I just want to say a quick thank you to all the people who have congratulated me on the new job and the wonderful friends who have welcomed me back to the place I had been for 10 years. I don’t know if people are just being nice, but a lot of people seem genuinely excited to see me back. If they’re being sincere, it means a lot. And it still means a lot even if they’re just trying to make me feel better. How sweet of them, you know? Total win/win there.
All kidding aside, people have said some incredibly nice things. I won’t repeat them, because they were in all likelihood patently false. But they were still super nice.
I kind of can’t believe how much I missed the place. I don’t think I really appreciated how much I laughed at work, on the way to work, and really all day long. Not every second of every day or anything, but I do laugh with relative regularity throughout the course of most days.
If you haven’t tried that in awhile, I highly recommend it. It’s not really that hard. You don’t have to be funny to laugh. All you have to do is commit to tolerating the moment.
Okay. I’m so tired I could die. Maybe I just did. Or maybe now. Now? No. Oh, crap. Nope. False alarm.
Today’s question is short and bitter. I missed the Cubs game yesterday. So here’s the question:
What was the score to the Cubs game yesterday? Bonus if you can tell me what Castro did. (And remember, no looking it up. This one is especially tempting, even for me.)
I’m back in Chicago. City of big shoulders. The windy city. The city that sleeps sometimes, because come on. The city of brotherly mutual admiration. The city of pizza and hot dogs and Rahm Emanuel. My kind of town. The land of the free and the home of the Bulls. Where everybody knows your name, but they just call you “Hey.” The place with the helpful hardware man. The Second City. The nickname capital of the world.
Also the topic of today’s question. Here it goes:
Of the six tallest buildings in the United States, how many are in Chicago? (bonus points if you can name them all)
It’s been awhile since my last trivia question (and it might be awhile longer until the next one), but I thought it would be fun to try to get trivia going again. Now that I’ll be back in the world of routines, I might as well add some daily rituals that are slightly more enjoyable than setting the alarm clock for 5 AM and braving Chicago traffic. For a good 8 or so years, posing trivially awesome questions was one of my favorite parts of the day. Then it stopped being part of my day. I’m not really sure why. Maybe I was amazed by the way it loved me all the time. Maybe I was afraid of the way I loved it.
Anyway, here’s to renewing the best and least important parts of the daily grind. I give you, today’s question. Only answers in the comments will count for official trivia points. Oh, and really quick, let me remind you of the trivia rules:
You can use any information that was in your brain before you read the question.
You can ask friends, family members, coworkers, or random passersby for help.
You cannot ask a friend, family member, coworker, or random passerby to consult said reference materials.
You cannot use any reference materials (i.e. books, newspapers, the Internet) to look up the answer.
I think there was a trivia code or something, too. I wonder if I can find that . . . eh, maybe later. Okay, today’s question, and it’s an easy one (or is it?):
To what kind of book is the Caldecott Medal awarded annually?
Remember that episode of Seinfeld when Kramer got a job? (If you don’t remember, I put a link there so you can watch it, wait a minute, and then remember back to what you just watched. I’m a facilitator. I facilitate.)
Yeah, so . . . that’s me right now. I got a job. I start Tuesday. I’ll be working at Moody Publishers. Back in the city. Back in the carpool. Back in the proverbial saddle. Again.
No more will my commute consist of nothing more than a trip down the stairs. No longer will showing up to work in my pajamas be borderline acceptable. Gone are the days of eating breakfast and lunch with my family, every day. But you know what? I got to enjoy that for three years. I will miss it.
But I won’t miss working essentially on my own every day. I am glad to be back working with a team. And while I’ve never been in love with the commute to Chicago, I am in love with Chicago itself.
So here I go. Back to a real job. And while you might think that means less time with my family, nothing could be further from the truth. The time I spent working from home, near Heather, Addison, and Colin every single day, is time I’ll never lose. Yes, technically I will not be spending as much time at home with them as I used to, but the time I had with them I will carry in my heart always. It is a deposit into an account from which I’ll never have to withdraw. Less time? No way. Those moments will never diminish. The memories will never dwindle. And I will never feel sorry for having hoarded them greedily.
So, if you’re wondering if I’m disappointed, the answer is Hell no. I’m excited. I’m thankful. I’m ready. And I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me again.
It’s like a bucket list, but if you skip the bucket and go straight to the Rapture. And if you aren’t actually going to die (and you only have 18 hours or so) you’ve got to make a totally different list. If your bucket list involves flying to Nepal, your plane just might land without you on it. Raptured with a fully unchecked list. No, if you want to manufacture the notion that you’ve lived a fulfilled life on a schedule, you’ve got to streamline. Trade your Mount Kilimanjaro wishes for Mountain Dew dreams.
It’s actually way more fun. So here’s my Rapture list:
Go to sleep before 10, just once. Crap.
Post twice in one day. Check!
Drink a whole pot of coffee.
Let the lawn grow to a length that makes the neighbors stage an intervention. Check!
Play Lego Star Wars III for the Wii. Check!
Tell the 3 year olds picking dandelions at their soccer game that they should really just consider hosting their own poetry slam because a 3-year-old poetry slam would be so much more awesome than a 3-year-old soccer game.
Half-heartedly watch Easy A while blogging. Check!
Find some roses and intentionally walk right by them without smelling them because you don’t have time for that crap, you’ve got a list to complete.
Start a rumor.
Throw a baseball.
Tell someone the truth. You know. Like, more than what you’d normally be willing to tell them. A little more. No, not that. That.
Speak in an accent you can’t quite pull off just to embarrass whoever it is your with.
No, don’t do that, that’s lame. Just . . . pretend that you were gonna.
Leave the last two bullet points even though they’re both lame, because the Rapture is coming, and you don’t have time to delete stuff. Check!
Listen to some music. Even if it sucks. Check!
When you’re sitting in front of a group of high schoolers who have the word quiescent on a vocabulary test, tell them that they’ll never use the word quiescent ever again in their lives and if they do, someone will slap them. . . . Check!
Make a rapture list. (Make it shorter than this because you have less time than I do.)Check!
If you don’t make a list, just add one to this one, and then don’t do it. You gotta leave the Rapture wanting more, yeah?
Today’s playlist comes on the penultimate day of life as we know it. It comes on a day when the news of Randy “Macho Man” Savage’s death snapped into the peace and quiet that was this Friday morning. It comes on a day when everything seems to be getting a grand shake-up. It comes on a day when the only thing I’ve eaten so far is a chocolate-chip Pop-Tart. I have to change that as soon as I can.
I highly doubt the Rapture will happen tomorrow at 6:00 PM, but you know what? I don’t know for sure. I don’t know that 7:00 PM tomorrow has included me in its plans. I don’t know that the routines I enjoy each and every day will go unshattered.
What I do know is that there are people I love, and it’s not enough just to hope that they know that. I need to tell them. I need to show them. I refuse to live this moment as if it’s my last, because that’s just too freaking depressing. But I don’t want to live my life waiting either. I don’t want the people I love to spend one second wondering if they’re good enough or doubting that they matter. You are good enough for me (for what that’s worth). You do matter. If you’re reading this, yes, you matter to me. I love you. Probably. At least a little. If you’re not sure, ask. I’ll let you know.