I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker
I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker… but mostly I’m a welder who writes haiku and works as a janitor on the weekends
The New York Times Magazine posted this about commiting to a bit to their Instagram today and it reminded me of an essay I once wrote a long time ago… ok, Sept 11, 2016, on a long-running blog, DogWalkBlog, that has long since been retired. You can find it on the Wayback Machine if you are interested in chasing me down a rabbit hole.
Read the Instagram post first, then come back to this… trust me; it will makes more sense. (I tried embedding it so you don’t have to leave. Maybe Substack and Meta are feuding… who knows….)
Here we go.
When I was young, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life when I grew up; everything!
I wanted to be on the receiving end of a firehose of experience that was exciting and revelrous and peaceful and satisfying all at once. After almost a lifetime (well, so far!) of living, I’m still looking for the perfect experience that stands still in time as well as moves the human race forward by a leap.
This morning, I wanted 5:00 am to last forever, due in part to the hot cup of coffee, The New York Times and a large dog with his head in my lap. But I also wanted to write that perfect book chapter that was swirling in my head. 5:00 am turned into 6:39 am too soon, and 6:39 am turned into 11:00 am and I had not stopped the clock nor had I moved humanity forward by a leap.
Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.
Earlier this year, someone posted a photo of a New York City dry cleaner that also did tailoring, interior design and a bunch of other unrelated services. It got a fair amount of ribbing on (X)Twitter by the interior design community, architects and some other folks who will remain unnamed. It was a good bit of fun as we poked at how this current recession was driving folks to diversify skills and service offerings from one store front. It also produced a lot of puns that, in hindsight, are probably a bit too embarrassing to recall. It illustrates the map of what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Most people are confused when they get to this collection of essays for the very reasons that it is having problems getting traction. It can’t be defined in the nine-second sound byte requirement. And I’m sure I will lose readers because I don’t get to the point fast enough for them to decide to stay. On the other hand, I am convinced I will keep readers because they give me some patience and offer me a trust that says eventually my writing will be worth reading, like a Steinbeck novel or a Thurber story. (Seriously, guys if you would only pick up the pace in the first few chapters….)
Even now, you may be asking, “So, are they dog essays? Oh, wait, you talk politics… now you’re discussing social issues and education…” thoughts wander off, cover snaps shut…
In a few minutes you may be inspired to silently declare, “Oh, good you rant about the evils of society just like me and … wait, are you a dog? thoughts wander off, cover snaps shut…
Then, you could easily stray into even more confusing territory: “Another one of those personal branding…. no, wait, he’s talking marketing? …. design? thoughts wander off, cover snaps shut…
My publicist rails against me for not being able to focus and write about any one thing for too long. “I don’t know how to package and sell you,” she laments between deep sighs, during which time I’m almost sure she is slinging back the remains of a bottle of Syrah she popped at the beginning of our conversation ten minutes ago. “Media wants experts at something.”
I’m giving her some time to think about my “packaging.” She’ll find something eventually because she is the very best at her game. And she will be super-passionate about it because she will have solved this huge puzzle called “What is DogWalkBlog?” — a project that has been hanging over me since I started writing this little collection of stuff a decade ago. I’m not in a rush because I’m enjoying the journey too much. I’m not sure I’ll like the destination.
Where was I… Oh, yes…
I’ve always had this condition: I want to be everything all at once all the time.In college when I absolutely had to declare a major, I picked English because to me that signified a juxtaposition* of the absence of a commitment and the presence of a full-on commitment. “You’ll never get a good job with an English degree,” my narrow-minded idiot of a freshman advisor warned. She was right, but that has not stopped me from having a fantastic experience; and making a ton of money off employed and mentally-jailed people along the way. (Let’s just keep the proper use of a semi-colon between us, ok?)
Wait a minute…I thought you were a dog? How can a dog do all that stuff? Sigh. Move along quickly… you’re gumming up progress.
Because of my condition, I worry that I am entirely unemployable. I look at job sites all the time and get befuddled by the continually narrowing of choices I am required to select. Geography, industry, sector, specific job… forget it, I’ll just stay out here paying my own insurance until that cost becomes too painful. I don’t envy friends between the AARP and Medicare age who are out looking for a job. (I’ve since aged into this group. Hold your applause, it was mostly just a bunch of dumb luck and my inability to die young.) They have too much life experience to stuff into one job description, yet they must do so to appease the hotshot HR folks.
I have the same problem with my corporation. I write a blog post or an article and then look on Businessweek, Digg or some other cataloging site and just stare at the categories I’m supposed to smash this multi-faceted gem of knowledge into. I end up not doing anything which probably hurts my SEO, Google ranking and all that crap.
I worry that I have not taught my son well. During a recent lunch with a colleague, she turned to him and asked, “So, what is it that you do?”
Without drawing a breath, he said, “I cook.”
I was dismayed and proud all in the same moment. He had his elevator speech nailed down which showed that he was paying attention to my rantings about getting a good carnival bark. He got it that the world expected short, direct, decisive answers to direct questions.
On the other hand, I was secretly hoping he would say something like, “I breathe! I live! I create art! I ensure the survival of the human species! I am changing the world and being here with you now, having this conversation, I am changing your perspective on one little thing which you will share with another and they will share with another and eventually that spark of an idea will move a mountain.” Maybe he did it during the course of the conversation and I missed it. Maybe he does this in the company of his close friends. I hope he does.
Maybe the good-natured ribbing of the diversified dry cleaners on (X)Twitter was an uneasiness with our own insecurities about our life choices or the fact that the skills we all worked so hard to master and hone will be marginalized and eradicated by AI the job market within weeks of the next recession without apology or remorse. Maybe it is an admission to our inner selves that we have “sold out” our humanity by defining ourselves as just one thing; Joe the Plumber, Bob the Builder, Frank the Blogger. Maybe some of us define ourselves more narrowly on the outside so that we can be more free to be ourselves inside without others imposing expectations on us.
Maybe the world really is mostly made up of one-dimensional people and I’m out here being strange with a few other lost folks.
I’m ok with that.
*That is my street cred. If you can’t work “juxtaposition” into something that runs at least 1,000 words, your English degree ain’t worth a tinker’s damn.
A version of this essay is in my book, Monkey with a loaded typewriter, Mostly true essays
