tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85430162011-12-16T13:03:01.323-08:00The history of today.Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comBlogger871100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-43453708707264577812011-12-16T13:02:00.001-08:002011-12-16T13:03:01.497-08:00

Years ago I met a very rich person. This very rich person had so much money that if he just invested it in a money market fund, he would earn more in one day than I earned in an entire year. His net worth was at least 10,000 times greater than mine. We had to fly to meet with him. While on the plane I fantasized what it would be like to have so much money. At first I thought of all the things I

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-61444293397405485892011-06-09T11:50:00.000-07:002011-06-09T11:52:38.405-07:00

He’s an investment banker. I’ve known him for ten years. “Known” only in the working sense, never in the social sense. His bank is one of the banks that works with my company, so when his bank does a deal with my company, he sometimes shows up on our team, and when that happens sometimes I’m there too, and we end up working together. Sometimes closely. For a while.We’re not friends, but our

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-2692684579407364202011-06-07T12:00:00.001-07:002011-06-07T12:01:02.621-07:00

He’s an investment banker. I’ve known him for ten years. “Known” only in the working sense, never in the social sense. His bank is one of the banks that works with my company, so when his bank does a deal with my company, he sometimes shows up on our team, and when that happens sometimes I’m there too, and we end up working together. Sometimes closely. For a while. We’re not friends, but our

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-13618336058513299362010-04-30T15:56:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:06:21.955-08:00

I can see and use a word hundreds or thousands of times throughout my life, barely noticing it, and then one day it magically appears new to me as if I’ve never seen it before.This happened recently with “disillusioned.”I’d seen and used this word countless times before, usually in a context meant to convey disappointment, but looking at it the other day I suddenly saw it as if for the first time

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-7114808327752163602010-04-13T14:36:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:07:48.969-08:00

Growing up, our vacations were modest affairs. To save money we traveled by car, we stayed in the U.S., we camped out or stayed in cheap hotels, and we sought out free attractions.Our goal was more to economize than enjoy. It was as if my parents were being forced to take us on vacation, and were determined to do it as cheaply as possible.After one particularly miserable vacation, when we

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-50592006888325366382010-03-17T15:50:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:09:30.163-08:00

Staring out my window at the city below, I often think how amazing it is that so many people from so many other places decided to move here, and that so many people from this place decided to stay here.There are now millions of people here.What’s so special about here?My here is like so many other heres. Travel up the coast, you’ll see plenty of places where a city could have grown, but didn’t.

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-16596317136064127512010-03-04T15:58:00.000-08:002010-12-15T08:11:57.896-08:00

I have a complicated relationship with routine.On one hand, I fear and fight routine. It is anesthetizing. It puts my brain on autopilot. Day after day of the same old same old until I descend into senescence—that’s no life for me! Particularly when you consider that time flies faster when you’re in a routine, so if you want your life to feel shorter, by all means fill it with routine. To resist

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-38148621351507779262009-10-19T08:40:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:13:09.715-08:00

It intrigues me when people hate me.The default is indifference. Most people I know are, like me, so self-absorbed that I’m happy just to be an occasional blip on their periphery.So when someone cares enough about me to hate me, I notice.A few years ago she married into a distant branch of my extended family, but one we see fairly often because they live near us. She has a job that’s

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-38629244886181650652009-09-21T15:45:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:15:10.151-08:00

I try to avoid situations in which people ask me what I do for a living.It’s not that I do anything particularly shameful, such as robbing banks or being a banker, it’s just that if I’m in a conversation where someone asks me what I do, it means at least one of four undesirable things have happened to get us there: (1) I am speaking with a herd animal trying to figure out where I fit in his

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-14467965004114594162009-09-01T05:55:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:16:04.973-08:00

You have to respect the Bond villain.Sure, he’s hell-bent on world domination, careless with the lives of millions, enjoys torture even more than Cheney, but think of the severe psychological afflictions he’s had to overcome, often with little or no outside support. With his historic level of megalomania, his massively outsized sense of entitlement, his complete lack of perspective, his issues

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-91414017533768454262009-08-31T10:12:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:16:45.659-08:00

If I’m ever a famous statesman, I’m going to leave specific instructions that when I die, and the nation’s elite gather for my funeral service at the National Cathedral, the officiants will commend my teeth to the Tooth Fairy, telling the crowd that they are in a better place, finally free of the burden of cavity-causing sugar products and the scourge of gum disease, joined in bliss with my

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-85103754380282805432009-08-21T12:37:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:17:39.152-08:00

Your greatest strengths are your greatest weaknesses. And vice versa.The first part is a cliché, the “vice versa” part should be too.I try to remind myself of that when I confront my weaknesses. Staring into the darkness of my inadequacy, it’s easy to overlook the strength that may be lurking in there as well.For instance, one of my most glaring weaknesses is that I am not a social animal. I

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-26856776420217469402009-07-20T08:47:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:23:19.856-08:00

I didn’t want Tom Watson to win the British Open yesterday.Watson had already won five British Opens. Would winning a sixth make a material difference in his life? I doubt it. Last week he was a golfing great, this week he’s a golfing great. Nothing changes because he lost.Stewart Cink, on the other hand, has been playing golf for nearly 20 years without a major tournament win. It is likely that

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-13950215958257085242009-07-15T23:15:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:24:03.327-08:00

Sitting in the restaurant, waiting for our order, the din is cut by a very young Michael Jackson’s voice over the sound system: “A-B-C / 1-2-3 / Baby you and me!” An amazing pop song.What happened to that exuberant youth? He faded, literally, into the wraith who died last week. Died for the few who knew him, that is. For most of the millions who mourned, who knew him only through songs, he died

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-57402547419760175592009-07-01T14:40:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:24:45.245-08:00

I read a lot. So much, in fact, I wonder whether it’s too much.I live surrounded by books. Books I’ve read, books I want to read, books to which I refer, and too many books I borrowed or bought that I will never read but, in the interests of filling my newly expanded shelves, will probably continue to live with me.I read more than books, of course, spending an hour or so every morning harvesting

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-3903188925634663062009-06-29T10:16:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:25:43.928-08:00

Our office went multi-monitor a few years ago, shortly after the flat panel price crash made it economical for everyone, even the lowliest assistants, to put two or three monitors on their desks, making us all look like masters of the universe trading currency futures.To the extent there was any thought behind this move to surround us with pixels, that thought went something like this: “In this

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-25956757487734757172009-06-26T15:58:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:26:46.138-08:00

I love music, but I find it difficult to write about music. There is the whole “dancing about architecture” difficulty in reducing anything so sublime yet ineffable to mere words, but for me the problem runs deeper: music sneaks its way into my brain at a sub-analytical layer, effectively evading my higher analytical processing centers.And that’s why I love it so, I think, because when I listen I

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-50968246209427833892009-06-24T22:36:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:27:33.883-08:00

Okay, so things have been awfully quiet around here for a while. A long while. Three years since I posted with any frequency, but, hey, who’s counting?I miss Outer Life. Many times I’ve tried to start it up again, but my attempts would end in failure, either a stillborn piece that went nowhere or, worse, a piece that got posted but should have been stillborn.While trying once again to reignite

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-22641866753308985482009-05-18T11:43:00.000-07:002010-12-15T08:28:25.705-08:00

Staring out the window at ships in the harbor. In the spring of 1988, that was my job. My real job had disappeared with the merger announcement. Collecting data for new projects was no longer a priority, now that there would be no new projects. No one told us to stop. The futility was just so obvious, even to the dumbest and most in denial among us, that it only took a few days after the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-52946772922163890042007-11-29T15:57:00.000-08:002007-12-11T13:54:33.276-08:00

I’m on a diet, hope to lose 10 pounds. Isn’t everyone? In my case, there’s a slight difference from most, I suspect, in that I don’t need to lose the weight. My BMI is 22, putting me comfortably in the middle of the normal range, well below most of my peers (60% of whom are classified as either “overweight” or “obese”). I don’t particularly want to lose the weight either. I’m

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-35876373276461170572007-10-11T20:31:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:53:52.726-08:00

In the criminal world, a protection racket works like this: Goons approach shopkeeper, ball-peen hammers in hand. Goons say it’s a dangerous neighborhood out there, you heard about that shopkeeper whose knee-caps were broken?, and suggest, almost as an aside, that a contribution to their protection fund would be most welcome and appreciated and would, incidentally, greatly assist in the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-85684074391146974462007-09-18T17:23:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:56:06.113-08:00

"Focus on the Words - Not on the Writer." (link via Mental Multivitamin) Any essay with that title is sure to get my head nodding, as are words like the following:What matters is the book, and the book has to stand on its own merit. What the author accomplishes, or doesn't, outside of the book is fine for the gossip pages, but it doesn't merit mentioning in a book review.So it shouldn't matter

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-64966013787889693692007-09-11T12:27:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:51:30.550-08:00

Lately I've been on a book buying binge. They're coming in much faster than I can read them, and I have this thing against shelving unread books, worried that once they're up there I'll forget to read them, which is, in fact, what tends to happen, so I stack them on a table next to my desk, a crude but effective self-regulating temporary storage system that keeps them in my line of sight

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-34903211952030556882007-08-20T15:37:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:50:29.503-08:00

My first thought on meeting my new boss was the first thought I imagine everyone had on meeting him: “You don’t see mutton chops much these days.” That was in the early Nineties, a time when men shaved their faces, not their heads. The mustache and the beard defined the outer boundaries of facial hair in an otherwise clean cut world. But even today, well into the Age of the Goatee and

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-52831694278980165622007-08-09T17:29:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:48:28.042-08:00

In order to maintain my Parenting License, Middle Class, in good standing, each month I shovel a not insignificant portion of my earnings into 429 plans for the future college education of my kids. By “not insignificant,” I mean the amount it would take for me to save $552,000, the projected amount I will need to send my two kids to the college I attended. That’s a lot of money,

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-78774509536361254362007-07-10T12:56:00.000-07:002007-07-10T19:05:23.233-07:00

It was my first job interview in Los Angeles, way back in the Roaring ‘80’s. As I shuffled into the interview room, before I even sat down, the recruiter fixed me with a determined stare, cleared this throat and asked, “Where are you from?” My mind stumbled, having expected something more along the lines of a “hello” or handshake or offer of a business card before he started on the third

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1543011815998957902007-06-14T15:11:00.000-07:002007-06-15T16:01:33.234-07:00

Day’s turning to night as my daughter and I stroll in silence, our conversation having receded with the setting sun, the only sound now the waves crashing just below our feet, wet sand between our toes, lost in our own thoughts. I look up from the water as the stars start to poke out and immediately my mind flashes back to something I heard a long time ago – was it Carl Sagan? – along the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-74134459753901352052007-06-02T01:30:00.000-07:002007-06-15T16:00:47.820-07:00

I like to think I’m entitled to entertain one completely irrational thought each day. What if, instead of electing politicians, we used a random lottery to draft ordinary citizens to serve in every elected office? It would be just like jury service. The letter would arrive in the mail, you’d be summoned to the Capitol on January 2 to serve as Senator or President or whatever, no

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-87275373691631826652007-05-17T15:58:00.000-07:002007-06-15T15:59:06.178-07:00

I have this contrarian streak. Unlike most contrarians, who say that proudly, I say it as a confession because my contrarianism is a sign of weakness, not strength. When everyone zigs, I instinctively zag, not so much because I pride myself on walking my own path, but because I’m afflicted with the ability to feel both insecure and too secure at the same time. My insecure side assumes I’m

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-44199788131705508572007-04-26T08:45:00.000-07:002007-06-15T15:57:32.487-07:00

My commute sucks. In a good week, I spend eight hours behind the wheel driving to and from work. In a bad week I can spend as much as 15 hours riding the brakes while staring at the bumper in front of me. At the office, I never complain about my commute. Partly that’s because I’m the strong silent type, but mostly it’s because my colleagues do my bellyaching for me. They never tire of

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-38120302080058994942007-04-23T12:49:00.000-07:002007-06-15T15:53:54.277-07:00

Some look at the glass and see it as half full. Others see it as half empty. He looks at the glass and sees it completely full. Even if it’s really only half full. Or half empty, depending on how you look at it. He’s not an optimist, though. To be an optimist, you must first be cognizant, at some level, that things can go wrong. It’s your persistent belief that everything will be okay,

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-34909085171795307782007-02-08T01:41:00.000-08:002007-06-15T15:51:33.717-07:00

I don’t understand this odd fascination with numbers that end in “0” or “5.” Last year, I graduated from college 19 years ago. No one cared. This year, I graduated from college 20 years ago. Now it’s a big deal, there’s a three-day reunion, I get these weekly reminder emails, they’ve started a special fundraising campaign, my phone rings early in the evening with calls from work-study

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746378082077892006-12-20T20:39:00.000-08:002006-12-21T16:12:58.086-08:00

I’ve never been much of a gift-giver or receiver. I’m too self-sufficient to need or want anything, too self-centered to figure out your needs and wants. I know, I know. Gift-giving is not just about fulfilling material needs or wants, it’s about the joy we derive from the giving itself, which is even better than the joy we get from the receiving. It’s an ancient practice that reaffirms

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746333886421602006-12-14T21:42:00.000-08:002006-12-21T16:12:13.890-08:00

Things have been quiet here for a while, but those rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated. Death has, however, been on my mind even more than usual since I was asked to deliver a eulogy. It isn’t easy to write a eulogy. They don’t give you much time. A few days at most before you have to drop your pen and stand and deliver. Meanwhile, you’re in a state of shock, grief-stricken

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746286080426982006-11-07T18:08:00.000-08:002006-12-21T16:11:26.083-08:00

The Bible is filled with prophets. Jeremiah, Daniel, Isaiah, Ezekial, the 12 minor prophets. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one. Attending religious school, I devoted a small but memorable chunk of my childhood to reading and discussing the antics of these prophets. Today the stories blend together in my mind: God not happy, God sends vision of future to prophet, vision is

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746238063697872006-09-29T10:25:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:10:38.063-08:00

Still waters run deep. That’s how I think about Outer Life; placid on the surface, swirling about below. You can’t see it, but I’ve been a whirling dervish this year, shattering my life, putting it back together again, scrambling to put out fires, drilling deeply into my relationships, channeling my newfound wanderlust into places I’ve never been, systematically studying the human

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746190068878022006-09-06T21:53:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:09:50.070-08:00

We called it "Going Vermont." You'd first see it in their eyes. Eyes that once bored through you with glaring intensity, absorbing, were now averted behind a dull glaze, deflecting, their gaze faraway. There were other signs -- the shoulder slump, the meandering shuffle, the late lunches, the gradual fade -- but if you paid attention you'd see it first in their eyes. The eyes were the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746130461496612006-08-18T18:29:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:08:50.466-08:00

Fitting in is never easy, especially when you’re trying to squeeze yourself into a tightly-packed little community like Shady Glen. At our first Shady Glen barbecue, adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, we wandered about unmoored until the Couple came over and introduced themselves. They seemed like a very nice couple. They escorted us around, introducing us to others, helping us fit in.

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746076380770442006-08-01T05:10:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:07:56.386-08:00

Have you ever set foot in your dream house? I have. It was twenty years ago, Manhattan’s Upper West Side, a narrow east-west street in the high 90s that pleaded for urban renewal. Book-ended by crumbling apartment buildings, the once-uniform rows of brownstones now looked like a Leon Spinks smile: vacant lot gaps, a few white brick façades sticking out like gold-capped teeth, the steel

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166746019629226542006-07-26T14:24:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:06:59.633-08:00

News of her move to Shady Glen spread like a virus. It must be the realtors who start these rumors. They find out first and can’t resist the opportunity to elevate their status by dropping a celebrity’s name. Then those who hear the name can’t resist the opportunity to tell their neighbors who their new neighbor will be. Then we let it slip casually to outsiders, in passing, as if news

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166745962478175912006-07-18T13:31:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:06:02.486-08:00

“Man is a social animal.” You hear that all the time. But what does it mean? I think it’s just a polite way of saying humans are high-order herd animals, our massive brains hardwired to bind us as close as possible to each other by rewarding us with pleasure as we socialize ourselves and punishing us with pain as we isolate ourselves. It all makes a lot of sense, this social animal

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166745819792547982006-07-10T13:53:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:03:39.796-08:00

It’s the email list from hell. Day after day, it torments me. It started years ago when I signed up for Shady Glen’s Daddy & Me group by giving one of the dads my email address. We’d just moved in, I thought it was a nice way to meet other dads, maybe for my kids to meet other kids, and my wife thought it was a nice way to get us out of the house. The dads would meet at a different

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166745750834279562006-06-06T04:57:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:02:30.836-08:00

It’s strangely satisfying to stand still on the wet sand as breaking waves crash past me up the beach, where the water pauses, then retreats past me down to the sea. As a kid, that’s pretty much all I did when we went to the beach. I knew how to swim and ride the waves, I even owned a Boogie Board, and some of the guys were starting to surf and that seemed exciting, at first, but every

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1166745671142986832006-05-31T04:55:00.000-07:002006-12-21T16:01:11.153-08:00

At the office, you hear it all the time. Kids today. They don’t work as hard. They’ve got different priorities. They’re not as hungry. They’re a bunch of slackers. You know, kids today. It’s all true. Well, pretty much all of it. Kids today don’t work as hard. They do have different priorities. Their plump faces show no signs of hunger. And many are slackers, at least when compared

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1148269799206450382006-05-17T05:51:00.000-07:002006-05-21T20:49:59.210-07:00

The brakes on my mother’s car squeaked very loudly. I’d be sitting on the steps in front of school, or waiting at the little league field, or standing in front of the theater, and I’d hear this faint squeaking sound grow louder and LOUDER! as her car weaved its way through the stop-and-go traffic eventually culminating in a horrific fingernails-on-the-chalkboard shrieking squeak as it stopped

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1148269676650277192006-05-11T17:11:00.000-07:002006-05-21T20:48:36.743-07:00

She's doing a planets project, writing a report and building a model of the Earth. She's in third grade now, supposed to do it all on her own, no parental assistance allowed, but as she works so diligently, forming an orange-sized Earth out of modeling clay, painting the inside of a cardboard banker's box black, dabbing in white dots for stars, then hanging her model Earth inside the box with

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1146864724548394272006-05-05T14:31:00.000-07:002006-05-05T14:32:04.563-07:00

Late afternoon, the meeting drags while he drones and lunch congeals on a side table. Pen in hand, notepad in lap, body in chair tilted way back, I’m the very picture of rapt and thoughtful attention, or so I hope as I stare intently at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling, the sort with thousands of dots of different sizes, trying to find a constellation up there but the dots evade easy

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1146260769348074672006-04-28T14:45:00.000-07:002006-04-28T14:46:09.353-07:00

"Now that Andrew's past his first birthday, John and I think it’s time to get out of the house and be adults again. Can you believe it’s been over a year since we went out! Do you know any conscientious babysitters who can watch Andrew on Saturday nights? We’re desperate!” I read the email, barely stifling a chortle. New parents can be so naïve! And to think people like this are raising

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1146260719540205962006-04-28T14:44:00.001-07:002006-04-28T14:45:19.543-07:00

It sometimes helps to reach the end of your rope. For most of 2006 I’ve been struggling, sometimes mightily, other times lethargically, to understand this depression thing that’s settled over my life. This isn’t the first time I’ve been depressed, nor is it the first time I’ve entered therapy, but it’s the first time I’ve actually tried to get better. The other times I resisted, never

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1146260694929370262006-04-28T14:44:00.000-07:002006-04-28T14:44:54.930-07:00

Your daughter’s first birthday party – remember that day? You probably don’t, what with all the beer you were drinking with your buddies while you watched the game and avoided the kids. But I remember that day, will probably never forget it, for that was the day my infant daughter needed a diaper change and I asked you where the changing table was and you claimed not to know, adding, in a loud

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1146260618989559622006-04-28T14:43:00.000-07:002006-04-28T14:44:09.720-07:00

The Prius is genius. I am not basing this conclusion on the car's revolutionary Hybrid Synergy Drive®, or its super clean Advanced Technology Partial Zero Emission Vehicle rating, or its designation by the EPA as a SmartWay Elite Green Vehicle. No, I am basing this conclusion on the car's status as the only Cheap Acceptable Car®. Let me explain. I live in a community. As in any

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1142958213896157722006-03-21T08:23:00.000-08:002006-03-21T08:23:33.900-08:00

It starts out on the wrong foot. I dash out the door, already late for an 8:30 pm reservation, driving like mad, imagining them ordering without me, giving up my place setting and my chair, obliterating any sign that I was ever invited. Running in at 8:50, I learn that yes, Steve has a table for five at 8:30 pm and no, I am the first to arrive, so sir, you can wait over there in the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1142958115625051032006-03-21T08:21:00.000-08:002006-03-21T08:21:55.640-08:00

“Hey Bill, looking good. Retirement treating you well?” “Very well, my friend,” he said, shaking my hand as we sat down to lunch. “I’m glad you could get away. Things aren’t too crazy at the office?” “Crazy? It’s normal crazy, you know, the usual crisis mode. Same old same old. Hasn’t changed a bit since you ditched us for the peaceful life.” “Peaceful? I’m not too sure.” “

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1141804820174071642006-03-08T04:57:00.000-08:002006-03-08T00:04:59.816-08:00

Paul burst onto the scene in seventh grade, taking the stage during a school talent show and plugging his new white Strat into a Marshall stack and blowing us away with an over-amped feedback-laden thousand-extra-notes-added version of Jimi Hendrix’s “The Star-Spangled Banner,” his long hair whipped around his head as his waist gyrated slower then faster as his fingers raced up and down the neck

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1141804384058111922006-03-03T05:15:00.000-08:002006-03-07T23:53:51.470-08:00

I live up in the mountains, my house perched near the edge, which gives me a 300-degree view. Look out one side, and you see the city sprawled out below. On a clear day you can see landmarks twenty miles away. Look out the other side, and you see nothing but nature: Meadows, foothills and mountains all the way to the horizon.At night, the city view sparkles with thousands of lights, blotting out

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1141804576940255982006-02-28T04:49:00.000-08:002006-03-07T23:56:16.943-08:00

Every so often I get stuck on a word, using it to excess, permitting it to pepper pretty much everything I say.I’m usually unaware that I’m doing this, blithely blabbing away repetitively, noticing it only after someone points it out – often to mortifying mirth – or, sometimes, in an attempt to squeeze it into every possible sentence, I contort its meaning so much that even I begin to detect my

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1140144243198368752006-02-16T18:42:00.000-08:002006-02-16T18:44:03.200-08:00

I am currently obsessed with the mid-life musical musings of Amy Rigby, the mod housewife. I am depressed, a condition more likely to afflict women than men. And in order to heal myself, I am getting in touch with my feelings. I’m learning French. Yesterday I dropped my car off for service, was told it would take a couple of days, was sent to the loaner car desk, was informed that we

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1140144008948185822006-02-16T18:38:00.000-08:002006-02-16T18:40:40.070-08:00

I used to think I knew myself. I flattered myself, in fact, that I looked deeper inside than most, that I had clearer eyes than most, that I analyzed more than most. I was looking, all right, but I was only seeing the inside of a blindfold. For the past year, I’ve had this nagging sense of my own blindness. The more I probed, observed and analyzed, the less I understood. I didn’t add

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1138774030035279132006-01-31T04:52:00.000-08:002006-01-31T22:08:02.573-08:00

Coming out of anesthesiaI want to know how it feels to hurtI've been above it all but I changed my mindIt's time for me to come down-- Amy Rigby, "Time for Me to Come Down." There are different degrees of anesthesia. At the extreme, call it "Level One Anesthesia," you don't even know you're anesthetized. That's a very comfortable level, if you can attain it. Addicts kill themselves trying.

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1137818972833859032006-01-18T04:45:00.000-08:002006-01-20T20:49:56.373-08:00

When I post something, I’m done with it. I think it through as much as I ever want to, then I drop it on you and move on to the next idle thought that happens to distract me. A month ago I posted a piece about IQ. I tried to move on, but something about that piece wouldn’t let me. It held onto my head with a tenacious grip. It followed me around, staring over my shoulder, giving me that

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1135757704936021292005-12-28T04:54:00.000-08:002005-12-28T06:49:46.360-08:00

He does remind one of a worm, now that I think of it, his consistently fair coloration, his soft, somewhat featureless appearance, and the smooth round shape of his head all reminiscent of an earthworm. And then there's his habit of pausing with his mouth open, searching for something sufficiently sycophantic to say, I suppose, and the high-pitched way he strains to sing his words of stilted

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1135238044340290112005-12-22T04:54:00.000-08:002005-12-21T23:54:04.353-08:00

"So, what do you want for Christmas?" "Nothing." That's been my stock answer for years now. And I mean it. I really don't want any gifts. When people ask me what I want, I honestly can't think of anything. I frustrate determined gift-givers, and I'm sorry for that, for they're nice people who just want to do something nice for me and I'm just making their lives more difficult. I

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1135065642272681932005-12-20T04:57:00.000-08:002005-12-20T00:00:42.283-08:00

Mercury is killing her, or so she thinks. Even after she stopped eating fish, even after a dentist removed her amalgam fillings, even after she stopped bathing in tap water, even after she started eating with metal utensils and china plates, even after she stopped wearing jewelry, she feels her life slipping slowly but surely away. Though skeptical, I am sympathetic. A few years ago, after

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1135003668881192112005-12-19T06:42:00.000-08:002005-12-19T06:47:48.896-08:00

So late last week I notice that my most recent post has vanished. I log in to locate it, but the log in won't work. I read a notice, learn that Typepad, the service that hosts this site, is down. Not for the first time. My first thought is to save my vanished post. Thankfully Google cached it. But what to do with it? I know, mirror sites! That's what I need. So I copy the post

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134750684422958572005-12-13T05:00:00.000-08:002005-12-16T08:32:35.003-08:00

In grade school we took an IQ test. I don’t remember which grade I was in, and I certainly don’t remember anything about the test, but I do remember my score. My mother showed it to me, telling me in hushed tones that it was a secret I must never divulge to anyone. I never did. And I never will, though with the general populace’s interest in my IQ expected to remain at immeasurably low

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134777010546106742005-12-07T04:54:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:52:45.753-08:00

I had this dream the other day. A really strange dream. I was reading my biography. It was really thick, a doorstop of a book, the kind with small type in the front and even smaller type in the endnotes, and as you might expect from such a massive book it was crammed full of facts. Facts about me. As I paged through the book, my eyes swimming in the sea of facts, I remember thinking that

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134777402760835262005-12-05T04:54:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:56:42.763-08:00

“Then my father died,” she said, “and I got all the family photos. No one else wanted them. There must be thousands tossed into this banker’s box, no order at all, a complete mess. I’ve tried to organize them but I can’t. The minute I start to sort they draw me in, these old snapshots and slides, and they won’t let go. I stare myself into them, feeling long-dormant memories awaken as they

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134777539459763842005-11-29T16:49:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:58:59.463-08:00

“Hello?” “I’m so glad you picked up, did you get my messages? You’ve been so difficult to reach lately.” “So?” “So, we were wondering if we’ll be seeing you guys at Thanksgiving this year?” “Not after you disinvited us last year.” “Disinvited?” “You disinvited us at the last minute.” “Disinvited? Oh, I remember, your kids were sick, really sick, right? Throwing up

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134777593318773002005-11-25T05:00:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:59:53.320-08:00

Some people know a lot about a little, others know a little about a lot. He knows a little about a little. He's ignorant, but he isn't stupid. He knows he doesn't know. He just doesn't want to know what he doesn't know. He runs from knowledge. Try to tell him something he doesn't know, he recoils. Persist, and he dismisses you. Or he turns his back and walks away. He really

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134776207299320442005-06-06T04:50:00.000-07:002005-12-16T15:36:47.310-08:00

Friday's flight is always full. And he's always there. The business man. It's late in the day, late in the week, they're all resting but he's still working. They're decompressing while he's compressing, his head and shoulders hunched down to his laptop tap tap tapping away while his fold-down table bounces up and down in time as his legs lift up to keep a thick report wedged open under the

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134776755449774992005-03-21T04:53:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:45:55.453-08:00

I came of age in a more innocent era, a time before cable TV and internet porn and the Fox network, a time when a pre-teen boy could view the glories of naked female flesh only by crowding around a well-thumbed copy of Playboy or Penthouse one of the guys had swiped from his dad or the 7-11. We would ogle those unclothed goddesses in a hushed respectful silence until someone was moved to express

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134776337061619942005-01-18T05:10:00.000-08:002005-12-16T15:38:57.066-08:00

The invitation arrived on Tuesday for a birthday party on Sunday. At 10:00 am. Bowling at Buddy's Bowl-O-Rama. For a four year old. Bouncy and lunch to follow at the house.Late invitation -- strike one. Bowling for four year olds -- strike two. 10:00 am on a Sunday morning -- strike three. So I threw the invitation out.Big mistake. You see, the mom who sent the late invitation called the next day

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1134776421467077762004-10-22T11:27:00.000-07:002005-12-16T15:41:37.773-08:00

There used to be this busker on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Wearing a microphone and a beatbox, he'd stand on a street corner (usually Broadway and 72nd) rapping the day away.What made him special was his facility for improvising, for working people into his raps as they walked by. Always rhyming, never missing the beat, he'd describe your clothes, your expression, your hair or your dog in his

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1098220761219328162004-10-19T13:58:00.000-07:002004-10-19T14:19:21.220-07:00

I once read an interview with a singer who recorded a song with Neil Young. She arrived at the studio and Neil thrust a lyric sheet into her hand and asked her to rehearse with him. He sang it through once, then asked her to sing it with him. They sang it together, then she turned to ask him how it went, whether he wanted her to change anything when they recorded it. We just did, he told

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1098136090642631472004-10-18T14:47:00.000-07:002004-10-18T14:48:10.643-07:00

I have this odd habit of evaluating myself as I speak. While I carry on a dialogue with you, I am meta-analyzing what I say, thinking of what I could've said or should've said. I can do this in great detail, playing out multi-layered decision trees to plot out where things are, or could be, headed based on the next words that come out of my mouth. Of course, I also think of how to interpret

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097941350507459262004-10-16T08:37:00.000-07:002004-10-16T08:42:30.506-07:00

People often ask me how I got to be such a good public speaker. I tell them you just have to be yourself, and then hope that yourself is a good public speaker. By the way, the other day while speaking of sales projections to a large room packed with bored sales reps, in the middle of a particularly challenging explication of a five year sales trend chart, I paused for a moment, said "Before I

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097767908273945622004-10-14T08:30:00.000-07:002004-10-14T08:33:49.716-07:00

I love public speaking. People find that hard to believe, but if you get up there and you're loving it, people respond well. I hate preparing for public speaking, though. So today when I got up to deliver an address explaining the major challenges facing our new product line, I just talked about the stuff I read on blogs last night. I was loving it and, judging by the smiles on their faces,

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097562701049061252004-10-11T23:30:00.000-07:002004-10-11T23:32:31.390-07:00

There's this guy in our office who's got the most annoying habit of punctuating everything he says by winking his right eye, pointing his right index finger at you, and clicking his tongue against the inside of his teeth. All at the same time. Lately I've noticed him doing it more frequently, often resorting to his click routine in lieu of any conversation. Pass him in the hallway, get a click

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097276380727397522004-10-08T15:57:00.000-07:002004-10-08T15:59:40.726-07:00

In the pantheon of blogging gods, the deity behind The Single Bitter Announcement Weblog surely reigns supreme. I'm humbled.

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097194525227525882004-10-07T17:14:00.000-07:002004-10-07T17:15:25.226-07:00

Oh, it's you again. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working? Or studying? Or exercising? Or spending more time with your loved ones? Or playing outside in the fresh air? I can think of a thousand better things you could be doing with your time than reading blogs. Especially surly blogs like this one. So go on, beat it! Scram!

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1097108863233642272004-10-06T17:26:00.000-07:002004-10-06T17:28:51.710-07:00

I haven't posted anything in a few days. I believe proper blog etiquette requires me to apologize for not having posted. Or maybe I should have warned you in advance that I wouldn't be posting for a few days. That seems to be the standard practice on blogs these days. Not on this blog. I don't remember receiving your subscription payment. I don't remember promising you a rose garden, let

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096946088184247752004-10-04T20:14:00.000-07:002004-10-04T20:38:50.350-07:00

I just saw the low budget indie shot-on-digital film "Pieces of April" and I have to say I'm amazed they could make an all-digital movie for only $500,000.  Most of the characters looked so lifelike and moved so smoothly that I could've sworn they were real people.  To be sure, the character voiced by Katie Holmes did look like something only a computer software engineer could dream up, a bit "

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096912236586432052004-10-04T10:48:00.000-07:002004-10-04T20:13:46.633-07:00

Reading "Bush Signs Tax Bill in Swing State of Iowa" (AP), my first thought was "since when is Iowa a swing state?" I'd expect a swing state to have more trees, both to provide convenient branches from which to swing and to provide lumber for the construction of standalone swing sets. I've always considered heavily wooded states like Massachusetts, home of seminal wooden swing set

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096745973353779572004-10-02T13:33:00.000-07:002004-10-03T22:22:44.526-07:00

Can a character come alive on the page whilst the writer ignores significant but, uh, delicate aspects of the character's character? Take, for instance, my friend Kevin. He's a meat and potatoes kind of guy, never eats green vegetables and rarely eats fruit. His idea of whole grains is a bowl of Sugar Frosted Flakes. You cannot understand what it's like to share a car with Kevin on a road

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096657423896801612004-10-01T13:03:00.000-07:002004-10-01T13:15:51.913-07:00

Flossing is one of the smallest but most consistently satisfying of life's pleasures. Scraping the sides of one's teeth, smoothing their rough edges, surveying the plaque and stray bits of food stuck to the used floss, occasionally catching a whiff of particularly rotten detritus flushed from your now sweet-smelling mouth, it's really a very satisfying process. You might think of this blog as

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096645881475809882004-10-01T08:47:00.000-07:002004-10-01T08:51:21.476-07:00

Last night was a great debate. At the ice cream store. Mint chip or cookies and cream? I went back and forth, back and forth, then finally made up my mind and asked for "mint cream." GAFFE! I blew it. Lost the debate. Will lose the election. This morning the nice people from the Kennedy School called to offer a teaching post starting next semester. Awfully thoughtful of them....

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8543016.post-1096585137361652942004-09-30T15:57:00.000-07:002004-09-30T16:03:16.713-07:00

I just learned there's another Outer Life already out there, so I guess my only option is to turn this into a single-purpose evil-drenched blog dedicated to destroying Outer Life and all who hold it dear. Stay tuned!

Outer Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17751577287993741566noreply@blogger.com