Posted on July 28, 2024
Violence Is the Last Refuge of the Incompetent
I am fond of a saying Isaac Asimov coined in his Foundation series: violence is the last refuge of the incompetent. It’s used as an insult towards those who jump to violence because they cannot—or will not—work through their issues otherwise. As our country grapples with the ramifications of the attempted assassination of former President Trump, my thoughts turn to Asimov’s line and what comes next.
It only took hours after the assassination attempt for both sides of the political spectrum to point the finger at each other as the root cause. Meanwhile, you have elected officials calling for a civil war if their guy loses the presidential election, and the Republican presidential nominee refusing to discount political violence if he loses. These are not actions to make one comfortable with the direction things are going as we head towards November.
As violent rhetoric increases, it leads to despair. Why should we try to be peaceful if the other side refuses? What’s the point in the rule of law if the other side willfully denies its existence? We may not be over the edge yet, but we are certainly flirting with it.
Political violence, however, is never the answer. In fact, we should use the proper definition for it: terrorism. Too often we disregard terrorism as something that happens “over there” but the reality is it happens here in our country as well. Anytime someone uses violence (or the threat of it) to pursue political goals, they are engaging in an act of terrorism.
Attempting to kill a presidential nominee. Naming half of the nation evil murderers. Calling for a civil war if your side loses an election. These are acts designed to stoke terror and fear. While we don’t know the motives of the shooter, we do know the motives for the violent rhetoric that has followed—political sway.
Political violence has no positive end state. Its results sit on a spectrum of bad outcomes. The best case is that no one dies, but the rule of law is weakened as people feel justified in undertaking terrorist actions like that in the first place. The worse case is an escalation spiral that leads to major conflict, like how the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand sparked off World War One.
The following months will likely fall in the middle of that spectrum. I doubt the nation will snap out of its fever dream of partisanship anytime soon, and I pray that things have not deteriorated to the point where we have a modern-day Fort Sumter event. That said, there is plenty to be concerned about regardless of where the final political violence tally lies.
For one, it hands Russia and China golden material for their global propaganda campaigns. Every moment a democracy looks chaotic is one authoritarian regimes happily use to push why their system is superior. We also should worry about how extremists on both ends of the political spectrum are inspired by such acts to carry out terrorist acts of their own.
This is generally where people say, “Sure, violence seems bad, but what if there’s no other option? Are we supposed to just accept [insert political bogeyman here] ruining our country?” To that argument, I have two counterpoints. First, the data clearly show that nonviolent campaigns to enact political change—even in authoritarian regimes—were ten times more likely to achieve their goals than violent ones, even if the initial campaign initially seemed unsuccessful.
Second, law only exists because we believe in it. There is nothing written into the fabric of our genome that dictates whether or not I will jaywalk, shoplift, or commit assault. I follow these laws because I believe they are right and just, and because they align with my values. If someone starts believing that the other side are all evil murderers, that sending death threats to the family members of people with different political beliefs is an acceptable weekend activity, or that assassinating elected officials is the only recourse to fix what they perceive as a problem, then they have allowed their values to shift so far off the mark I can’t help but pity what a dark and twisted world they have created for themselves.
When President Reagan was shot in 1981, he is purported to have said to the surgery team “I hope you’re all Republicans,” to which the lead surgeon—a liberal Democrat—replied “Today, Mr. President, we are all Republicans.” Americans can be better than this current atmosphere of political vitriol. We should be better than this. Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent, and there is no rational eloquent enough to hide spilled blood.
Posted on July 14, 2024
My Son Is Not A Terrorist
Terrorism is defined as the use of violence or the threat of violence in the pursuit of political goals. This comes shockingly close to the experience of living with a toddler. Toddlers embrace violence, be it hitting, kicking, biting, or any of the myriad of ways a small child lashes out with malice or glee. As for political goals, what toddler does not envision him or herself as the divine monarch of their household? In their minds, they are the state, ergo their wants are political wants.
This leaves the parents as hapless civilians under threat of constant terror. My wife and I were two such innocents recently, as our toddler has realized something chilling: his vocal cords possess strange powers capable of making his parents react in new and interesting ways. What’s truly terrifying, however, is that he listened when I jokingly talked to him as an infant about military strategy to exasperate my wife. He listened, and he learned.
We set the battlefield for this encounter by taking our son out on what we call ‘adventures’—any occasion when we leave the house, whether it be heading to daycare, the park, or his personal favorite, Costco. After the usual amount of wrangling an enthusiastic sack-of-potatoes sized toddler into a car seat, we set off. All went well at first, but we could see as we began heading home that something had changed.
His eyes took on the glint of madness we’ve come to associate with troubled waters. My wife was sitting in the back seat with him when he turned to her and let loose with a shriek so potent, nearby car windows shattered. Not content with just an opening salvo, he fired off another three in quick succession. Each assaulted our eardrums with that special resonance only toddlers are capable of, leaving us broken and afraid.
Though taken by surprise, we rallied. We are grown adults, we thought to ourselves, my eyes meeting my wife’s in the review mirror. We’ve led hundreds of people, traveled to dozens of countries, and know how to spell Roth IRA. What could this tiny human throw at us that we are not prepared for?
We centered ourselves, took a breath, and retaliated with a parent’s most devastating tactic—we ignored him. My head stayed forward, my wife turned hers away, and our toddler shrieked with growing impatience as he failed to get the reaction he craved.
He grew silent for a moment, then uttered a soft “I love you, mama.” My wife turned, her eyes glistening with tears of maternal affection towards her life’s purest joy. I gave a fist pump in the front seat, certain that our firm discipline had won the day. Victory was at hand. But the power of the toddler cannot be denied.
Sun Tzu teaches that all warfare is based on deception. Our son demonstrated his mastery of this principle as he looked my wife in the eye, smiled, and shrieked directly into her face. You could see the betrayal ripple across her features, the loving adoration turning first to shock, then despair before she hid her face away in shame from the now laughing toddler. His laughter was that of Niro, fiddling on while Rome burned.
Knowing that our retribution would be swift, our execution just, our son then implemented phase two of his plan. As a student of Clausewitz as well as Sun Tzu, he knows that the best form of defense is attack. So what does this toddler strategist do?
The exact same thing. And like fools, we fell for it. Again.
It was at this point that we realized we had but one weapon left to us. As piercing as his shriek might be, as devastating as his laughter was after seeing ourselves get fooled by a two-year-old twice in as many minutes, he has short pudgy arms incapable of reaching the front seat to adjust the volume knob.
I took that knob and cranked it. The audible assault now went in the opposite direction, Taylor Swift now our Rider of Rohan coming to aid Helm’s Deep. Paired with this came the most intensive ignoring yet, one so palpable he could not help but know we focused our efforts entirely on him. Our son’s efforts collapsed into a complete rout—blessed silence for the remainder of the car ride.
We enjoyed that silence like the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo or General Washington at Yorktown, but we knew it would not last. As every parent knows, there is no true victory against a toddler. There is only surviving until the next battle.
Updated on June 30, 2024
House Hunting: Amusing, Odd, and Criminally Inclined Homes
If it wasn’t for the fact that it’s a whirlwind of stress as you grind through a slow, agonizing death march of compromising on what you thought you held most dear, house hunting would be a fantastic activity. For one, not being homeless is a huge win. You can’t take that for granted these days, especially given the Supreme Court’s latest ruling on the matter. It’s also nice to play an adult version of “house” as you walk through potential homes, pointing at blank walls and making pithy comments like “Yeah, I bet a couch could totally go there.”
The best part about it, though, is getting glimpses into the lives of the current homeowners. Sure, you’re getting a sanitized version of what their day to day is like, but that makes it even more fun to guess. We’ve toured dozens of houses the past few weeks, and three really stand out as windows into the amusing, the odd, and the criminally inclined lives of local homeowners.
First, the amusing: Cat House. We loved this house, but sadly it wouldn’t have worked out for us given a few externalities. Nonetheless, touring it gave my wife and I each a sense of connection to the owners. For my wife, it was the multiple closets and/or rooms stocked with Christmas decorations. I kid you not, these folks had more Christmas décor on standby than Russia has functional tanks built in this century.
My enjoyment came from a more mobile source. The entire time we toured Cat House, a giant Siamese cat followed a few paces behind, waiting for scratches. This feline friend is the reason behind the name Cat House, which I took great joy in ensuring was the sole way any of us—including the realtor—referred to the home from then on.
Second, we had the Vegas Retirement Home. This house had a great location, a view second to none, and a wonderful backyard. It was also themed after a 1980s retirement home on the outskirts of Vegas, the kind of place where washed up off-Strip performers go to live out their last years in complete obscurity. I’m talking off-tan walls, fake wood paneling stained the color of mediocrity, and an alarming dedication to backsplash tile reminiscent of straight to DVD set design for Stereotypical Alien Mothership. It was the sort of place you knew from the moment you stepped in you’d never buy, but you couldn’t help yourself from walking through it to get the full experience.
Finally, we come to my personal favorite: the Russian Mafia Safe House. This was a charming home in a desirable neighborhood that, at first glance, met most of our requirements. But as we toured it, more and more items popped up that felt off. Eventually, they painted a picture that I’m convinced implies shenanigans of a less than legal nature. Allow me to elaborate.
Point one: the external camera system. When I say this, you probably envision the cameras Silicon Valley has been introducing the past decade to “disrupt” the home security scene. You know the ones—cute and sleek with minimal functionality. These were not those. These were the old guard of security cameras, the kind that make professionals think twice and small children uncomfortable. One pointed directly at anyone approaching the front door, its malevolent glare reminiscent of the Eye of Sauron as it silently asked How dare you enter these hallowed grounds?
Point two: the door. Most houses have a deadbolt and a door lock for the front door. For some security conscious folks, a chain lock may be added for peace of mind. These homeowners felt the need for something with more heft. They ripped out the entire door and replaced it with a modern day portcullis that, when engaged, shot at least eight solid steel bolts into the door frame. It’s the type of door that laughs in the face of a local police department’s battering ram.
Point three: the master bedroom. Many of the homes we toured had connections for TVs in the master bedroom. While not something we want or need, I can understand why many would. At first, I took the wiring on the wall here to be another one of those set ups, albeit an incredibly robust one. A second look—followed by a third, and a question to our realtor—revealed that this was no simple cable TV arrangement. It was the nervous system for a full security suite without the screens installed, a panopticon of integrated surveillance appropriate for federal prisons or the average Chinese living room.
Point four: the AC. Colorado being a hot place during the summer, AC units are quite common. Significantly less common are two full, separate AC units for one house, particularly with one of those systems feeding solely into a single room. That leads me to said room in Point five.
Point five: the server room. I don’t know for sure that this room held servers, but for the life of me I can’t imagine what else it might have been. For one, there’s the aforementioned dedicated AC unit. Servers run hot and need significant cooling, so unless they were aging meat in a carpeted basement room, I don’t know many other reasons for dedicated temperature control of that level. The room also was ready to rumble when it came to wiring, with outlets every two feet or so along its wall for electricity and dedicated Cat7 (yes, Cat7) ethernet cabling.
Oh, and did I mention that the entire thing was maybe the size of two closets slapped together width wise? With two separate doors to enter? When I asked the realtor for what she thought the room’s purpose was, I got a puzzled brow, a few sentences aborted halfway through, and an eventual shrug. It reminded me of a line from the show Resident Alien: “I’m getting a whole lot of random **** from this area right here.”
One of these points by themselves wouldn’t have meant much. Heck, even two probably wouldn’t have resulted in more than a raised eyebrow. But all of it together screams shady shenanigans, so I’m sticking with my original theory of Russian Mafia Safe House.
Obviously, we put an offer on it. A very nice man named Vladimir called to let us know it was no longer on the market. Shame, that.
Posted on May 19, 2024
An Empty House
An empty house is an interesting thing, particularly one you have no intention of filling. I have had six major moves in my life and we are in the midst of number seven. Movers showed up this week to grab all our stuff, which led me to two conclusions. First, with creative arrangement, air mattresses can make great couches. Second, we have way too much stuff.
As I sit here on the floor, I’m amazed and somewhat disgusted at the sheer number of things that have accumulated around me over the years. I remember my first move consisting of a single trunk and a few duffel bags. The next got packed up in a single crate. This time? Seven. Seven full crates. Who knew owning furniture was so volumetrically challenging?
Furniture aside, there’s comfort in having a purge release valve built into your life. Having mandatory moves across the world every few years serves as a forcing function to take a look at what detritus has a swirled around the eddies of your life. Having the requirement to sit down and sort through everything you own into separate keep and discard piles is liberating.
It can be difficult to let go, though. Sure, I bought this tube of nutmeg five years and two continents ago, but what if I need it? And these flip flops have been with me for over twenty years now! Yeah, there’s a massive hole in one of them and they somehow hurt more to wear than walking barefoot, but can you put a cost on emotional attachment?
Which brings me to the non-tangible debris. Getting rid of physical junk is hard enough. Tossing out the mental baggage is even worse. With boxes, you can see whether or not something has been opened from move to move. What we carry around in our minds and souls has no easy classification. It waits and grows where we plant it, often in the dark recesses we prefer to avoid.
Again, this is where these moves—with all their hassle, their stress, their chaos—are a blessing. Each time we uproot our lives and move to a different place in the world, we are plunged into a new environment. Our jobs change, the people around us shift, our hobbies adjust; everything becomes something else. In that sea of change, it becomes easier to toss a few unwanted packages over the side. Easier, not easy, but easier nonetheless.
So as I sit on the floor of this empty house, having put in the time to separate what will come with us across the world, I will take the time to think about what will stay behind. And I will feel all the lighter because of it.
Posted on April 23, 2024
Get Off My Lawn
Watching a toddler grow fascinates me. Every day seems like it brings new developments, especially with physical skills. Our son has two new favorites: the headbanger, and the butt-first stair slide. Admittedly, these skills aren’t anywhere on the milestones provided by the American Academy of Pediatrics, but he has mastered them regardless.
Today, though, I don’t want to talk about my son’s newfound talents. Instead, I want to talk about how watching him exercise those talents pains my aging body just by association. I have never truly felt old until I started watching my son do things to his body that would put me in traction for a month.
Take the stair slide. He enjoys sitting firmly at the top stair, shouting “Bum!” at the top of his voice, then slamming his butt down on the next stair with the force of a sledgehammer. Rinse and repeat for the rest of the staircase. My spine weeps watching him. For the headbanger, he will repeatedly rear back his head as though crying out to the heavens for absolution before slamming it down onto a convenient pillow and/or stuffed animal like a starving hyena cracking open an elephant’s rib cage. Just typing that made my neck cringe.
Let me really sink this home for you. As I type this, I have a heat pad on my lower back to help it recover from an injury last week. What did I do to hurt it, you ask?
I attempted to put on a sock.
I have spent years playing contact sports, lifted weights for decades, and have a deep respect for warm ups, foam rollers, and yoga. My body has now decided that bending over while lifting one leg is an abhorrent practice that must be punished like sinners in the Old Testament—swiftly, severely, and without mercy.
Laid low by a sock. Pack it in boys, we’re calling it. It’s time to buy a bag of Werther’s, bust out the shuffleboard, and join the AARP.
Posted on March 24, 2024
Promises, Progress, and Payoff: Earning A Story
Developing a skillset often comes as a double-edged sword. You may have more ability, but you also recognize flaws where previously you had only blissful ignorance. As I learn more about writing and the storytelling process, I see its effect trickle into everything story related. One unfortunate casualty? Movies and television shows. In particular, movies and shows that don’t earn their story. Let me explain.
I’m going to steal liberally from Brandon Sanderson’s teachings here, but seeing as he’s one of world’s most successful authors, I feel it’s appropriate to crib from him. At its core, a story needs three things: promises, progress, and payoff. Promises are what you layout at the beginning to hook the audience, progress shows the characters and plot working towards those promises, and payoff is when we get the reward at the end. Simple, right?
Simple, yes. Easy, no. After all, we don’t consume media for simplicity. We consume it to be entertained. If your promise is too modest, the progress unchallenged, or the payoff anticlimactic, your story flops onto the deck like a dead fish, one glaring eye staring upward as if to say “Why, brother?”
This understanding, I’m beginning to realize, is ruining media for me. Take the new Percy Jackson show. [Fair warning, spoilers for episode two ahead]. There is a scene where he beats three children of the god of war, Ares, in a sword fight. It’s supposed to be a triumphant scene, but instead it made me roll my eyes so hard I got nauseous. Let’s break it down with the three steps: promises, progress, and payoff.
We see Percy get bullied by the lead Ares kid early in the episode, then again midway through. The inherent promise is that eventually, they’ll have a confrontation and—since we’re rooting for Percy—it’s one he’ll win. The payoff is the conflict itself, in this case having Percy defeat the bully and her thuglets. Connect those two dots with some progress and you have a nice, tidy moment for the audience to celebrate.
There’s only one problem: the show does nothing to show any progress. In fact, it does the opposite, spending significant time showing Percy failing miserably at every skill he tries his hand at. But then—out of nowhere—he can hold his own with a sword he’s barely touched against three children of Ares who have clearly trained for fights like this. No lead up as to how he could do that, or where those skills may have come from, or any sort of progress that would cause a reasonable person to think Percy would do anything but get his teeth kicked in fighting these three. Instead of triumph, dead fish flop.
These moments pop up everywhere for me now, and it’s both satisfying and frustrating. It’s satisfying because I can see my own ability to recognize the tools of storytelling better, which hopefully translates to my own writing. It’s frustrating because most shows and movies are littered with these dead fish flops, and it’s hard to unsee rotting Pisces.
It’s easy to be an armchair writer critiquing a story from afar. It’s much harder to pull off good storytelling. I imagine it gets even more difficult when the writer doesn’t actually have the last say in things like is the case with visual media. But it can be done, and it should be done. My hope for future Netflix binges depends on it.
Posted on March 10, 2024
On Speechwriting
Fifteen months is long enough to feel like an age and short enough to vanish in a blink. It’s also short enough to make you feel like an expert in something, but long enough to know better. I spent the last fifteen months as a speechwriter, and the experience taught me a few things.
First, the number of tricks an orator can use to win over an audience is astounding. Some are subtle, some overt, but even applying basic skills to a speech takes it to a much higher plane of expertise. That memorable twist on a cliché that stuck with you years after the speech itself faded away? Someone workshopped that. The alliteration that made a speaker’s poignant point perforate people’s perceptions? I guarantee a thesaurus got cracked. This is not to say that speakers are tricksters out trying to con you—though some are—just that you, too, can speak better with a little bit of effort.
Second, we are all speakers, and we are all audience members. Every day, you step out onto the stage of life and speak your heart out. You may do it with a smile or you may trudge your way through it, but you do it no matter what because communication is everything. At the same time, you are judging others as they stand upon their stage doing the same. We talk at each other, with each other, and past each other in a never-ending show. But like any show, only the most memorable performances live on in the lives of those that witnessed them.
Third, words on paper are worth nothing. Only words that are spoken matter. You can write the perfect speech and make no impact if the delivery falls flat. Vice versa, someone with presence, pacing, and panache can turn the most dry and miserable kindling into a roaring fire of passion. The real lesson to learn with this, though, is that few—if any—are blessed with the skill to do that without practice. Even those who seem capable of delivering an ovation-worthy address with no preparation have likely spent years honing their craft to reach that point. None of us are born with the ability to speak, and like any skill, those who dedicate themselves to its mastery will always outperform those who don’t.
My biggest takeaway from this experience, though, is that we rarely give our words the attention they deserve. It’s all well and good to speak from the heart, but that also leads to needless wandering, repetition, and mistakes. The casual cruelty delivered on accident is no less harmful than one sent with precision, and digressions far afield from the topic make speakers’ mouths dry and audiences’ minds empty. It would be a shame to go through life and never learn to use the gift that language can be. As Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “Speak clearly, if you speak at all. Carve every word before you let it fall.”
Posted on February 25, 2024
I Use 100% of My Brain and You Can Too! The Nature of Pervasive Myths
I’m currently reading Adam Grant’s Hidden Potential, which has been quite enjoyable so far. One data point from the book, however, stands out. The popular educational belief that each of us has a preferred learning style (e.g. audio, visual, kinetic, etc), is a myth unsupported by any experimentally based evidence. Fascinating as that is, what really interests me is how the study proving that came out in 2008, yet I have had multiple instances since then in professional environments where the learning styles myth was pushed as fact.
Myths like this have a pervasive nature to them that’s hard to dislodge. Six years after it was disproven, a survey of British teachers showed 96% of them still believed in it. If those in charge of teaching—theoretically those most likely to update their thoughts on learning techniques based on the most recent evidence—are still misled, what does that say for the rest of us? Heaven knows there are a plethora of myths out there still taken as gospel by most of us: left brain-right brain distinctions, classical music makes babies smarter, people only use 10% of their brains, opposites attract, and cardio kills gains.
There are plenty of reasons myths like this take hold and never let go, but I think the biggest is that we like simple answers to complex problems. Life is complex and no one wants to dig through the muck to find a “maybe” instead of a definitive answer. Take the learning styles myth. Which would you prefer: recognizing that every single learning situation has different context that continually shifts, and you have to adjust your style, effort, and intention to match it…or just say you learn best with pretty pictures and call it a day?
That’s part of why demagogues are so successful—we look at them and think “They’ve got this all figured out, why not support them?” They offer up simple—and wrong—answers to some of life’s most complex problems, and people go along with it because that’s easier than coming to grips with how much of life is outside of our ability to impact. That is the true answer to all of this, unfortunately—you have to recognize the vast difference between what you can control and what you wish you could control. No one says that’s easy, but it’s necessary if you want to avoid falling prey to the latest charlatan with an answer to all of your problems.
Updated on February 25, 2024
Tales from a Toddler
My son is an advanced child. Not in the sense that he’s displaying the precursors to Mozart level brilliance, no. He has firmly established himself in the realm of Terrible Two well before reaching that milestone via days existed. As my wife and I stare wide-eyed through tantrum after tantrum, my thoughts spin towards what his thoughts must be during these little spells. Here for your enjoyment, I present Tales from a Toddler. (Note: for maximum enjoyment, read in whatever voice comes to mind when I say pretentious British aristocracy)
* * *
Entry #1: Mother refused to grant my desires this morning. I clearly and with great articulation expressed my need for liquid refreshment. What does she do? She brings me some! The gall of this woman. Obviously, I meant that I did not want any such thing brought to me. She should have left it on the floor and turned her back so that I might recover it in peace on my own schedule. I shudder to think of what fresh purgatory the remainder of my childhood shall become with such caretakers.
* * *
Entry #2: The audacity of these people. Don’t they know that when I say “no poop”, I am fully aware that my diapers do have, in point of fact, a prodigious quantity of fecal matter? I am merely expressing my desire to keep said excrement close by on the off chance I need it for artistic endeavors later on. One never knows when the muse will strike, and I—unlike my caretakers—strive to always be prepared. At least I was able to perform a double half-twist with perfect form during the attempted changing. It’s important to maintain one’s flexibility, after all.
* * *
Entry #3: My father is an imbecile. This man returns home from work and sees me yelling “Dada! Dada!” through the window before running to the door to greet him and what does he think? He imagines I am there for him! Does he not realize it is my stuffed kitty that occupies the whole of my world? Father is but a means of conveyance for Kitty, and a poor one at that.
* * *
Entry #4: I never knew sentient humans could possess the spatial awareness of a bird striking a window. Mother continues to operate under the false impression that she is allowed to sit on the couch. This is clearly intolerable. How can she not see that her position remains firmly on the floor next to the couch? I have explained this to her with great vigor on multiple occasions, yet she continues to persist in this folly. Truly, I do not understand this woman.
* * *
Entry #5: The caretakers disrupted yet another creative masterpiece today. Riddle me this: were your chefs to provide you with a lovingly crafted presentation of wholesome bread covered by a delightful nut spread melody paired with sliced fruit and an assortment of cheese, would you not also immediately chew what was most readily available before spitting it into your hand to then throw at the floor? How else is one to see what the Fates and the muse together might create? And to think they called it a mess! No one appreciates my brilliance.
* * *
Entry #6: Again, Mother refuses to grant my desires. Upon providing me with a pair of sunglasses—last season’s design, but let no one say I am not magnanimous—she attempted to put them on my face. Unacceptable, of course. What she needed to do instead was put them on my face. What could possibly be simpler? Perhaps if next time I scream louder that she must put them on me as I fight her attempts to do so, the message will finally sink home.
* * *
Entry #7: I have no words. I do not doubt the good intentions of my caretakers, but I am increasingly convinced they lack the basic mental capacity for communication. Though I clearly explained my request, Mother denied me the simple enjoyment of licking my pee-filled bathwater off the shower floor. Father, of course, agreed with her—he always does, fawning underling that he is. The day was not a complete loss, thankfully, as I managed to rub some of it onto my face before they stopped me.
Posted on January 21, 2024
Dream Homes: A Functional Guide
So, you’re in the market for buying a home. Congratulations! This is an adventure for you and your family, one you’ll look back on for many years as you fight to keep your new home upright. Before you go off finding who will let you slip the farthest into debt, you should keep in mind a few tips and tricks from someone who’s been there before.
Some people might say the three most important things to consider in a home are location, location, and location. Some people would be wrong. As you dive into your new all-consuming passion, you only need to focus on one thing: backsplash.
I can hear your rumbles already. What about number of rooms? Square footage? Functional plumbing? Well, my friend, riddle me this: what does every room and feature to a home have? A back! And what does that back need? Splashing! Allow me to illustrate.
Picture your dream home. Now get rid of it, because that’s a dream and we live in the cold hard world of reality. In your dreams, each house curls itself in a warm, loving embrace around you. Every color choice is tasteful, every baseboard pristine. In reality, people sometimes carpet their bathrooms.
You see, much like actual dreams, a dream house only exists in the ether of your imagination. It spins you off into a world of wonder, only to vanish in a perpetually groggy morning. Everyone has an idea of what a dream means to them, and rarely do those dreams line up in the light of day.
Now take your mental picture to a walkthrough of your new kitchen. The realtor described it in glowing terms as rustic and authentic. This translates to exposed studs because of crumbling drywall and what looks like stab marks in the cabinets. But the layout is close enough to your dream if you squint, and surely you can get used to that stain on the counter that looks like Elvis. If only there was a cheap, easy way to freshen it up.
Enter the backsplash! Take a quick trip to Amazon or Home Depot and stare in awe at the options modern society has provided you for DIY home enhancement on a budget. Want something boring like fake tilework? Done. What about fluorescent hexagons to make you feel like you’re one with the hive? Easy. But let’s not restrict ourselves to such pedestrian pursuits. You want to dream, right? Let’s dream big!
Is your coin jar getting out of control? Slap some pennies around your cabinets and proudly explain how your kitchen remodel cost exactly $14.93! Having some trouble shaking your kleptomania? Plunder with a purpose and remodel with stolen road signs! Does your local subway system confuse the kids? Test them every morning over breakfast! Do you want something that puts the splash in backsplash? Try live fish! Do you like rocks? Glue some to the wall! Want a pleasing symmetrical design done in an ad hoc fashion with all the fidelity a stick of chalk can offer? Of course someone has done it!
Backsplash is the equivalent of trying to explain your dreams to friends in a way that won’t make them rethink their relationship with you. Only your imagination can limit you, and we already know you have one of those for thinking you can afford a home in this market. Now get on out there and splash it up!
