I was leaving work the other day, feeling particularly
cheerful at having again fooled society into thinking I was a productive member
of society, and as I navigated the parking lot, I saw one of my coworkers heading
towards the building, despite the lateness of the afternoon, obviously having
just returned from somewhere, perhaps an offsite meeting. As we passed each
other, I said, “Shouldn’t you be heading the other way?”
Feeling happy with this clever little witticism, I got into
my car and headed home.
Not long after, I began to wonder: Had I turned into one of
them?
You see, I’ve never been a fan of workplace clichés and
small-talk. For example, at a previous job I had to frequently take an elevator,
where I quickly realized that people felt the need to chatter inanely in order to
alleviate the awkwardness of being in such close proximity of one another. This
left me at the mercy of such clever banter as:
“Well, how about the weather this morning! Cold enough for you?”
“Well, I’d rather be out there than in here going to work!”
“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!”
“Too bad this thing wasn’t going down instead of coming up!”
“At least it’s almost Friday!”
“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!”
This trivial repartee has always annoyed me. I’d much rather
listen to complete silence as opposed to awkward conversation for no
reason other than to avoid complete silence. I mean, I’m comfortable not
acknowledging anybody else’s existence in an elevator, so why isn’t everybody
else?!
But now I’d just said, “Shouldn’t you be heading the other
way?” It seemed fairly amusing to me as it tumbled out of my lips, but
really, how far of a cry was it from, “Too bad this thing wasn’t going down
instead of coming up”?
Not good.
So perhaps I’ve turned into Workplace Small-Talk Cliché Man,
whose superpower is having the ability to converse easily with anybody in the
company about things of little to no importance. My specialties
might include discussions of the 10-day weather forecast, my longing to be anywhere but
at work, and (shudder) each other's weekend plans.
Not good at all.
Hopefully, this was all an aberration, and the next time I’m
faced with a similar situation, I’ll ignore my coworker and pretend like he
isn't there.
Until that time, however, I’m going to be scared, not knowing if
I’ve turned into something that I never dreamed was possible.
I guess all I can do
is hope.
And what are you doing this weekend?
Uh-oh.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
The Maturity Overshoot
I think I should be proud myself, but I’m not quite sure. On
one hand, isn’t this what life’s all about? Continually growing and evolving, always
progressing, never overstaying your welcome in any of the various stages of life? But
on the other hand, have I become less exciting than a smelly old dish towel?
Let’s back up a bit: My long lost buddy Tom dropped by recently for a brief mid-week visit. He was in the area and had a plane to catch the next day. (For those of you who’ve read the book, this is the same Tom fromIowa Isle Royale fame.) Now, if this exact same scenario
had played out about ten years ago, our itinerary would have looked something
like this:
1. Choose a pizza place to eat at by having one person close their eyes and pick it at random from the yellow pages. No matter what was chosen, we’d be forced to eat there, even if it was something like Easy Ed’s Drive-Thru Pizza and Organ Transplant Hut.
2. Order an extra large pizza and each eat half.
3. Somehow, someway, find a quarter-operated, stuffed animal crane game and spend as much money as necessary until something cool was won.
3. Despite that fact that it’s March, find a basketball court and shoot some hoops. During this time, we’d each have to take on the persona of a famous old-school basketball player, such as Julius Erving or Robert Parrish. In these examples, the man being Julius Erving would have to attempt nothing but ridiculously complicated, but still incredibly graceful, layups, while the man being Robert Parrish would have to lumber up and down the court while answering to the nickname “The Chief.” In addition, Julius Erving would probably have to wear an afro-wig to complete the transformation.
4. Start to feel sick from eating way, way too much pizza.
5. Nintendo.
6. Regardless of each person’s commitments for the next day, stay up late and watch a terrible movie, like Death Wish 8, all while laughing hysterically and making fun of it.
However, this wasn’t ten years ago, and our itinerary instead played out as follows:
1. Ate in; a relatively small and inconspicuous meal.
2. Did a load of laundry.
3. Discussed healthy eating habits.
4. Waxed nostalgic about the old days as I sewed a button onto my shirt.
5. Since I had to work the next day and Tom had to catch a flight, turn in relatively early.
That’s it. No stuffed animal toy crane machines. No snow basketball. No random-yellow-pages-pizza-place picking. We did watch a part of The Next Karate Kid and laugh hysterically at its badness, but it was only the closing ten minutes of the film.
So that’s why I’m wondering if I should be proud of myself. I mean, this is maturity, right? This is how it’s supposed to happen. Am I wrong to think that if we’d have attempted the activities of ten years ago, it would have been hideously embarrassing for everybody involved?
But still, on the other hand, one of the highlights of the day was that I SEWED A BUTTON ONTO MY SHIRT!!!! (In Tom’s defense, I think he was hoping I was going to stab myself so he could laugh at me.)
I guess I’m just hoping I haven’t overshot the whole maturity thing and have essentially turned into a fifty-year old who finds pleasure in determining what kind of bran cereal to buy.
However, even if I have, I suppose I could have a mid-life crisis, which would open up a lot of possibilities. For example, I could get an earring and a convertible and go on spring break somewhere!
Never mind. That sounds like too much work. Perhaps I’ll knit myself a sweater, instead.
Let’s back up a bit: My long lost buddy Tom dropped by recently for a brief mid-week visit. He was in the area and had a plane to catch the next day. (For those of you who’ve read the book, this is the same Tom from
1. Choose a pizza place to eat at by having one person close their eyes and pick it at random from the yellow pages. No matter what was chosen, we’d be forced to eat there, even if it was something like Easy Ed’s Drive-Thru Pizza and Organ Transplant Hut.
2. Order an extra large pizza and each eat half.
3. Somehow, someway, find a quarter-operated, stuffed animal crane game and spend as much money as necessary until something cool was won.
3. Despite that fact that it’s March, find a basketball court and shoot some hoops. During this time, we’d each have to take on the persona of a famous old-school basketball player, such as Julius Erving or Robert Parrish. In these examples, the man being Julius Erving would have to attempt nothing but ridiculously complicated, but still incredibly graceful, layups, while the man being Robert Parrish would have to lumber up and down the court while answering to the nickname “The Chief.” In addition, Julius Erving would probably have to wear an afro-wig to complete the transformation.
4. Start to feel sick from eating way, way too much pizza.
5. Nintendo.
6. Regardless of each person’s commitments for the next day, stay up late and watch a terrible movie, like Death Wish 8, all while laughing hysterically and making fun of it.
However, this wasn’t ten years ago, and our itinerary instead played out as follows:
1. Ate in; a relatively small and inconspicuous meal.
2. Did a load of laundry.
3. Discussed healthy eating habits.
4. Waxed nostalgic about the old days as I sewed a button onto my shirt.
5. Since I had to work the next day and Tom had to catch a flight, turn in relatively early.
That’s it. No stuffed animal toy crane machines. No snow basketball. No random-yellow-pages-pizza-place picking. We did watch a part of The Next Karate Kid and laugh hysterically at its badness, but it was only the closing ten minutes of the film.
So that’s why I’m wondering if I should be proud of myself. I mean, this is maturity, right? This is how it’s supposed to happen. Am I wrong to think that if we’d have attempted the activities of ten years ago, it would have been hideously embarrassing for everybody involved?
But still, on the other hand, one of the highlights of the day was that I SEWED A BUTTON ONTO MY SHIRT!!!! (In Tom’s defense, I think he was hoping I was going to stab myself so he could laugh at me.)
I guess I’m just hoping I haven’t overshot the whole maturity thing and have essentially turned into a fifty-year old who finds pleasure in determining what kind of bran cereal to buy.
However, even if I have, I suppose I could have a mid-life crisis, which would open up a lot of possibilities. For example, I could get an earring and a convertible and go on spring break somewhere!
Never mind. That sounds like too much work. Perhaps I’ll knit myself a sweater, instead.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
The Junk Food Walk Of Shame
I trudge up to the cashier, my eyes fixed intently on the
floor in front of my feet. There are only two other customers in the
convenience store, but it feels like I’m standing on the fifty-yard line during
the Superbowl, with all eyes fixated upon me. I pile all of my
soon-to-be-purchases onto the counter before the cashier. I avoid his gaze,
electing instead to pretend to brush some lint off of my jacket.
“Any gas outside, sir?”
“No,” I mumble weakly. “Just this.”
“All right.”
He’s judging me. I can feel it!
After I pay for my purchases, I hurriedly exit the store, my head still down, hoping that I don’t run into anybody I know. I make it to my car, open it, and unload everything onto the passenger seat. I stare at it in all of its artificial glory. My goodness, that’s a ridiculous amount of calories!
Yes, the junk food walk of shame (JFWOS) is indeed an embarrassing thing to have to endure. Who wants to be seen basically admitting to the world that they have no self control whatsoever? Definitely not me! Yet why is it that I still finding myself doing it? I mean, it’s not rocket science: Junk food is bad for you. It gives you love handles, which can quickly turn into love life rafts. This leads to you becoming a contestant on the Biggest Loser, where trainers yell at you and make you run on a treadmill until you throw up. I don’t know about you, but that’s something I’d rather avoid.
Perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic. I mean, I have gotten much better at avoiding the JFWOS over the years. I can now have multiple successful outings in a row where I muster the willpower not to succumb to the temptations of junk food, which seem to lurk just about everywhere. (“A vending machine in the car wash? Awesome!!”) However, there are still times when I leave the store carrying roughly half of the Little Debbie selection, a confused look plastered on my face. All I came here for was toothpaste! Where did all of this stuff come from? And why didn’t I buy the toothpaste?
I have no illusions of ever triumphing outright over this. I realize that it’s going to be a never-ending battle. So, with that in mind, I think that it’d be nice to have a little extra help. My idea is that you should be able to pre-register yourself via your credit card as a “Junk Food Junkie.” When your credit card is then swiped at a store, the cashier will be notified of your membership. If you’re trying to buy junk food, the cashier is then allowed to use any means necessary to discourage you from your purchases, which will hopefully both amuse them and abort your pending sugar binge:
Cashier: (staring at the screen and then at the pile of junk food on the counter) What are you, some kind of idiot?”
Me: (trying to hide behind the stack of junk food) Yes.
Cashier: You do realize that this is a horrible idea, right?
Me: Yes.
Cashier: Yet you still want to go through with it?
Me: (sadly) Yes.
Cashier: Do you want me to smack you in the face and refuse to sell you this?
Me: Yes.
SMACK!
Cashier: Now get out of here and leave this garbage behind!
Me: (checking for lost teeth) Thanks. I owe you one.
I like this idea. In fact, I’d definitely sign up for the program. Heck, I’d even take it a step further and probably quit my job and start working as a cashier at a gas station. How fun would that be?
“Any gas outside, sir?”
“No,” I mumble weakly. “Just this.”
“All right.”
He’s judging me. I can feel it!
After I pay for my purchases, I hurriedly exit the store, my head still down, hoping that I don’t run into anybody I know. I make it to my car, open it, and unload everything onto the passenger seat. I stare at it in all of its artificial glory. My goodness, that’s a ridiculous amount of calories!
Yes, the junk food walk of shame (JFWOS) is indeed an embarrassing thing to have to endure. Who wants to be seen basically admitting to the world that they have no self control whatsoever? Definitely not me! Yet why is it that I still finding myself doing it? I mean, it’s not rocket science: Junk food is bad for you. It gives you love handles, which can quickly turn into love life rafts. This leads to you becoming a contestant on the Biggest Loser, where trainers yell at you and make you run on a treadmill until you throw up. I don’t know about you, but that’s something I’d rather avoid.
Perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic. I mean, I have gotten much better at avoiding the JFWOS over the years. I can now have multiple successful outings in a row where I muster the willpower not to succumb to the temptations of junk food, which seem to lurk just about everywhere. (“A vending machine in the car wash? Awesome!!”) However, there are still times when I leave the store carrying roughly half of the Little Debbie selection, a confused look plastered on my face. All I came here for was toothpaste! Where did all of this stuff come from? And why didn’t I buy the toothpaste?
I have no illusions of ever triumphing outright over this. I realize that it’s going to be a never-ending battle. So, with that in mind, I think that it’d be nice to have a little extra help. My idea is that you should be able to pre-register yourself via your credit card as a “Junk Food Junkie.” When your credit card is then swiped at a store, the cashier will be notified of your membership. If you’re trying to buy junk food, the cashier is then allowed to use any means necessary to discourage you from your purchases, which will hopefully both amuse them and abort your pending sugar binge:
Cashier: (staring at the screen and then at the pile of junk food on the counter) What are you, some kind of idiot?”
Me: (trying to hide behind the stack of junk food) Yes.
Cashier: You do realize that this is a horrible idea, right?
Me: Yes.
Cashier: Yet you still want to go through with it?
Me: (sadly) Yes.
Cashier: Do you want me to smack you in the face and refuse to sell you this?
Me: Yes.
SMACK!
Cashier: Now get out of here and leave this garbage behind!
Me: (checking for lost teeth) Thanks. I owe you one.
I like this idea. In fact, I’d definitely sign up for the program. Heck, I’d even take it a step further and probably quit my job and start working as a cashier at a gas station. How fun would that be?
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Cue The Fiddle!
I remember that back when I was growing up, I used to snicker at the
out-of-touch, lost-in-time, unable-to-change fuddy-duddies who refused to
listen to any kind of music that wasn’t popular back in their day, presumably
during the Civil War. Get with the
times, I’d think. These are the 90’s!
Nobody listens to this stuff anymore!
Well, many years later, I’m proud to announce that I’ve basically joined the ranks of those I used to snicker at.
I credit iTunes for this realization. During my random perusing there, I’ve begun to stumble upon names I remember from my youth: Rick Trevino, Joe Diffie, Mark Chesnutt, Shenandoah, among many, many others. This has triggered waves of nostalgia, and I’ve begun to reacquaint myself with some of their music. The effect it’s had on me has been astounding, with my reaction being something like this:
Wait! What’s this? An actual fiddle? Will wonders never cease? And hold on! Can it be?? A steel guitar that’s not tucked away so far back in the production that I can actually hear the notes?? It is!! And what’s this? It’s not a song about how great it is to live in the country, because there you apparently spend 99% percent of your time driving around in trucks and making out with random hot women?? I almost forgot it was possible to have any other kind of song!!!!
Listening to this music again has been wonderful. It instantly takes me back to Saturday mornings of years past, after I’d finished my paper route and would crawl back into bed to listen to American Country Countdown. Now that’s life! I learned so much from Bob Kingsley, with his soothing voice massaging so many useless facts into my brain, such as which song had the biggest jump or the highest debut, or that twenty years ago this week, George Jones was sitting at the top of the charts. Good ol’ Bob…
I guess I always knew that country music had changed since my youth, but I didn’t realize the magnitude. I suppose it’s because this change has been slow and methodical, to the point where I didn't notice it as it was occurring, kind of like when you forget to shave for a while and then eventually realize that your beard is getting tangled up in your steering wheel.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I still like some contemporary country. I haven’t yet converted over entirely to the type of person I used to laugh at back in my youth. (Give me another decade or so and ask me then!) However, if I have to compare today’s country to 90’s country, there’s no question as to where my allegiances lie. Here’s a prime example: I’ve always enjoyed a lot of Joe Diffie’s music, but I’m no fan of the new Jason Aldean song “1994,” which name-checks and pays homage to Joe Diffie, yet still manages to sound as if the writers’ ultimate goal was to make the heads of anybody over the age of thirty explode when they listen to it.
I guess I’m proud to say that I have no Alibis. I like 90’s country! I’ve realized that it’s all I’ve ever Wanted! I get Carried Away listening to it! It makes me feel like a Brand New Man! Hey, I’m Only Here For A Little While, so why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? I mean, She’s In Love With The Boy, right? Wait, that doesn’t even make sense. Um, I’d Be Better Off (In A Pine Box)? No, that’s even worse! Dang it, it was going so well! I’d better quit while I have Friends In Low Places… AARRGGH!
Still, my point is clear. I’ve become the person I used to laugh at, and I don’t really care that I have. And, the best part is, the 90’s version of me, who’s out there somewhere in the space/time continuum delivering the Daily Mining Gazette, can’t even be annoyed at my betrayal, because I’m coming back to everything that was popular in his day!! It’s a win/win situation!! Everybody’s happy!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m having an irresistible urge to make a mixed tape that includes “Chattahoochee .” Yes!!!
Well, many years later, I’m proud to announce that I’ve basically joined the ranks of those I used to snicker at.
I credit iTunes for this realization. During my random perusing there, I’ve begun to stumble upon names I remember from my youth: Rick Trevino, Joe Diffie, Mark Chesnutt, Shenandoah, among many, many others. This has triggered waves of nostalgia, and I’ve begun to reacquaint myself with some of their music. The effect it’s had on me has been astounding, with my reaction being something like this:
Wait! What’s this? An actual fiddle? Will wonders never cease? And hold on! Can it be?? A steel guitar that’s not tucked away so far back in the production that I can actually hear the notes?? It is!! And what’s this? It’s not a song about how great it is to live in the country, because there you apparently spend 99% percent of your time driving around in trucks and making out with random hot women?? I almost forgot it was possible to have any other kind of song!!!!
Listening to this music again has been wonderful. It instantly takes me back to Saturday mornings of years past, after I’d finished my paper route and would crawl back into bed to listen to American Country Countdown. Now that’s life! I learned so much from Bob Kingsley, with his soothing voice massaging so many useless facts into my brain, such as which song had the biggest jump or the highest debut, or that twenty years ago this week, George Jones was sitting at the top of the charts. Good ol’ Bob…
I guess I always knew that country music had changed since my youth, but I didn’t realize the magnitude. I suppose it’s because this change has been slow and methodical, to the point where I didn't notice it as it was occurring, kind of like when you forget to shave for a while and then eventually realize that your beard is getting tangled up in your steering wheel.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I still like some contemporary country. I haven’t yet converted over entirely to the type of person I used to laugh at back in my youth. (Give me another decade or so and ask me then!) However, if I have to compare today’s country to 90’s country, there’s no question as to where my allegiances lie. Here’s a prime example: I’ve always enjoyed a lot of Joe Diffie’s music, but I’m no fan of the new Jason Aldean song “1994,” which name-checks and pays homage to Joe Diffie, yet still manages to sound as if the writers’ ultimate goal was to make the heads of anybody over the age of thirty explode when they listen to it.
I guess I’m proud to say that I have no Alibis. I like 90’s country! I’ve realized that it’s all I’ve ever Wanted! I get Carried Away listening to it! It makes me feel like a Brand New Man! Hey, I’m Only Here For A Little While, so why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? I mean, She’s In Love With The Boy, right? Wait, that doesn’t even make sense. Um, I’d Be Better Off (In A Pine Box)? No, that’s even worse! Dang it, it was going so well! I’d better quit while I have Friends In Low Places… AARRGGH!
Still, my point is clear. I’ve become the person I used to laugh at, and I don’t really care that I have. And, the best part is, the 90’s version of me, who’s out there somewhere in the space/time continuum delivering the Daily Mining Gazette, can’t even be annoyed at my betrayal, because I’m coming back to everything that was popular in his day!! It’s a win/win situation!! Everybody’s happy!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m having an irresistible urge to make a mixed tape that includes “
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