My darling wife & I are recently acquired our very first child. It’s one of those experiences that everybody says turns your whole life upside down, but nobody really believes until it happens to them. “Eggbert” is what we called the kid before we had a name. (Full disclosure: we found out it was a girl and switched the nickname to “Eggberta,” but “Operation: Eggberta” doesn’t have quite the same ring, so I’ll keep calling it “Operation: Eggbert” just to keep it clean.)
This year I have been a very good boy and I would very much like a pony for Christmas. The pony is not for me, but rather for my two-year-old daughter. As you can see, my selfless generosity, as demonstrated by my plan to donate my own Christmas gift, is further evidence that I am a good boy all year long, and not just at Christmastime.
I know what you’re thinking: my daughter is, perhaps, a little young to care for a quadruped as large as a pony. However, she is very smart for her age, and anyway, I believe that any mishaps that may befall her whilst caring for her pony will only serve to teach her valuable life lessons. My ultimate goal of educating and preparing my daughter for the future is yet another example of how I am indeed a good boy all year long, and therefore highly deserving of a pony.
I do not believe that my wife will mind keeping a pony in our condo. We already have two cats, so what’s one more animal to snuggle into bed with us at night? That reminds me – one of our cats is very old and will probably die soon, so the timing works out really well, too. Obviously, my desire to ease the pain of death that my daughter will no doubt experience demonstrates once again that I am a very good boy all year long.
If possible, I would like the pony to be an American Shetland pony – that’s my favorite breed of pony – but I would understand if one isn’t available. My understanding in this matter should exemplify the maturity level one would expect from a good boy who is good all year long.
Thanks for reading my letter, Miley! I hope your music career is coming along. Good luck!
I have landed a part-time gig as a Search Engine Optimization Specialist. The words are capitalized because that’s the official title. I’ll give plenty of detail, I’m sure, on the company itself and all the amazing goings on that occur on a daily basis just as soon as full-time work is written in stone with these folks. We’re expecting sometime in the spring. But for now, I’ll just let the world know I’ve got up to eight hours a week of SEO work, and that is what I’ve been after.
To become really good at something (such as SEO), one needs not only theory but also practice and mentorship. With Sharkblog, I’ve been giving myself a very small amount of practice, and there has been no mentorship. This SEO gig should cover all three areas, and I aim to improve my skills dramatically in a short time. The more SEO work I produce, the more powerful I shall become.
It’ll be rough until I can do it full-time. In the meantime, I’ll still be working at Edmunds.com in Santa Monica, a 50-mile commute each way from my place in Oxnard. So this new work will be on top of that.
But it will be worth it, because if I can prove I don’t suck at life and actually get hired on with this company, I will transition from working 50 miles away to working at home. My commute will be upstairs.
Even better than the non-commute, however, will be the work itself. I’ve got no particular complaints with being an account manager for an automotive advertising & lead company, but account-managing has never been a passion of mine. And the life-after-account-management career path is both vague and uninteresting. The places I can go after being an SEO peon are way more attractive to a personality like mine.
What’s more, there’ll be more time at home to spend with my super-awesome baby girl Aliena. I can’t even describe what a relief that is for the Parenting Department. I can’t. Even. Describe. (See: Harry Chapin – Cat’s in the Cradle)
I’m also anticipating a slight increase in productivity as far as personal writing projects goes. In my current situation, I have very little time and even less energy to devote to the pile of StuffIAmWorkingOn. By telecommuting, I open up about three hours each day. And by not wearing myself down with driving those three hours, my brain, I expect, will be more useful. So maybe I can finally complete 1) the adaptation of a play I’ve written into a screenplay, 2) a short story I started that gets longer and longer the more I write it, 3) a refresh of the novel I completed a draft for last year, 4) that book of poetry with those sketches I’ve been drawing, and 5) everything else that I’ve been planning to start but haven’t because of the previous four.
And the wonderful thing here, the truly wonderful thing here, is that I’ll be happy with my day job. It won’t be just a day job. It’ll be a day career. It’ll actually be an inspiration to the personal projects instead of a hindrance. I’ll be happy to do the work, I’ll aspire to go further, I’ll be proud to describe what I do. More on this topic later. As I write this, I’m actually at the office in Santa Monica. I should get back to work.
Saturday night I attended a wedding. I wore my tuxedo.
That’s right, I now belong to the class of men that own a tuxedo. And it feels pretty good.
Of course, it’s a pretty big purchase, and I can’t say I recommend buying a tuxedo without telling your wife first. Wives in general are not fans of big purchases made without their knowledge, and my wife is no exception. She has made this very clear. Very clear.
However, I will maintain that the investment is a prudent one. By the third time I wear that suit out and about, it’ll have paid for itself over the cost of renting each time. All I have to do is not destroy it.
And 35 years from now, when we finally allow our daughter to start dating and eventually get married, won’t it be nice not to have to worry about renting a tuxedo?
At any rate…Big congratulations to the happy couple from this weekend. You know who you are. Thank you for having us at your wedding. We look forward to your first baby becoming part of our baby’s entourage.
Priority number one: solve problems at work and don’t get fired.
Priority number two, I decided earlier today, is to create a list of things I learned from my month of cultivating a handsome mustache and trying to get money for it.
Priority number three is to defend “Star Wars” against “Star Trek” fans in a public Facebook debate. Guess which one has preoccupied me the most.
I had to cut things short on the Facebook debate, much to my chagrin, but I must properly conclude Movember so I can move on with my life.
Also, fires are still raging at work. Data feeds are dangling in the wind. Dealerships are raising the drawbridge. Gorillas are dancing with sloths. Trust me, all of these metaphors work. So first, that…
Okay, work is done for the day. The work that pays me, I mean. The work of explaining the dramatic depth and epic scope of the “Star Wars” universe will probably never end.
Here is what happened with Movember. I spent all month growing a mustache. I had hoped I’d be more involved with the charity organization part of it, but with a death in the family and the craziness of the holidays, plus the ongoing task of building some structure in the life of a five-month old girl, this month really got away from me. I couldn’t find the time or mental energy to read up on LiveSTRONG or the Prostate Cancer Foundation. At some point during the third week, I just decided to accept that all the money I raised was going to good use and left it at that.
I also raised less money than I thought I would raise at the beginning of the month, but much more money than I thought I would end up with when the month end approached. I initially thought I could reach $500. But the fund raising efforts ceased entirely for a short time and never really got back on track, so I adjusted my forecast by the 20th of November to a mere $100. I ended up with $145 at the end of the last day, and that was quite a pleasant surprise. Half of it all came on the last day. Lesson for future marketing career: always send out that one last email blast.
And the mustache part of it. That is where most of the unintended learning happened. This is what I take away from a month of growing a mustache:
I, Bil Gaines, can not grow a super-stud handlebar mustache in just one month’s time. I barely cleared the “respectable businessman” line in 30 days.
Shaving every single day does not, in fact, suck monkey balls. It takes less effort than I would have guessed, and frankly, it makes me feel more professional. And that feels good.
Drinking more coffee does not make facial hair grow any faster.
I still have zero white hairs on my upper lip. Bonus.
A mustache is not, in fact, a sufficient filter for soup or other liquids.
My daughter doesn’t give a crap what I look like, she loves me no matter what. However, I suspect my wife loves me less with a mustache.
A mustache doesn’t blossom overnight; a mustache creeps up on you like a bastard. Any comedic effect I can wring from a mustache on my face wears off well before there is even any decent growth.
Some people take me more seriously with a mustache, some people take me less seriously. One thing is for sure: more people take me in some way.
Now that Movember is over, I have shaved that fucker right off my face. I used to think that without facial hair, my face was far too plain and my chin was too insignificant to go out in public. But after trying to maintain dignity in a month of growing a mustache for charity, now I think my clean-shaven face ain’t so bad.
Yes, it’s true. We dressed our daughter up as Jaws for Halloween. I was Robert Shaw and my wife was Richard Dreyfuss.
And oh, how the candy did flow.
Not gonna lie, it felt good to dress up in costume again. I haven’t been a proper actor in about a year. I do miss it sometimes…
And I have to say: I think I expected more of a rewarding feeling from dressing Aliena up as a ferocious shark. What I failed to take into account is that she’s too young to understand the pleasures of wearing silly costumes. She wears several silly costumes each day, so really, to her, the shark outfit was little more than a cumbersome sleeper with a toothy bonnet, all in a boring gray.
We dressed her up for our own sakes, not for hers. I realize this now.
But just you wait till next year. Next year she’ll be on board. Next year we’re gonna blow everyone’s minds. Nothing’s written in stone yet, and I know Devon will take some persuading, but I’m thinking of a Space Adventurer theme. Stay tuned.
Self-analysis is a very important aspect of Sharkblog, and I have been, shall we say, less than prolific with this experiment. (I have a brand-new baby. Life is really goddamn tough. Cut me some slack.)
When it comes to SEO — not just with Sharkblog, but with the entire website — my first lesson has been has been that consistent, frequent updates are the key. I’ve been told many times by many smartypants experts that content is king, and let’s face it: a king without a kingdom is not a very good king. I looked at the ol’ Google Analytics the week after I posted a six-article miniseries (the process of the completion of Operation: Move to California as Soon as Possible) at the rate of one article per day, and that week was my highest-traffic week EVER. I classified it in my mind as “showing excellent growth.” I had little to post after that, though, and accordingly, my traffic was back to “pretty shitty.”
BUT…traffic is better than the week before that miniseries, so it looks like some of it stuck. This is happy news.
So now I’m thinking that in addition to quality, for which I’m still hammering out a Sharkblog keyword strategy, I’ll need to post literally as often as possible.
And I know that not every post needs to be long. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that short-to-mid-length posts will strengthen Sharkblog, if anything. The shorter the post, the easier it is to read. And I’d like whole posts to get read. I have a pretty terrible fucking bounce rate right now (72.06%, you bunch of dickheads!) and I think with shorter posts, I’ll be able to reduce that. We’ll see.
Shorter posts should also be (in theory) quicker to compose, so this whole new-baby business should be less of a roadblock and more of a source of inspiration.
Also, moving forward, I’ll be leaving teasers for the next article whenever possible.
Next up: let’s talk chat babble articulate speculate conversate ventriloquize yak about keyword strategy.
The day after we landed, Trevor took off again. You never saw a guy so jacked up on adrenaline and caffeine for the entire duration of a 2,000 mile road trip. That plane ride home must have been a sleepy one. He had a layover in Salt Lake on his way back to Chicago. I don’t think Utah will ever be the same for him.
Ten or so days after that, our stuff arrived from the shitty movers. They had not been careful, and much of it was either damaged or destroyed. They are shitty, shitty movers, and I hate them.
We’re still not fully unpacked, but at least we’re in California, in our little place by the beach. Our daughter is now a California girl. Born in Chicago, she’ll be a California girl with California parents from now on. That’s how we wanted it.
So. Life. All of it. Permanently changed.
To say that a little dust has been unsettled is like saying Mt. Saint Helens chucked up a little dirt.
What to do now that we’re here? Primarily: raise Aliena to be the best possible human being we can raise her to be. Secondarily: chip away at those writing projects. Diligence, patience, and constant learning will be the keys in both endeavors.
Also, I have a surfboard I’ve been meaning to take out on the water. Someday soon, I’ll get around to that.
The day our professional movers showed up was the same day Devon, her mother, and her sister took Aliena out to California by jet. They went ahead while my best pal Trevor & I drove the car across the country.
It was a scheduled four-day trip, and we were scheduled to leave the day before the movers came. However, as we watched our next door neighbors’ professional movers taking two days to move all their stuff instead of just one, we worried that our own professional moving service might also take a long time. So Trevor & I changed our plans to wait until the movers were truly done with it all. We hung back a day, planning now to leave Tuesday afternoon, after they had all our junk packed in their big truck.
I had to eat the cost of a hotels.com hotel, because hotels.com will not let you change the date on a reservation. You have to just get another room another night, at that other night’s rates, so you could potentially pay more than double what you intended to if your plans change. BEWARE OF THIS FACT WHEN USING HOTELS.COM.
But Tuesday afternoon arrived with no end in sight for the movers. Devon & her entourage had to leave for the airport, so it was definitely a good thing Trevor & I held back.
As Tuesday afternoon slowly turned into Tuesday evening, it became clear that Trevor & I were not going to leave at all on Tuesday. We would have to leave Wednesday. Which meant another change in hotel stays, which meant another eaten cost from hotels.com. They are cheap, but those nights add up REAL fast. There is no way around this. Trust me, I spent 45 minutes on the phone with those assholes. Wouldn’t budge.
Speaking of companies to avoid, New Planet Moving & Storage also totally blows. Idiot dispatchers sent only two guys to pack up and load an entire two bedroom apartment during the worst heat wave Chicago had seen in ten years. To say that we were all rather sweaty would be an understatement. If you could freeze-frame a shot from Raiders of the Lost Ark at about halfway through the face-melting process the Nazis suffer at the end of the movie, you’d have a pretty good picture of what we looked like.
Imagine going into a coffee shop and the guys behind the counter are dying of heat exhaustion to the point where they can barely function. So you have to go behind the counter and brew your own coffee, and they are making a mess and it’s all disorganized, and when your coffee is finally ready, they charge you for a large when you asked for a small, because all they had available were large cups. And then you had to leave a tip in the tip jar or else you’d feel like an enormous douchebag. Now multiply that by two thousand, and that was pretty much our experience with New Planet. They suck.
The movers were on the road by 11:00 PM. They had been there for twelve and a half hours.
Now, I love Chicago, so if there was one day of toil and shit that could make me happy to leave it behind, it was this. Goodbye, apartment, I thought, it’s been a hot one. Tomorrow I’ll say goodbye to the skyline, but tonight, it’s just goodbye to this cramped little century-old third-floor Lincoln Square apartment. Goodbye.
Several weeks have passed since the mini-apocalypse crashed what was otherwise a manageable life, and I remember it all, despite my efforts to forget, or at least remember it differently.
First of all, the greatest thing ever happened. That was the start of my troubles.
My daughter, Aliena Evelyn Gaines, was born exactly on her due date. As labors go, you couldn’t ask for an easier time. Quick and complication-free. Magnificent.
Details here are disgusting, so I’ll wrap up that topic by mentioning that for the last three months, she’s been a bright and shiny star, just the absolute cutest and most well-behaved baby the world has ever known. This is not an exaggeration.
The very next thing that happened was the second greatest thing I could have asked for, and that was really when things turned horrible. Literally ten days after she was born, I got hired by Edmunds.com and was given about three weeks to pack up and move from Chicago to Southern California. When you say it nonchalantly, it doesn’t sound like a hard thing to do, but keep in mind a) I had a job still that I wanted to give two weeks’ notice for, so I had two weeks of still working to take time away from getting ready to do any prep work at all for a big move, and b) I had a brand new baby to figure out.
So. Three weeks. Two weeks at work, and an estimated four days on the road. New baby, very little sleep. Friends to bid farewell to. Utility accounts to close. A hoarders’ apartment’s worth of closets to sort out. Biggest heat wave the eastern half of the US has seen in a decade.
Exciting? Also yes.
Obstacles? Bring ‘em on, I thought, I’ll kick their ass.
I probably only thought this because of the sleep deprivation. I had no idea what was coming.
Spoiler alert: I did kick their ass. I moved my new little family out to Southern California. We made it. But it took a whole team of pro-Gaines vigilantes and technicians, and I owe the splendor of my new life to some people who may never fully realize how amazing they are for it.
Writing is ultimately how I would like to make my living, and for the first time in my life I’ll be able to call myself a steady professional. I’ve made a few bucks from publishing before, but now I have a title and consistency. I’ve officially published the first of many Examiner.com articles as the Chicago Green Parenting Examiner. Check me out.
My goal with this gig is to write two or three articles per week on the sensitive subject of environmentally-friendly child-rearing. It’s a big deal. I started it all off with something I really do care a lot about: cloth diapering. My entire angle is to make “green parenting” less of a hippie-dippy drug-trip lifestyle, and more of just a set of responsible and money-saving lifestyle habits.
Obviously, this is not the bright burning glory of a one-off published piece of fiction, and I doubt it will pay more than one small bill per month, but hey – a part-time professional writer is still a professional writer.
Geez, no sooner do I write this post where I just happen to link to a baby shark costume on Amazon.com than do I start seeing targeted ads from Amazon.com on other websites. They are targeting me because they know I know about them and linked to them. I have been behaviorally targeted.
Here’s the dumb part: they are trying to sell me the exact thing I already linked to. Idiots. How about showing me some other baby costumes? Or perhaps some shark costumes for different ages?
But their timing was pretty awesome, because I actually saw this ad on the right hand side of a Search Engine Journal article called “5 Often Surprisingly Overlooked SEO Tactics.” It’s a terrible title (it should be called “5 Surprisingly Often-Overlooked SEO Tactics”), but the content is good. It’s about – you guessed it – SEO tactics. What was my interest in this article? Why, how to get Sharkblog‘s search engine results to improve, of course. Fitting, then, that I would see a baby shark costume advertised here.
I have no particular content strategy other than to simply write the shit I would write anyway, and then tweak it so that Sharkblog gets organic search results better than any other independent blog on sharks or shark-monster hybrid creatures. My process is kind of like throwing a net into the sea and hoping that I pull up not only a bunch of shrimp but also some gold doubloons. It’s not terribly accurate and it’s not terribly predictable but the bonus is that I will eventually happen upon some things that are valuable, and that I hadn’t planned on getting. Like maybe some silver or a nice pair of boots.
What I’m hoping to learn over time is how to find the water with the shrimp AND the gold doubloons AND all the other crazy cool stuff.
At any rate: Sharks + Human Babies = winning combination. And for only $30? You keep tempting me, Amazon.com, I may actually purchase that costume. Baby’s first Halloween is only a few months away.
Search engine optimization takes a while, and to be honest, I don’t have a content strategy. Which is fine, because I also don’t have anything to sell at this time. Really, what’s happening is that I’m blathering on like an idiot and hoping to repeat myself often enough to get the search engines to point to me for certain keywords. Keywords like Sharkblog.
I’m already at the top of the search results for “Bil Gaines.” I’m pretty confident in that one. Google is constantly coming up with sneaky new ways to “tailor” their search results to be more “in tune” what what they think I “want” (see Google Is People?) but I have a feeling that by now almost anybody who searches for my name will find my website.*
Thanks to Google Analytics, I now know that more people have come to my website by searching “HydraHeston” than by searching “Bil Gaines.” That’s pretty awesome. It means my content strategy is working.
*If you want a video that encapsulates both my growing paranoia and simultaneous illicit love of Google into one convenient and well-constructed argument (complete with engaging slideshow), I recommend Eli Pariser’s TED talk:
I have a lot of thoughts on this topic, and perhaps I can expand on them in another post down the line, but this video sums it up succinctly. I really am considering purchasing his book, but first I’d have to finish the “I, Robot” series and then I’d have to get over my distaste for hardcover books.
By the way, public service announcement: Shark Week starts on July 31. I feel like I want to do something special for the occasion, but I’m not sure what. I will have a baby by then, perhaps I’ll celebrate Shark Week by dressing her up as a shark. It’ll be good for father-daughter bonding. Also, it’s good for children to have nightmares. I read that somewhere.
The history of our microwave oven is patchy at best. Facts get confused all the way down to the origin of how we acquired him. Scientists believe we acquired him shortly after we moved to Chicago five and a half years ago. We probably picked him up for some ridiculously low price at what is believed to be a Wal-Mart somewhere in the suburbs.
We were poor and the microwave was cheap. We were wide-eyed wanderers in a brand new town, and we had just gotten married. The microwave was as unknown to us as the life we were just starting. The situation wasn’t ironic, wasn’t memorable, but it was perfect in its own quiet way. Our microwave was a reflection of us, and we used that microwave for many meals.
Tonight, while attempting to heat some casserole, I discovered our microwave had died. Completely died. He went peacefully, in his sleep. There was no pain.
…Which was rather inconvenient, really. I had to use the conventional oven to heat up dinner.
But the timing, however annoying, is almost poetic. We bought our microwave at the same time as we bought our guest bed linens. Quite fitting, then, that he should crap out on us now that our guest bed is gone in favor of a baby room.
We’re not going to get a baby microwave, though. That would be ridiculous.
But our baby will need to grow up with a microwave of her own, and we have some decisions to make. We may decide to replace him with the old clunker of a microwave that is currently taking up space in our pantry. How we got that other microwave is even more of a mystery. I think we picked it up on the side of a road in Boston many years ago.
At any rate, the old microwave was with us through good times and bad times for almost our entire time here in Chicago, and he deserves a proper farewell as we send him off to Microwave Heaven…
But now that I have your attention, I’d like to officially welcome you to BilGaines.com, and invite you to bask in the glory of our grand opening on this day, May 5, 2011, my 30th birthday.
The site is not complete yet, but I figure there’s enough here to gather some interest in returning, and that’s what I’m truly interested in. I’ll be using this website as my personal playground for search engine optimization experiments. I’m also hoping to provide enough interesting content to create a “readership” or “following” or whatever you want to call my cult of devotees.
I’ll be using the ever-handy Google Analytics to create my own infographics and share the results up here. I love infographics – like, a lot – and I hope to contribute some back to the universe that provides so many for me.
Here’s a video briefly explaining why I’m such a geek for infographics:
“Pie charts suck, be wary of them.”
Honestly and truly, I want to offer my personal guarantee that every link you see on this website is worth clicking. Here are some particularly interesting sections:
The SEO component of this journey will rely most heavily on Sharkblog, where I discuss the hybridization of sharks and other beasts. Also, the splicing and fusing of sharks and movies, sharks and advertising, sharks and music…basically sharks and shark monsters in pop culture.
Gaines the Photographer
I am also offering up my own photography. Steal away, I won’t come after you over copyright infringement. Be aware: my wife & I are expecting our first child ever in the middle of June, so there’s going to be an explosion of baby photos coming my way over the next year. I’ll try to only put up the really interesting ones.
Gaines the Writer
Furthermore, you can read some scripts I’ve written. You can even produce them if you want, royalty-free.
*Note: The scripts page is not yet finished – I’ve only got a few up right now – but I’ll be adding more over the next few days, so check back often! (See what I did there? String ’em along, Bil, string ’em along. Keep the wolves hungry, they’ll come back for more.)
I’ll also occasionally throw a music video into blog posts, because music videos are one of my favorite forms of entertainment.
Lenka – We Will Not Grow Old
At any rate, this is just a little bit of what you’ll find here. Hope you like it.
She never saw it coming. Her jaw dropped wide open and her eyebrows jumped straight off her forehead. She couldn’t formulate words for several minutes because her brain was in such a state of shock and confusion. Even more dumbfounded than when we found out we were having the kid.
Luckily, she did NOT go into early labor, which was a genuine concern of mine.
All in all, Devon’s super-secret surprise baby shower was a massive success. A few dozen of our favorite Chicago residents, ridiculous amounts of food (including the galaxy’s raddest cupcakes*), and sufficient quantities of carbonated beverages (some with alcohol) came together for one glorious evening of showering.
None of this would have been possible without the efforts of our dear friend Trevor Watkin, who organized it all. Kudos, amigo, job well done.
And now that it’s done with, I can be fully honest with my wife again. I must say, keeping a secret party a secret for roughly three months is no picnic when you live with the intended subject.
It’s also really goddamn difficult to get guests to commit and arrive on time when you can’t yak it up on Facebook. I do not know how Trevor was able to do it, but I was mightily impressed.
I guess there are the old-fashioned ways of communicating: e-mail, telephone, talking in person.
I’m finding more and more that anything other than Facebook is a secondary option in just about all my marketing efforts. I get frustrated when people tell me they are not on Facebook. Seriously? Get real. Everyone is on Facebook.
I get even more frustrated when people tell me they are on Facebook, but that they almost never check it. What’s the goddamn point, man? Why go on living at all?
Therein lies my problem. Facebook is nobody’s friend. Facebook makes things too easy.
I love it because it’s free. I can get to people for free. A lot of people. And I can give them a photo for free. I don’t even have to cut down a single tree to get visual entertainment to a targeted audience.**
But you pay for what you get, and how easy is it for everyone to ignore a Facebook invite? It’s even easier than it is to send one.
So the old-school forms of marketing – hell, even old-school forms of inviting people to a party – aren’t going anywhere any time soon.
Let me clarify. I work for the internet, and I firmly believe that internet advertising is the best – trackable, easier to target your audience, way more effective than TV, radio, and print. But the internet has been around long enough that we’ve seen various fads come and go. Evites are still in use, but not nearly as much as five years ago. MySpace is still around, but it’s a laughingstock. Even QR codes are on their way out – Google is abandoning the technology, shouldn’t everyone? Twitter may die out in time, who knows, nothing lasts forever. So when I say “old-school” I mean the mainstays of the last seven to ten years. My guess is that Google and Facebook will be the last titans duking it out at the end of the world, but just like Anthony Kiedis’ long hair, all things must end.
And as much as I love Facebook for being both a keeping-in-touch tool and a marketing tool, I have to remind myself constantly that Facebook is not the end of the line for either. It shouldn’t even be the starting point.
What I’m getting at here is that I want to un-train myself from thinking of Facebook first when reaching out. It’s so easy and so fun that I want to use it for everything, but the real world is just a thousand times better. I’d like to use the real world more. I want to train myself to think first of direct e-mail, or actual physical mail when I can, or perhaps even the telephone (which I hate so, so much, but let’s face it – it’s more personal). If I can get your attention face-to-face, that’s even better. I need to try the harder methods first and Facebook second.
Because all those people typing “Surprise!” on her Facebook wall would have been no substitute for them actually standing in our apartment, using their voices, taking pictures and offering hugs.
So here’s the thing about my situation right now. It’s nothing new to the human race, it’s only new to me.
But OHMYGOD isn’t it magical and transcendental and all kinds of wonderful! Devon & I are having a little girl. And she’s beeYOOOOtiful and healthy and perfect and she has ten toes and ten fingers. And she looks just like me. At least, I assume she does.
She’s so amazing already and we haven’t officially met. Good gracious me, I would hate to disappoint…
It occurred to me that she’s going to give me so much joy, I probably owe it to her to give some joy in return. I can’t rely on her to cheer me up after I get home from some job, that’s not fair. I owe it to her to be awesome. And in order for me to be full-time awesome, I better get a career I’m proud of. Like, actually proud of. Like, doing what I want to do and succeeding at it.
Hence Operation: No Day Job By 2016. It used to be for me and for Devon, but now it’s for all three of us. And any possible additions later on. I need a career, not a day job. A day job connotes that I’m only there because it’s a steady paycheck. In many ways, that’s true. I certainly got to where I am with the company I’m with by showing up for money.
And that’s not really cool anymore. I can’t spend forty hours a week and most of my good energy at a job I wouldn’t have signed up for it you asked me back in college.
This, too, is nothing new to the human race, it’s only new to me.
So I’ll play it safe, but I’ll play it smart. I’m gonna find myself a gig that satisfies me, so I can look at my daughter as a satisfied human being, and thus teach her to be a satisfied human being. I will do my best to warn her not to take a job, but instead to make a career.
And in the meantime, I’m going to take my own advice.
I wrote this post for tipyourwaiter.org earlier today. I’m importing it to my personal website for the express purpose of having more posts on the front page. Yes, I’m that shallow. Also, I wanted to test out my “Press This” button. If you’re reading this, I guess it’s working.