockets through which screws should go is just an open hole bored into the back of the car with no grooves into which something could be screwed. This poses a problem...
8:27: Go to basement to search toolbox for screws of appropriate size and corresponding nuts to screw them into. Wonder how it is that car manufactures expect everyone to have perfectly sized screws for every occasion sitting around the house in waiting at all times.
8:28: Laugh to myself over thought of searching for appropriately sized nuts for the purpose of screwing. Unsuccessfully tell myself to grow up.
8:40: Find four different nut/screw combinations, but only one of each size. Hope that two of them will somehow work. Otherwise, I'm screwed.
9:05: Arrive at downtown clerk’s office after fighting extensive traffic. Upon getting out of care, I can’t find one of 932 forms needed to title car, however. Commence frantic search, while cursing silently.
9:10: Form found in glove compartment. Thank God.
9:12: Begin process of titling car. Hand 3 seperate forms to clerk, who asks me multiple questions readily apparent from face of the documents I just gave her, while she stares directly at them.
9:23: Final step of titling car: writing a check. Notice that while I brought checkbook, it is out of checks.
9:24: Pay by credit card instead, incurring 3% fee. Worth it to not ever have to deal with this again.
9:27: Bring tag to back of car, screws and nuts in hand. Discover that none of 4 screws I have securely fit into grooved socket. Talk myself out of making juvenile joke reflecting this situation.
9:35: Attempt to simultaneously put screw through license plate and fit it into ungrooved socket, while holding my nut on the other side of the hole. Due to configuration of back of car, however, only one finger can fit into area behind license plate holder to attempt to hold nut in place while I screw into it. Hope I can tell this story later while preserving G-rating for blog.
9:51: Drop nut into the abyss while unsuccessfully trying to screw into it from other side of license plate holder. Cover myself in car grime in the process of trying to dig it out. Unsuccessfully. Whoever designed this thing needs to be shot.
9:55: Improbably connect different screw to different nut and secure license plate through one of two sockets. Partially screw second screw that doesn’t quite fit into other, grooved socket. It isn't perfect, but there's a 78 percent chance I can drive to work without it falling off.
10:01: Park for work in very back of state parking lot, begin long uphill climb to place of employment.
10:11: Arrive at work, where they somehow expect me to retain mental energy to accomplish something.
Some day, I'm sure, I'll look back at this story and laugh. But that day isn't today.
Today was just nuts.
7:35: Leave house to get required emissions test.
8:00: Test complete, head to county clerk’s office 1/2 mile away to register car.
8:10: Discover that while emissions testing station opened at 7, adjacent clerk’s office, for some reason, doesn’t open until 9. Brilliant.
8:16: Decide to go to downtown clerk's office instead, with a stop at home to grab forgotten screwdriver for use in affixing tag.
8:25: Come back home, grab screwdriver, notice that car has no screws provided in those two little holes where the tag attaches in the back. Also notice that one of the sockets through which screws should go is just an open hole bored into the back of the car with no grooves into which something could be screwed. This poses a problem...
8:27: Go to basement to search toolbox for screws of appropriate size and corresponding nuts to screw them into. Wonder how it is that car manufactures expect everyone to have perfectly sized screws for every occasion sitting around the house in waiting at all times.
8:28: Laugh to myself over thought of searching for appropriately sized nuts for the purpose of screwing. Unsuccessfully tell myself to grow up.
8:40: Find four different nut/screw combinations, but only one of each size. Hope that two of them will somehow work. Otherwise, I'm screwed.
9:05: Arrive at downtown clerk’s office after fighting extensive traffic. Upon getting out of care, I can’t find one of 932 forms needed to title car, however. Commence frantic search, while cursing silently.
9:10: Form found in glove compartment. Thank God.
9:12: Begin process of titling car. Hand 3 seperate forms to clerk, who asks me multiple questions readily apparent from face of the documents I just gave her, while she stares directly at them.
9:23: Final step of titling car: writing a check. Notice that while I brought checkbook, it is out of checks.
9:24: Pay by credit card instead, incurring 3% fee. Worth it to not ever have to deal with this again.
9:27: Bring tag to back of car, screws and nuts in hand. Discover that none of 4 screws I have securely fit into grooved socket. Talk myself out of making juvenile joke reflecting this situation.
9:35: Attempt to simultaneously put screw through license plate and fit it into ungrooved socket, while holding my nut on the other side of the hole. Due to configuration of back of car, however, only one finger can fit into area behind license plate holder to attempt to hold nut in place while I screw into it. Hope I can tell this story later while preserving G-rating for blog.
9:51: Drop nut into the abyss while unsuccessfully trying to screw into it from other side of license plate holder. Cover myself in car grime in the process of trying to dig it out. Unsuccessfully. Whoever designed this thing needs to be shot.
9:55: Improbably connect different screw to different nut and secure license plate through one of two sockets. Partially screw second screw that doesn’t quite fit into other, grooved socket. It isn't perfect, but there's a 78 percent chance I can drive to work without it falling off.
10:01: Park for work in very back of state parking lot, begin long uphill climb to place of employment.
10:11: Arrive at work, where they somehow expect me to retain mental energy to accomplish something.
Some day, I'm sure, I'll look back at this story and laugh. But that day isn't today.
Today was just nuts.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Best Month Ever
My former law school classmate and current writing nemesis Clay Travis recently bragged that his blog got 700,000 hits this month, up from 500,000 the month before.
Mine isn't quite there yet.
But it keeps getting closer. The blog reached new heights yet again this month. For the first time ever, we got more than 500 page views (and the total will probably end up at closer to 600 by midnight tomorrow), after hitting about 400 in August, which itself was cause for celebration in these parts.
The blog doesn't work without your help. This month, I got more of it than ever before.
Thank you.
I still don't know much about how this world works. I can't explain why life often seems harder than it should, or why automated customer service systems only offer five buttons to press, none of which include the thing about which you are calling.
But I do know this. Life is better when you spend it doing something worthwhile.
I hope you continue to so consider this space. I'll keep writing as long as you do.
God bless, and happy October. Let's break another record this month.
Mine isn't quite there yet.
But it keeps getting closer. The blog reached new heights yet again this month. For the first time ever, we got more than 500 page views (and the total will probably end up at closer to 600 by midnight tomorrow), after hitting about 400 in August, which itself was cause for celebration in these parts.
The blog doesn't work without your help. This month, I got more of it than ever before.
Thank you.
I still don't know much about how this world works. I can't explain why life often seems harder than it should, or why automated customer service systems only offer five buttons to press, none of which include the thing about which you are calling.
But I do know this. Life is better when you spend it doing something worthwhile.
I hope you continue to so consider this space. I'll keep writing as long as you do.
God bless, and happy October. Let's break another record this month.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
A Secret Confession of Your Annoying Co-Worker
I am that co-worker everyone hates.
I am socially awkward without realizing it. I will stand in your office and blather on in an unceasing monologue on a topic of minimal interest, even to me.
You might try to turn your attention away from me.
You might pretend to start working while I’m in your office in the hopes I will get the hint and leave. I can assure you that your efforts will fail. I will continue making myself comfortable in your personal space and continue my one-person conversation undeterred. I will stay until one of our co-workers eventually takes note of this painful conversation, takes mercy on you and calls your phone, offering some pretextual reason for you to abort our conversation.
At least until I come back this afternoon.
At some level, I realize you don’t like me. I know you’d rather be doing something else with someone—anyone—other than me. But while I realize all of these things, if I stopped and listened to this inner voice, I’d have no one left to talk to at all. Besides, if I keep talking, uninterrupted, perhaps I’ll eventually win you over with my effervescent wit.
I know that, in general, every office has at least one person that everyone else makes fun of at the water cooler. Oddly, my office doesn’t seem to have one of those. And if it does, it’s that guy down the hall who talks a little too loudly. I will make fun of him regularly, just to convince everyone that it is he who is the odd duck in these parts.
I’m either incredibly lonely, have poor social skills or am an intractable bore. Possibly all of the above. I would ask you which of these possibilities apply, but you stopped paying attention to anything I had to say about 10 minutes ago.
I spend so much time boring you to tears with my inane ramblings during the workday, that I get very little actual work done. That’s ok. I will attempt to cover up this fact by speaking in painfully overexaggerated detail about every small piece of effort I put forth.
I will also magnify the importance of all my trivial accomplishments, so that you think I am by a large margin the most important contributor to the office, when in fact, everyone else on my floor would see their productivity increase threefold by the sheer absence of my distracting presence.
In an effort to make you believe I am more important than you, I will belittle all of your achievements and magnify all of your failures. If I am for some reason unable to do so to you directly, I will gladly cut out the middle man and address my critiques directly to your supervisor, who also would benefit to hear of both your inadequacies and my delusions of office grandeur.
I regularly take three hour lunches, but make snide and very public remarks about your leaving at 4:52 on a Friday afternoon, even if your workday ended at 4:30.
Even if I left at 2:00.
I magnify any meager development that bears passing resemblance to my own accomplishment, but dismiss your genuine triumphs as routine.
I take joy in prattling on endlessly about subjects that I know you care not about, because I love the sound of my own voice.
I knock on your door, and when you don’t answer, I open it anyway.
If, for some reason, you considered this possible scenario and put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on your door, I will email you to ask if you are aware of this bizarre request to forgo the pleasure of my company.
I am that person in your office. You cannot escape me, try as you might. I will tell you about the intricate details of my fantasy football team, the virtual universe I painstakingly created, that tv show you don’t watch, or some obscure sporting event about which you care not.
I don’t know why I do this. I know you think I’m annoying. Everyone in the office thinks I’m annoying. Truth be told, I even think I’m annoying.
I just can’t help myself. And at least when I’m annoying you, I’m still the center of your attention.
Which is all that really matters.
I am socially awkward without realizing it. I will stand in your office and blather on in an unceasing monologue on a topic of minimal interest, even to me.
You might try to turn your attention away from me.
You might pretend to start working while I’m in your office in the hopes I will get the hint and leave. I can assure you that your efforts will fail. I will continue making myself comfortable in your personal space and continue my one-person conversation undeterred. I will stay until one of our co-workers eventually takes note of this painful conversation, takes mercy on you and calls your phone, offering some pretextual reason for you to abort our conversation.
At least until I come back this afternoon.
At some level, I realize you don’t like me. I know you’d rather be doing something else with someone—anyone—other than me. But while I realize all of these things, if I stopped and listened to this inner voice, I’d have no one left to talk to at all. Besides, if I keep talking, uninterrupted, perhaps I’ll eventually win you over with my effervescent wit.
I know that, in general, every office has at least one person that everyone else makes fun of at the water cooler. Oddly, my office doesn’t seem to have one of those. And if it does, it’s that guy down the hall who talks a little too loudly. I will make fun of him regularly, just to convince everyone that it is he who is the odd duck in these parts.
I’m either incredibly lonely, have poor social skills or am an intractable bore. Possibly all of the above. I would ask you which of these possibilities apply, but you stopped paying attention to anything I had to say about 10 minutes ago.
I spend so much time boring you to tears with my inane ramblings during the workday, that I get very little actual work done. That’s ok. I will attempt to cover up this fact by speaking in painfully overexaggerated detail about every small piece of effort I put forth.
I will also magnify the importance of all my trivial accomplishments, so that you think I am by a large margin the most important contributor to the office, when in fact, everyone else on my floor would see their productivity increase threefold by the sheer absence of my distracting presence.
In an effort to make you believe I am more important than you, I will belittle all of your achievements and magnify all of your failures. If I am for some reason unable to do so to you directly, I will gladly cut out the middle man and address my critiques directly to your supervisor, who also would benefit to hear of both your inadequacies and my delusions of office grandeur.
I regularly take three hour lunches, but make snide and very public remarks about your leaving at 4:52 on a Friday afternoon, even if your workday ended at 4:30.
Even if I left at 2:00.
I magnify any meager development that bears passing resemblance to my own accomplishment, but dismiss your genuine triumphs as routine.
I take joy in prattling on endlessly about subjects that I know you care not about, because I love the sound of my own voice.
I knock on your door, and when you don’t answer, I open it anyway.
If, for some reason, you considered this possible scenario and put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on your door, I will email you to ask if you are aware of this bizarre request to forgo the pleasure of my company.
I am that person in your office. You cannot escape me, try as you might. I will tell you about the intricate details of my fantasy football team, the virtual universe I painstakingly created, that tv show you don’t watch, or some obscure sporting event about which you care not.
I don’t know why I do this. I know you think I’m annoying. Everyone in the office thinks I’m annoying. Truth be told, I even think I’m annoying.
I just can’t help myself. And at least when I’m annoying you, I’m still the center of your attention.
Which is all that really matters.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
No, We Don't Have Kids
Yes, I am married.
No, we don't have children.
Stop asking.
I can't count the number of times that inquisitive strangers have expressed dissatisfaction with this situation. Hearing that I don't have children seems to disappoint almost everyone who bothers to ask.
Why do relative strangers care whether or not I have children?
Why does the random co-worker with whom I find myself making small talk at an office function frown upon learning I am childless?
Does she think the world perilously unpopulated? Does she think I'm so remarkably brilliant and strikingly attractive that failing to pass on my genetic code would work to the detriment of humankind?
Why does the middle aged guy in the elevator abruptly end our conversation upon hearing that I have a two-person family? Are his conversational skills so limited that he can't think to ask a question on another subject? Is he so self-centered that he finds me of no conversational value if I can't pass along child rearing tips?
Perhaps it is all of these things. Perhaps it is just the part about being brilliant and good looking.
Or maybe people seem disappointed in my childless answer because they "compassionately" assume that I must have wanted kids, just like they did, only failed to produce them somehow.
Don't get me wrong.
I have nothing against people who have, or want to have, kids. It's just never struck me personally as a particularly good idea, knowing my talents and limitations. I can't even keep a plant alive (sorry, Kelsey. I tried. Harder than you know.)
I come home from work every day mentally drained and physically exhausted--it's all I can do to feed my cats. We have little to no spare money left over every month after the bills are paid as it is.
Of the six or seven various conflicting obligations in my life, I'm generally scandalously neglecting, almost to the point of criminality, at least two of them on a rotating basis at any given time. I can get away with this now. There are no criminal repercussions if I fail to get a blog written on time or get the date wrong on a volunteer project. But the same can't be said if I absent-mindedly drop Junior in the dryer along with the towels.
I just can't imagine how life would work if kids were part of the equation.
The people who fit it all in have a talent that I do not.
People who don't know me still assume that I must be sobbing myself to sleep every night, hunched in a bedroom corner, over my barren existence. I'm just not.
Sometimes people mean well. I get that. A lot of people really are so wrapped up in their children's lives that they just don't have much of a conversational bank to turn to if they can't swap childcare stories with their conversation partner.
They don't abruptly cut off conversations because they think they're better than me, but because they have nothing non-child related to say. But more often than not, those who frown and shut off conversation upon hearing of my lack of offspring give off a very different impression. Kind of like when someone asks you about your political affiliation and then loses interest when you give the "wrong" answer.
People assume my life is incomplete because I don't have something that they wanted. Sometimes they won't even take my word for it that I don't actually want to help populate the earth. If I had a nickel for every time someone said "someday you'll change your mind" about having kids, I'd have enough money to comfortably raise one.
Some people take this assumption so far that they say sometimes work condescending lines into conversations like "someday when you have kids, you'll understand why should have voted for Harry McGruber," or whatever other topic it is they are failing convince me of on its own merits.
Sometimes people try to change my mind, telling me what a blessing kids are, as though a brief encounter with a relative stranger at the office Christmas party is going alter my long-term life plan.
I just don't understand why some people seem to care so much.
Just like they don't understand why my life doesn't include kids.
No, we don't have children.
Stop asking.
I can't count the number of times that inquisitive strangers have expressed dissatisfaction with this situation. Hearing that I don't have children seems to disappoint almost everyone who bothers to ask.
Why do relative strangers care whether or not I have children?
Why does the random co-worker with whom I find myself making small talk at an office function frown upon learning I am childless?
Does she think the world perilously unpopulated? Does she think I'm so remarkably brilliant and strikingly attractive that failing to pass on my genetic code would work to the detriment of humankind?
Why does the middle aged guy in the elevator abruptly end our conversation upon hearing that I have a two-person family? Are his conversational skills so limited that he can't think to ask a question on another subject? Is he so self-centered that he finds me of no conversational value if I can't pass along child rearing tips?
Perhaps it is all of these things. Perhaps it is just the part about being brilliant and good looking.
Or maybe people seem disappointed in my childless answer because they "compassionately" assume that I must have wanted kids, just like they did, only failed to produce them somehow.
Don't get me wrong.
I have nothing against people who have, or want to have, kids. It's just never struck me personally as a particularly good idea, knowing my talents and limitations. I can't even keep a plant alive (sorry, Kelsey. I tried. Harder than you know.)
I come home from work every day mentally drained and physically exhausted--it's all I can do to feed my cats. We have little to no spare money left over every month after the bills are paid as it is.
Of the six or seven various conflicting obligations in my life, I'm generally scandalously neglecting, almost to the point of criminality, at least two of them on a rotating basis at any given time. I can get away with this now. There are no criminal repercussions if I fail to get a blog written on time or get the date wrong on a volunteer project. But the same can't be said if I absent-mindedly drop Junior in the dryer along with the towels.
I just can't imagine how life would work if kids were part of the equation.
The people who fit it all in have a talent that I do not.
People who don't know me still assume that I must be sobbing myself to sleep every night, hunched in a bedroom corner, over my barren existence. I'm just not.
Sometimes people mean well. I get that. A lot of people really are so wrapped up in their children's lives that they just don't have much of a conversational bank to turn to if they can't swap childcare stories with their conversation partner.
They don't abruptly cut off conversations because they think they're better than me, but because they have nothing non-child related to say. But more often than not, those who frown and shut off conversation upon hearing of my lack of offspring give off a very different impression. Kind of like when someone asks you about your political affiliation and then loses interest when you give the "wrong" answer.
People assume my life is incomplete because I don't have something that they wanted. Sometimes they won't even take my word for it that I don't actually want to help populate the earth. If I had a nickel for every time someone said "someday you'll change your mind" about having kids, I'd have enough money to comfortably raise one.
Some people take this assumption so far that they say sometimes work condescending lines into conversations like "someday when you have kids, you'll understand why should have voted for Harry McGruber," or whatever other topic it is they are failing convince me of on its own merits.
Sometimes people try to change my mind, telling me what a blessing kids are, as though a brief encounter with a relative stranger at the office Christmas party is going alter my long-term life plan.
I just don't understand why some people seem to care so much.
Just like they don't understand why my life doesn't include kids.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The 400 Club
Clay Travis and I went to law school together. He got a legal job and decided he didn't like it. Truth be told, nobody really does.
So he quit.
He started writing instead. He developed a following, wrote two best selling books and last month had 500,000 visits to his website.
He doesn't return my emails now, but I'm sure he makes a nice living, doing what he loves.
Against this backdrop, it doesn't sound very impressive to say that this blog got 400 hits in August.
It doesn't sound impressive until I remember that less than a year ago that I posted twice as often and this space still didn't get 100 hits in a month. That's right, the blog is slowing taking off--August was the second best month ever--and I want to thank you all for it. Please come back. Often.
The long term goal is to sell ads in this space and make a living entertaining you. It's getting closer all the time.
That said, the blog is at a bit of a crossroads. The sports website for which I write (also for free), Bleacher Report, has a built-in audience that provides me, literally, 100 times the audience my personal blog gets. If I want to make a living writing, Bleacher Report seems the most obvious path the that goal. And every post I do here is one less post I do there.
But I can only write about sports there. I can't do a column where I answer made-up silly questions. I can't blog political debates or provide a running diary of my holidays or conversations with customer service specialists there. I need to do these things.
This is where you come in. I'll keep doing this as long as this site continues to make progress in catching up to my other one. I try to post something new by Tuesday or every week, but occasionally I can't get around to it until Wednesday. Soon, hopefully, it will be more often. But I need you here. All 400 of you. And 400 of your friends.
I know you probably don't have 400 friends, but perhaps you have two. Refer them both here, because the other people who find this blog entertaining probably don't have any friends at all.
The more people who read, the sooner I can do this full time and consistently post new stuff more than once a week.
And then we'll all be happy.
So he quit.
He started writing instead. He developed a following, wrote two best selling books and last month had 500,000 visits to his website.
He doesn't return my emails now, but I'm sure he makes a nice living, doing what he loves.
Against this backdrop, it doesn't sound very impressive to say that this blog got 400 hits in August.
It doesn't sound impressive until I remember that less than a year ago that I posted twice as often and this space still didn't get 100 hits in a month. That's right, the blog is slowing taking off--August was the second best month ever--and I want to thank you all for it. Please come back. Often.
The long term goal is to sell ads in this space and make a living entertaining you. It's getting closer all the time.
That said, the blog is at a bit of a crossroads. The sports website for which I write (also for free), Bleacher Report, has a built-in audience that provides me, literally, 100 times the audience my personal blog gets. If I want to make a living writing, Bleacher Report seems the most obvious path the that goal. And every post I do here is one less post I do there.
But I can only write about sports there. I can't do a column where I answer made-up silly questions. I can't blog political debates or provide a running diary of my holidays or conversations with customer service specialists there. I need to do these things.
This is where you come in. I'll keep doing this as long as this site continues to make progress in catching up to my other one. I try to post something new by Tuesday or every week, but occasionally I can't get around to it until Wednesday. Soon, hopefully, it will be more often. But I need you here. All 400 of you. And 400 of your friends.
I know you probably don't have 400 friends, but perhaps you have two. Refer them both here, because the other people who find this blog entertaining probably don't have any friends at all.
The more people who read, the sooner I can do this full time and consistently post new stuff more than once a week.
And then we'll all be happy.
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