What's Wrong with Inaction?

Longform, which just happens to be one of the best websites in this galaxy, recently posted an old interview with George Carlin. With his right-on social commentary, it’s no surprise that a quote from the interview caught my attention.“It’s the American view that everything has to keep climbing: productivity, profits, even comedy. No time for reflection. No time to contract before another expansion. No time to grow up. No time to fuck up. No time to learn from your mistakes. But that notion goes against nature, which is cyclical.”That’s from an interview in 1980, but it’s just as true today as it was then. And although in that particular instance Carlin was talking about taking some time off to take care of his health and drug addiction, he intended for his words to be applied to all of American society.I’ve often thought about this idea of “go, go, go” and “grow, grow, grow” and expansion. It’s pervasive in American culture.The most obvious example is the economy. God forbid we have an economy that’s not growing. And if the economy should—gasp!—shrink, we unleash scary-sounding words like “recession” and “collapse.” We better buy and sell more stuff—consume, consume, consume—or there’s going to be hell to pay and we’ll all suffer.But this demand for never ending growth, expansion, and improvement isn’t limited to the economy. We must always move forward. We must work more hours, and study more subjects, and cut down on the amount of down time, and who the hell needs sleep anyway?Every summer I read an article somewhere about how so many Americans won’t take time off of work to use their earned vacation time. They’re afraid of falling behind, or appearing to lack commitment, or being outdone by a co-worker. So they give up vacation days, and work longer hours, and never separate themselves from the electronic devices that constantly connect them to work.People at work know that I have kids and they inevitably ask, “So what are the kids up to this summer?” When I answer with some version of, “Playing video games, hanging out, going to the park, eating ice cream, and staying up until one in the morning,” some people are surprised.My apologies for not sending them to that Young Astrophysicists camp for the summer, or having the audacity to permit unstructured moments of time in my children’s lives. Maybe I am setting them up for failure by letting them watch the Disney Channel in the evening instead of practicing the clarinet, or doing hitting drills, or learning verb tenses in French.But I’ll take my chances.When did we forget about the cyclical nature of life and the world around us? Nature doesn’t just continue to grow unchecked, out of control, forever. Things grow for a period of time, then pause, or even die out, and then grow again.What makes us think we’re so exceptional that we can just continue to proceed at break-neck speed and continue to grow without ever stopping to slow down, gather ourselves, reflect, and maybe make an adjustment or two? Why do we admire the employee who skips his vacation, or the kid who’s in four sports and every club, and plays an instrument?I’m not saying we should admire slackers who don’t do anything, but shouldn’t we all realize that we could all benefit from just taking a minute? Can we just hit pause, do nothing, and reflect on where we are, how we got there, and where we want to go? How could a little bit of silence, a little freedom from electricity, a little time to do nothing be unhelpful for us?Why must we do something? What’s wrong with inaction? What’s wrong with allowing some time to pass, taking a moment to think about things, watching how things unfold, and then proceeding? If we do something just because we’re expected to do something, how do we know we’re doing the right thing?I take my vacation days. I relax. I do nothing. I think. I play. I wait.Then I do.The doing is important, but not more important than the rest of it. Because to quote the great philosopher Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”PREVIOUS POST: Taylor Swift and the End of My Musical ElitismIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: What I Believe, Crash Davis Style+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Want an e-mail every time I write something new? Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

Taylor Swift and the End of My Musical Elitism

I recently wrote about courage, and how the word is often overused. If one man’s courage is another man’s cowardice, then it should never really be called courage. Now, maybe I’m being a little melodramatic, but what I’m about to write is outrageously courageous.(Those two words do not go well together. But they actually go so poorly together that I’m going to leave them like that just to enjoy the ugliness.)Anyway, my courageous act is to admit that over the past few months I’ve become a Taylor Swift fan.Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “That guy’s got balls of steel to admit such a thing. What courage!” Of course the irony is that a thirty-seven-year-old male Taylor Swift fan is probably the least balls-of-steelish thing that any dude can do.(While we’re on the subject, can I just go on record to say that any time a man references how big, tough, or steelish his balls are, that he’s overcompensating for something? No self-confident, self-assured, well-adjusted fellow has ever felt the need to brag about his balls. I get the heebie jeebies even writing the word in jest. I can’t imagine seriously using it.)Anyway, back to Tay-Tay. (That’s a joke. I said I’ve become a fan; not a thirteen-year-old girl.)I recently wrote a review of her newest album, 1989. I wrote the review from a dad’s perspective, because, well, I’m a dad. And as a dad I am most certainly not in Swift’s target demographic. Sure she gets plenty of money from dads, but it’s always on behalf of daughters, not themselves.And I didn’t expect to become a Taylor Swift fan. My daughter has listened to her for years and I’ve always tolerated the music with the upturned elitist nose of an “I’m Too Cool for That,” Rock N’ Roll Fan. But, as the fabulous band Dawes (no embarrassment in liking them!) sings, “Things happen/ that’s all they ever do.”So it’s with just a small bit of embarrassment that I admit that when I’m flipping through the radio station presets and I hear a Taylor Swift song I stop to listen.I listen. What’s wrong with that?Nothing. That’s what.And I have to say, not only have I come to enjoy listening to her music—Style, Blank Space and Bad Blood are my favorites off the most recent record—but even more than that I’ve enjoyed losing my musical elitism. I no longer automatically discount a song just because it’s a pop song. I no longer change the channel just because the performer might not be a true musician.Instead I’ve come to accept that there are infinite varieties of music, and all of them serve a purpose. For every hard rocking song with meaningful lyrics, there’s a vapid, by-the-books, formulaic pop tune. And that’s fine. I don’t have to hate the pop tune just because it’s not going to change the world.Sometimes a song is just a song. There’s no special meaning to it. There’s no fantastic story behind it. Sometimes it’s just a catchy tune with some cool lyrics, and you like it for some reason you can’t even describe.Losing my “That’s not cool enough,” attitude about music has opened my mind and ears to stuff I never thought I’d listen to, not just T-Swizzle. Rihanna? Bruno Mars? Maroon 5? Who are these “crappy” performers and why do I find myself listening to their music? And why do I like it?I like it because it satisfies some unknown musical thirst that I didn’t even know I had. And why should I ignore it just because it’s “manufactured” or “inauthentic” or “too poppy?” If it sounds good at the moment, I’ll listen to it.Perhaps the biggest example of my shift in musical taste outside of Taylor Swift is the song Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon. I instantly identified with the song, and after I heard it the first time it seemed to show up everywhere. When I heard it in a brewery in Gatlinburg, Tennessee it instantly etched a permanent place in my brain.Before my musical awakening, I would have turned the channel as soon as I heard the beginning of the song. But then I would have missed out on what will no doubt become one of the great, recurring tunes of my life, and that would have sucked.So here’s to music that sounds good to you at the moment. Whatever that music might be.PREVIOUS POST: I Can Count and Alphabetize Better Than YouIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Defending My Real Housewives Fandom+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Want an e-mail every time I write something new? Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

I Can Count and Alphabetize Better Than You

What am I good at? Is it a sign of low self-esteem that I can’t immediately think of anything that I’m good at?I know how to make a good grilled cheese sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, too. I’m not a bad parent. Although I guess if my kids end up spending most of their lives in the pokey that claim might be refuted. I can write. A little bit. Sometimes I even write well enough that people like to read what I write.Only sometimes though.I’m good at math. I have a good memory. I can skip. Not skip school, or skip work. I mean actually skip. When I worked in a grocery store I used to skip through the aisles. And I was the manager. Maybe that’s why I don’t work in a grocery store any more.I’m patient. Being patient is something to be proud of, don’t you think? It’s a virtue from what I hear. And it really comes in handy sometimes. I like being patient. Really patient. For a long time.But I won’t write about it.Instead I’ll write about two things that I’m really good at that are absolutely useless. I’ve tried to find ways to make these two talents beneficial to me. If only I could find a way to make money from them. But I can’t. All they’re good for is amazing people at parties.And driving myself crazy sometimes.The two talents are related.The first talent is that I can almost instantaneously count the letters in a word. Without even counting them. So take any word…Chicago (7 letters). Buttface (8 letters). Cumulonimbus (12 letters). And because everyone always thinks they’re being original by suggesting it: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (34 letters).The second talent is that I can almost instantaneously alphabetize the letters in a word. So, taking the letters from the previous example you get ACCGHIO, ABCEFTTU, BCILMMNOSUUU, and AAACCCDEEFGIIIIIIILLLOOPPRRSSSUUX.Now, the first question that most people ask is “How did you learn to do that?”I have no idea. For as long as I can remember I’ve always counted letters in words and alphabetized them. If I’m sitting somewhere I’ll read a sign on the wall, count the letters, and alphabetize. I’ve done it since I was a kid, and I continue to do it. I don’t know why.Inevitably people bring up Rainman. Like it’s something akin to looking at the toothpicks that fell on the floor and figuring out there are 246 of them. I can’t do that. But I can tell you that Rainman alphabetized is AAIMNNR. I didn’t have to think about that. I just did it.This alphabetizing thing sometimes comes in handy at work. I have to maintain hundreds of files organized by last name, and it’s nice not to have to go through the alphabet to know which of two names comes first.But what good is this “talent” other than that? If you can think of any, let me know.Inevitably when I reveal this skill people try to trip me up. It usually doesn’t work. I’m not perfect. Sometimes I’ll miss the count by a letter, especially if there are more than 16 letters. Two groups of two groups of four letters are easy to count, more than that gets cumbersome. Alphabetizing is usually always easy.And although I do sometimes get it wrong, I still do it better than you or anyone else you’ve ever met.Unfortunately, that means nothing because it’s a useless skill.However, even though it’s a useless skill, some of you won’t believe that I can actually do it. If you’re among the unbelievers, then I encourage you to call me, or come visit me, and I’ll prove it. You’ll be amazed, impressed, jealous and wonder how in the world I ever managed to perfect such an incredible talent.You’ll wish you could do it, and you’ll want to go through the entire dictionary and find words to stump me. It’ll be tons of fun.And I’ll only charge you ten bucks for the performance!Once a month, during an event called Blogapalooz-Hour, ChicagoNow challenges its bloggers to write a post in one hour on a topic that's unknown to them until the hour begins. This challenge was "Without trying to be humble, write about something you're really good at." You can read all of the other challenges I've completed here. And you can read all of the other outstanding posts by ChicagoNow bloggers on this topic here.PREVIOUS POST: Repeal the Second AmendmentIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Dear Guns,+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Want an e-mail every time I write something new? Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

Repeal the Second Amendment

Nine more people have been murdered. This time in a church in Charleston, South Carolina. If you’ve been paying attention to the news for the last couple of decades in the United States, it should come as no surprise that someone used a gun to murder these people.You should also be unsurprised in the upcoming weeks when we decide to do absolutely nothing about our country’s gun problem.Actually, all of this should surprise the living shit out of you. Every time something like this happens I’m amazed by how little we as a country do to prevent it from happening again.Why is that?In less than two weeks we’re going to celebrate our country’s independence and we’re going to pat ourselves on the back and talk about what a great country we are, and how we’re exceptional, and we’re the great beacon light of hope, and we’ll throw around words like freedom and liberty.But we’ll do nothing to prevent guns from killing another 33,000 of our citizens (half of them from murder), as they did last year.The other night on The Daily Show, Jon Stewart correctly pointed out that we started two wars because some foreigners came and killed 3,000 of our citizens. But when we kill eleven times that many of ourselves—year after year—we do nothing. We throw up our hands and deflect blame.It must be mental illness. It must be poverty. It must desperation. The victim’s to blame because they didn’t arm themselves. Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.Bullshit.Guns kill people. No, not by themselves. They need a human to help kill. But most humans need a gun to help kill, as well. If someone wants to try to kill me and I get to choose whether they try to do so with a gun or with a knife, I’m choosing a knife every single time.So if we’re the greatest country on earth, and we have such an obvious problem, why don’t we solve the problem? If we’re the greatest country on earth, then why are we the only advanced country where so many people are killed by guns? If we’re the greatest country on earth why are we so quick to “bring the fight to the terrorists,” but ignore the terror that occurs every single day on our streets and in our schools, churches and homes?Why do we let a document written by people in a country that was racially, sexually, ethnically, and culturally different from ours (America in 1789 versus America in 2015) tie our hands in addressing the problems we face today?A bunch of white men wrote a sentence in the Constitution more than 200 years ago, and some of us hide behind that sentence to avoid confronting the real problems we’re facing today. The ancestors of the people gunned down in the church in Charleston had no say in whether the Second Amendment should be ratified or not.So what should we do? A good first step would be to repeal the Second Amendment. This doesn’t mean abolishing guns. It doesn’t mean confiscating guns.It would mean that if you wanted to own a gun you’d have to do a lot more than just pass a background check. It would mean if you wanted to own a gun you’d be responsible for whatever mayhem that gun may cause. It would mean even lower rates of gun ownership—which has been declining for decades—because it’d become such a pain in the ass to obtain the privilege (the privilege, not the right) to own a gun.“But what about government tyranny?”Newsflash: It’s not the Second Amendment that protects us from government tyranny. It’s the rest of the Constitution, and the general population’s acceptance of a representative democracy.“Don’t I have a right to protect me and my home?”Of course you do. And if you want to do that with a gun, and you can pass these new stricter standards, then feel free. But fewer guns overall will mean fewer guns in the hands of crazy people who want to hurt you. So no matter how great your paranoia, the chances will remain low that you’ll have to use your gun to protect yourself.In the 227 years since the U.S. Constitution was ratified, 188 nations have written Constitutions of their own, most of them modeled after ours. And of those 188 nations, 97% protect freedom of religion, speech, and the press. 97% protect private property. 95% protect against unreasonable searches. 94% protect the right to assembly.How many protect the right to bear arms? 1%.Exceptional, indeed.PREVIOUS POST: My Dad Helped Me Become MeIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Dear Guns,+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Want an e-mail every time I write something new? Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

My Dad Helped Me Become Me

I love being a dad. Watching my four children as they grow, learn new things, and have new adventures always makes me happy, and knowing that I’m helping to shape the people they have and will become makes proud. They’re great kids and I hope I’m doing a good job being their dad.My wife taught me the finer points of being a good parent. She taught me the little tricks, crafty approaches, and ingenious use of language that makes her such a great mom. I’d be a good dad without her, but things that she’s taught me allow me to be a great dad sometimes.But the broad general foundation of what it takes to be a good parent was built by my own parents. I’ve written of my appreciation for them before, but since today’s Father’s Day I figured I’d write a little bit more about my dad.My dad is…unconventional. That’s one word. Unique is another. And pain-in-the-ass probably applies sometimes, too.But I also can’t imagine that anyone has ever had a better dad than me.Although he’s never been the type of guy to sit us down and have long talks about lessons we need to learn, or questions we might have, he’s always taught me plenty about being a good person and a good parent.When I was sixteen-years-old I got my first job bagging groceries. It was summer and I had a bit of a hard time getting used to sacrificing some of the copious free time I’d always had.I vividly recall an afternoon when my dad became angry because I declined a chance to go into work on my day off. That was my first lesson in what he expected me to do as an actual working person with an actual job. A job’s a responsibility, and he expected me to work hard, and to take it seriously.I’d always known that he worked hard as a food service manager, and that he went out of his way to do a good job, but to know that he expected my sisters and me to have the same attitude was a real wake-up call.He brought the same work ethic to the years he spent volunteering in our local little league. It wasn’t enough to coach a team. Many dads want to coach a team. He volunteered to do the hard work required to run a league: organize fundraisers, cut the grass, pull weeds, paint bleachers, sacrifice most summer evenings at the field, and deal with other parents who are quick to complain, but slow to volunteer.The basic sense of fairness and kindness that he shows in most things he does extended to little league. We never had a good team. The best record we ever had was 8-8. Most years we never came close to eight wins.But every kid in the league would have loved to play on my dad’s team. He made it fun. He made sure everyone got a chance to play. He joked around. He remembered that it’s a kids game and if the kids aren’t having fun then there’s no real point to it.It’s an attitude I’ve tried to adopt as I coach my own son.He’s taught me many things, but the most important thing he taught me is that nothing is more important than your family. Despite his moodiness, and the occasional ridiculous outburst of frustration because of things we did or did not do, my sisters and I have never, not even for one second, doubted that he loves us and would do anything for us.He’s a hard-working, decent, fair, kind, loving, supportive, understanding, and funny dad. What more could anyone ask for? I certainly can’t imagine having a better dad than the one I’ve had.The measure of what makes a great dad is different for everyone I suppose. But when I think of my own fatherhood, I guess my ultimate goal for my children is to be able to look back and say that they’re happy with the people they’ve become, and part of the reason for that is because they had me for a dad.And I can say exactly that about me and my dad. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, and part of the reason for that is because of the person I’ve become, thanks in part to my dad.Happy Father’s Day, Dad!PREVIOUS POST: Are You Courageous, or Just an Idiot?IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: The Two Great Moms in My Life+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Are You Courageous, or Just an Idiot?

It didn’t take long for CNN anchor Fredricka Whitfield to realize that when she referred to the Dallas police station shooter as courageous and brave that she’d made a mistake. Luckily, social media and ten million news sources exist to remind her.She apologized today and says that she misspoke.Fair enough. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt on this, even though courageous and brave aren’t the first words that I think of when I hear that someone has armed himself with a gun and started spraying bullets, police station or not. Our insistence upon instantaneous reporting and analysis of the news leads to such mistakes quite often. I suppose it’s the price we pay for our lack of patience.However, I think we’re ignoring the fact that courageous and brave are perhaps two of the most overused words in the English language.I’m not an etymologist (one who studies the origins and history of words), but I suspect that courageous and brave have long been reserved for use in life-and-death situations. For example, the story of the U.S. soldier who single-handedly overcame a number of German soldiers from a defensive position during World War II, that dude was courageous.Firefighters who run into burning buildings while everyone else is running out are courageous.Michael Jordan was not courageous when he played a basketball game in 1997 while having flu-like symptoms and scored 38 points. He was impressive. He was athletic. He was determined. But he wasn’t courageous, despite Marv Albert’s claims to the contrary.Pete Sampras was not courageous when he puked on a court during a match in the 1996 U.S. Open. His dedication and drive were inspiring, especially considering he was still grieving the death of his coach a few months earlier. He was sick, but it wasn’t courageous.I don’t know when courageous began to be overused. I suspect it occurred within the last thirty or forty years as media and sports coverage has become more pervasive. We’re more aware of other things happening in the world, and when we see someone do something that we wouldn’t or couldn’t do, especially if they’re facing obstacles, we figure they must possess some quality that we lack that allows them to do that which we cannot.But it’s important to remember that one person’s courage is another person’s idiocy.The first example of this debate that came to mind is Alexander Supertramp. That’s the name that a kid born into a well-to-do family, Christopher McCandless, gave himself. Then he gave up all his possessions, his money, and the life he knew, to wander around the U.S. and eventually to live in the Alaskan wilderness. He’s the guy whose story is told in the book and film Into the Wild.Some call him courageous. That’s one word for him. Idiot is another. Where you come down on that question probably has more to do with you than with him.True acts of courage are recognized universally.I suspect that we throw around words like courage and bravery because it’s easier to do so than to admit that most of us aren’t in positions where we have to be courageous or brave. Devoid of any actual life-and-death situations, we apply it to any situation in which we experience hardship, whether we’ve made the right decision or not.If I’m at the beach and I see someone drowning in the rip currents, I might jump in to save them even though I know the rip currents might take me out, too. But if I can’t swim and I jump in to save the drowning person, am I courageous? I’ve just made a bad situation worse. I’m not courageous, I’m an idiot.Before we use the word courage, perhaps we ought to take a moment and think about it. Is it courageous to quit a job that you hate? Is it courageous to wear a Speedo to the beach? Is it courageous to ask that girl in your English class to prom? Is it courageous to tell your parents the truth when you know it will get you in trouble?No.Is it courageous to cheapen such a word by applying it to mundane acts that millions of people have “accomplished” before you? Yes.And doing so might actually make you an idiot.PREVIOUS POST: Defending My Real Housewives FandomIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Sometimes We're Absolutely Wrong+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Defending My Real Housewives Fandom

I’m surprised that reality television is still a thing. Back when it first began to take off I was sure that it would be a passing phase, and the public would get tired of these shows that are more accurately called non-scripted shows than reality shows.Actually, the non-scripted claim is probably a lie also, as there have been many claims that some of these shows are comprised of events previously outlined by producers, if not actual written dialogue.Turns out, that I was wrong. Reality television is not a passing phase. I don’t know if anyone’s actually counted, but I’d bet there are probably as many reality shows on television as there are fictional, scripted shows.I don’t care about most of these shows. It doesn’t matter if it’s a celebrity-based show, a competition show, or a show that follows everyday idiots and marvels at their idiocy. None of them interest me.None of them but one. Well, maybe two.I’m a fan of the Real Housewives series on Bravo. I’m somewhat ashamed to say that, as I don’t fit into either of their target demographics: women and gay men. It’s actually quite surprising to me that I’m intrigued by these train wreck shows.Before I begin defending my interest in this series, let me say that I’m a finicky viewer. There are a number of Real Housewives series: Real Housewives of Orange County, Real Housewives of Atlanta, etc. Atlanta’s horrible. New Jersey is a step above horrible. Beverly Hills is usually fine, although it’s wearing thin on me. I do like Orange County. But the series that I really like is Real Housewives of New York.Why do I watch this crap, and why do I like it?I started watching it because my wife watches it. Much of the television that I watch is because she’s watching it, and most of the time I don’t care what we watch. If we’re hanging out on the couch, I’m there to spend time with her. What’s actually on television is a distant secondary concern to me. So I’ve sat through some bad shows over the years.Although I draw the line at Teen Mom. I’m quite sure that show actually makes viewers dumber as they watch it. Luckily, she gave up on that show years ago!We’ve gradually reached a happy compromise with our television-viewing habits, and now we both enjoy almost everything we watch together.But how to explain my infatuation with the Real Housewives of New York show?I think part of it is that it’s the first show of that sort that I watched. And this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve actually watched these women age over the past few years. They’ve definitely aged more than those Orange County or Beverly Hills women. (That’s a surprise!)I’ve watched Bethenny become filthy stinking rich, get married, have a baby, and get divorced. Sonja’s love affairs and crazy business deals. Ramona’s wacky eyes, annoying habits, over-the-top aggressiveness, and heartbreak at her husband’s affair. The departure of some of the most idiotic women I’ve ever seen: Alex and Jill.And for the love of God, even if I hated this show, I would have gladly sat through every single episode just to see Aviva take off her prosthetic leg, slam it on a table, and throw it across the room. If someone wrote that for a show it would be rejected as too unbelievable, but it happened in this “real life” show!Never mind that only two of the eight housewives currently on the show are actual wives. Or that there’s never been footage of any of them doing anything remotely housewifey. Or that there might not be anything real about it.None of that matters. As purely escapist entertainment, it’s tough to match the trials and tribulations of these maniacs. They’re the sort of people who are probably so difficult to be around that you’d want to wring their necks if you were in the same room with them for ten minutes, but getting to watch snippets of their interactions with other people who want to wring their necks is television gold.Sonja’s oblivious to the world around her and thinks she’s younger and richer than she is. Bethenny is a mess who can’t seem to get along with anyone. Heather’s a know-it-all who should keep her sizable nose out of other people’s business. Kristen make some of the weirdest faces I’ve ever seen and has the jerkiest husband this side of Ike Turner. If Luann was half as cool as she thinks she is, she really would be royalty. Ramona makes me want to punch my television, and Carole is mostly cool, except for that extra letter at the end of her name.It’s one huge, embarrassing pile of crappy television, but I like it.Just don’t tell anyone.Once a month, during an event called Blogapalooz-Hour, ChicagoNow challenges its bloggers to write a post in one hour on a topic that's unknown to them until the hour begins. I've decided to tackle all of the challenges held before I joined ChicagoNow over the next ten days or so. This challenge was "Write a post passionately defending your guilty pleasure(s)." PREVIOUS POST: A Grandma I Never Met, and Her Impact on My LifeIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: What Happened to Television Theme Songs?+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A Grandma I Never Met, and Her Impact on My Life

Somehow I ended up with the best parents in the world. I’ve always been grateful to have them, and I know that I’m the badass I am today in large part because of them.Most people would consider themselves fortunate to have great parents. However, I ended up with the coolest grandparents ever, as well. My last living grandparent died more than 16 years ago, but I think of all of them often.But I never had the opportunity to meet one of my grandparents. My dad’s mom, Florence, died in 1972, six years before I was born. My grandpa George remarried shortly after my birth, and his second wife, a saintly, kind woman named Marie, became my grandma, and I loved her as much as all of my biological grandparents.I’ve often wondered about Grandma Florence though.She was just fifty-seven years old when she died, and I’m ashamed to say that I don’t remember if it was from ovarian cancer or cervical cancer. I think ovarian. Whatever the cause, she died way too young.But just because I never met her doesn’t mean that she hasn’t had an impact on my life. She has probably impacted my life more than any other person who I’ve never met. That might not make sense, but let me explain.I don’t remember how old I was when I learned that Grandpa George had a wife, and my dad had a mom, who I’d never met. I suspect I was six or seven-years-old, but I don’t remember learning that information for the first time. It seems like something I always knew, even though I’m sure it isn’t.I remember seeing pictures of her, and once visiting her grave. My sister’s middle name is Florence, and I knew why.The earliest impact that I recall Grandma Florence having on my life came one rainy night when I was nine or ten-years-old. My dad, my two sisters and I were in the car and joking around. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but at some point the conversation turned to wishes. If we could have just one wish, what would it be?I’m sure my sisters and I wished for common kid stuff: a million dollars, school to be canceled, a TV in my room. Real dumb stuff to waste a wish on.And then we asked my dad what he’d wish for. And he said, “I wish my mom was still alive so she could meet you guys and see how proud I am of you.”Holy cow.The joking atmosphere in the car immediately became more somber, and I don’t remember if any of us said anything. But I remember thinking to myself, “He sure must love us if he’s going to use his one wish for that.”I knew he loved us. Despite his occasional moodiness, none of us ever questioned that we were the most important part of his life. He and my mom told us they loved us often, and that they were glad to have us. But his wish just seemed to kick things up a notch.Since that night, whenever I think of Grandma Florence I think of that conversation in the car, and I’m reminded once again just how much my parents love us. And that never ending, unconditional love has provided so much support for me over the years that I have no doubt it’s the foundation of every single positive thing I do in my life.I think it’s also the reason that I feel such a devotion to my kids and to my wife. I know how it feels to never have to wonder if anyone loves you completely and unconditionally. I’ve known that all my life. And I want them to know it, also. I never want them to wonder if there’s anyone who loves them so completely.In sixty-two days, on August 10, it will be the 100th anniversary of Grandma Florence’s birth. I don’t know if anyone else has plans to celebrate it, but in my house we’ll get an ice cream cake, and we’ll sing Happy Birthday. And I’ll tell my kids the few things I know about Grandma Florence, and I’ll tell them the story of that night in the car.And I’ll do my best to make them feel as loved as I did when I heard my dad’s wish.Once a month, during an event called Blogapalooz-Hour, ChicagoNow challenges its bloggers to write a post in one hour on a topic that's unknown to them until the hour begins. I've decided to tackle all of the challenges held before I joined ChicagoNow over the next ten days or so. This challenge was "Write about a person, or persons, you never met whose death had an impact on you." PREVIOUS POST: Fear Can Be Useful When ParentingIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: What Good is Growing Up?+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++