It is completely inappropriate to respond to someone’s story about their child with a related story about your pet. Example:
Parent: Billy had me up all night. He just couldn’t stop crying.
Childless Pet Owner: Oh, my dog does that.
You have no children and you feel left out when people are talking about their kids? Trying to relate? Sorry, you just can’t. Go procreate, or just smile and nod. I know nobody wants to hear about other people’s children, but guess what – hearing stories about other people’s pets is even worse.
It is highly insulting to compare someone’s children to your animals, no matter how you feel about your pets. Pets are not the same as children. You wouldn’t shoot your daughter if she broke her leg at a track meet, and you would never cut off your son’s testicles to calm him down. Keep your mouth shut, and don’t be a jerk.
To some extent, this blog has been about the search for role models, and it is high time I paid proper tribute to one of the finest: Mr. Gabonay. Poet, scholar, and Upland Junior High School wood shop teacher – the man’s brilliance was in his simplicity. No matter what the situation, Gabonay responded with one of two key sentiments. “Stain and shellac!” or:
Mr. Gabonay, circa 1990
“Don’t be a jerk.”
Case in point: once, I had the class period directly following an incident in which an 8th grade student had nearly severed his thumb with the bandsaw. Gabonay’s entire explanation and safety briefing? “He was being a jerk.” Genius.
I have decided to take this advice to heart, and expand upon the wisdom of Gabonay, making it applicable to everyday situations. A sort of Talmudic response to an underappreciated master, if you will. I hope to illuminate ways in which an otherwise decent and honorable person might mistakenly find them self being a jerk, and to help prevent it from happening again.
Today’s Lesson:
Don’t go to the movies on Christmas
Lots of basically good people do this every year without a second thought. Don’t fool yourself – you are part of the problem. You going to the movie theater on Christmas means all of those poor kids who work there for minimum wage have to leave their families and their homes and put on a plastic bow tie to serve you popcorn. They can’t call in sick on Christmas, or they’d get fired. Do you want that on your conscience? Don’t be a jerk.
I recently got bad news about a job that I had put an application in for a couple of months ago, designing exhibitions for the UCR ARTSBlock. I have been applying for a LOT of jobs, trying to find something more stable than what I have going on right now, but this is the only job that I have applied for that I really wanted. Basically, they told me that I didn’t even make the interview list, which is super-frustrating because I know that I would’ve been really good at it. It was pretty much the perfect fit for my weird skill set.
That being said, I am in remarkably good spirits about it all. For one thing, the contact person that I spoke to on the phone was a real human being, and talked to me like I was one too. Anybody that has been looking for a job recently knows how rare that is. Mostly, though, it is because I have learned a few things. I was rereading old blog posts from my house hunt, and thinking about how many times in my life I can be grateful that I did not get what I desperately wanted. Deli Girl, house on Tranquila, UCSC – I’m talking to you. If there is one thing that has been made obvious to me time and again, it is that there is a plan, and that I have no idea what it is. Luckily for me, it was designed be Someone infinitely wiser than I am. I will get a job, and it is going to be exactly what I need. I believe that.
The other thing that I have learned is this: Fine Arts degrees are for dopes. My boys are going for hard sciences, or they are paying their own way.
The Dark Chocolate pudding from Fresh & Easy (I ♥ Fresh & Easy). Yum.
Runner Up:
Avocado season. Love me some cheap avocados.
Thing I Don’t Like:
Beard malfunctions. I don’t understand why whenever you clean out your beard trimmer, the adjustable setting inevitably sets itself to “2″ instead of “20″ where it belongs. Blah.
Runner Up:
Them pesky Argentine Ants, all up in my house. Get thee back to the Pampas.
I keep trying to find a new job. One that pays better, is steady, and is more suited to my particular skills, passions, and talents. I am not sure what type of job this actually is, so I thought I would switch things up, and put the ball in the court of the employers. I’m open to just about anything. Here is a (partial) list of my qualifications and experience:
I am very comfortable doing public speaking, and have addressed groups of 100 or more many times.
I have a great beard.
I have a BA in Studio Art and an MA in Art History.
I am currently employed by three different entities, working primarily as a vinyl & leather repair technician, an Art History professor, and an apprentice steel detailer.
I’m really good at making choices based on design or aesthetics. My wife makes me go shopping with her for handbags and shoes, and I always have an opinion, and I am always right.
Wherever I work, I am the guy that fixes stuff when it breaks. Now that I own a home and work in a 100 year old Victorian house, I have mad handyman skillz.
I cook well, and make an incredible fried egg sandwich.
I am the guy that everybody calls when they have a problem with their computer.
I can do 42 consecutive pushups (and counting).
When I yell the answers at the screen while watching Jeopardy, I figure that I would win the episode about 70% of the time.
When the zombies come, I will know exactly what to do.
I love kids. I have two awesome little boys, and volunteer in the toddler nursery at church.
Whenever I go to the mall, whatever it is that I am there to buy is inevitably on sale.
I am an obsessive internet researcher, which allows me to buy top-quality appliances and win at fantasy baseball every year.
I can kill giant lizards with a shovel.
You’re out there. You need me. I am the only man perfectly qualified for the job. Just call.
So, thanks to Facebook taunting from The Wife’s cousin (update your blog already, Dooran!), I have started doing this 100 Pushups challenge thing . Probably most (if not all) of you reading this have already seen me muttering about it on Facebook. Anyway, here it is in short:
Some dude put up a series of charts that supposedly will get you doing 100 consecutive pushups after six weeks of doing sets of pushups 3 times a week. I am halfway through week 3, and it seems to be working – I did a total of 100 pushups this morning, spread across 5 sets and 15 minutes.
It is impossible to be manlier (left) or foxier (right).
I think I like it because there are a bunch of charts and stuff, and because doing 100 pushups in a row seems old school manly, like something that the Sean Connery of Thunderball could have done.
So, what is the point? A couple of things: I have been posting this on Facebook and telling everyone I know I am doing it to keep my lazy self accountable. The idea is that I will feel like a real ass if I have to tell everyone that I quit.
More significantly, it is the first time I have kept to any kind of a workout or fitness regimen for longer than two consecutive sessions since I was 15 years old and Coach Winstead yelled at me to “get my little peenie” into the wrestling mat.
This fits into my whole trying-to-be-a-grownup thing. Like, what kind of a man do I want to be? What example am I setting for my sons? One of the things that I was always in awe of as a kid was how physically strong my dad was. I want to be strong like that for my sons. I have always had a real tendency toward being a pale kid, and I want better than that for my boys.
This is the origin of the term “pale kids.” This show was great, and doesn’t get nearly enough run.
I heard some thing on the radio about character being developed by making small promises to yourself, and then keeping them. This in turn leads to bigger promises, and then promises to others, etc. I suck at this. 100 Pushups is my first concerted effort to assert some discipline over this part of my life.
Plus, The Wife said she’d make me shepherd’s pie if I can pull it off.
So, yesterday I was watching the Travel Channel – one of those shows about a tribe in Brazil or somewhere that starts with the “Warning: Indigenous Nudity” message. The group in question was completely naked, except for huge wooden lip plugs, and feather headdresses glued to the foreheads of the women.
About halfway through, the LittleDoo wakes up from his nap and wanders downstairs. He sits down and watches the show with me, not saying a word. This is highly unusual – unless Special Agent Oso is on, he always wants me to turn on one of his shows.
After it ends, we had this conversation:
Me: What did you think of the show?
Boo: It was good.
Me: What did you think about the people?
Boo: They were big.
Me: ?
Boo: Big enough to go outside yif no shoes on.
Then, later on, discussing things further with Mama:
Mama: Why do you think they were naky [trans. "Naked"]?
Boo: Maybe they wanted some sun.
Reading:
Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon. It is much less irritating than I feared. I am actually really enjoying it.
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