“Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy a jetski” comedian Daniel Tosh once said. “And have you ever seen somebody unhappy on a jetski?”
The old cliché doesn’t really mean you can’t purchase happiness; it just means money alone won’t bring you fulfillment.
(But money could bring me to Fiji, and I think I would be pretty fulfilled by a nice long trip there!)
In the era of late-stage capitalism, it’s hard to say “money can’t buy happiness” with a straight face. I don’t think we need to trash the whole idiom, we simply need a little tweak. It’s not that money can’t buy happiness; there are just some things money can’t buy.
I’ve toyed with the idea of this blog post for a while, but I haven’t found the will to write it. Maybe it’s the brutal subject matter. Maybe it’s the fact that (as my friend Jordan Guinn says) there’s already so much discourse; what can I possibly add?
Well, a blog shouldn’t exist if the person has nothing to say. So I guess I better say something.
More or Less
I was lucky enough to visit the “Death Star” (Allegiant Stadium) in Las Vegas last year with my sister Marie, the person I hold directly responsible for making me a Raider fan (thanks a lot). I greatly enjoyed the game, where the Raiders walloped the Eagles, and despite what you’ve heard, the opposing fan noise isn’t that bad. Is it the Coliseum? Absolutely not and it will never be. But as a former season ticket holder, I promise you, it felt like a Raider game; more or less.
(Ed. Note – This is a special guest post by friend-of-the-blog Jordan Guinn. Get more of his acerbic humor on Twitter.)
Twice in the last three years I’ve been fortunate enough to take a week out of my summer to tour baseball parks across the country with Fernando. The trip involves a rental car, lots of energy drinks and many disagreements about whose playlist we should be listening to.
Note: My schools have split spring breaks, but I have enough free time to write a little. I am currently at the JACC Conference in Sacramento until Sunday morning.
Managing people is hard.
For starters, managing is not the same as being a boss. Any jackass can give orders.
Delegation is a skill, but It’s also a luxury. Deep down, most of us want to be
in charge and believe we should be.
But managing people is a different animal. Handling a
diverse group of individuals, like a baseball manager, and leading them to
success is hard. Don’t let anyone
ever tell you otherwise – not even me. Because if you had met me 10 years ago,
I would have said being a manager is a piece of cake. Not anymore.
Before Nazis became socially acceptable again in recent years, they used to make the best villains. Surely, a legion of genocidal war criminals in snappy black uniforms were indefensible – they murdered millions of innocent people! They practiced ethnic cleansing! Who could defend these guys?
It makes sense: the anniversary of his death was less than a month ago. But the strangest thing about my father’s passing is how long it took to affect me.
Maybe it’s the softness that develops with old age. Since I’m now an ancient 33 years old (the same age Jesus was when he was crucified), I’ve definitely started getting sappier. Like, cry-during-a-pasta-commercial sappy. OK, so that hasn’t actually happened, but there are a variety of situations that will result in tears now.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a deals problem. It’s very difficult for me to resist a great deal, especially if it’s something I want. I own so many Xbox 360 games I will never play, simply because they were too cheap to pass up.
Well, that mentality got me into a little adventure last weekend. I was presented with a deal I simply couldn’t refuse: $78 roundtrip to Dallas from SFO. I’ve never been to Dallas. And I’m #blessed enough to have a great schedule; I only teach Mon-Wed. Continue reading “50 Hours in Texas: A Quick Ballpark Detour”
Still I can’t let go. It’s unnatural! I belong to baseball; baseball belongs to meeeeeee….
(This post was written Monday morning)
Fear and Loathing in America’s Heartland has come to an end, as I sit here sipping Diet Coke and waiting to board the plane back to San Francisco. Guess who has to teach a class in Pleasant Hill in 15 hours? The guy who says to sleep when you’re dead (me). Let’s hope I can sleep on the plane this time. Continue reading “Although we’ve come, to the end of the road…”