I Contain Multitudes

The proponents of AI tell me that one of things it can do is eliminate writers block. Well if that’s the case, then how do they explain my inability to find much to write about these days? When I am in a rut, I usually do what Rob Brown does in Finding Forrester — keying in letter for letter an old text written by my reclusive agoraphobic mentor for a hopefully long forgotten New Yorker article (only to find out that one of the readers of my blog is in fact an obsessive fan of my mentor, thereby identifying me as a cheater and the only way I can get out of the jam is to get my mentor to appear in public for the first time in decades.)

But now with AI, what? I am supposed to Claude: give me something to write about? Like a prompt generator?

GTFO.

The blank page is in fact daunting, but I am in fact, still the man now, dawg. So it’s a trade off and one I am willing to deal with until my fingers stop operating. So without much to really say, but with the on going quest to write at least once a month something that falls in the purview of: not on the clock, here we are.

The best I can do right now for conceit is “A few ideas that I’ve been wondering about.” Let’s see if we can get it to 5.

1. Is my wrist broken?

I ask myself this at least once a day.

About a year ago, I fractured my wrist — ever so slightly — in a skateboarding accident. I wore the brace for six weeks. Eight, if we're being honest. But still, there are days it just hurts. I use a fist anytime I have to support myself with that arm: leaning on a bed, getting off the floor. It's a lingering injury.

Prior to the wrist fracture, at 38 years old, I'd never broken a bone. So I don't know — do bones just never feel right after you break them? Is this going to be an occasional pain forever?

Here's what I've done to address it. First, I tried to get my primary care physician to x-ray it in November. It's been five months, I told him. It still hurts sometimes. Let's take a look.

He said no. Didn't want to expose me to radiation if I didn't need it.

The dentist, on the other hand, x-rays my teeth every six months without a second thought. What's the difference? The dentist used to make me wear that big lead apron — they've even stopped that. Have dental x-rays improved to the point where radiation is basically a non-issue?

Rebuffed by my doctor, I sold my bike. Not exactly a one-to-one thing, but my road bike — curved handlebars, built for speed — always left me sore for days after a ride. The strain of leaning over those handlebars, keeping body weight on my wrist. Not debilitating. Just achy. And I am a delicate beast who doesn't like aches.

So I listed it for sale. No one's bought it yet. In the meantime, I bought a commuter with a far more suitable handlebar situation. But even that leaves me with radiating pain for about twenty minutes after I ride.

So again: is my wrist broken?

A friend once told me a horror story about breaking her wrist as a child — how her dad identified not only the break but that, without his quick thinking, she might have lost her hand. I can't remember the details. The broad strokes are that it wasn't just broken, it was broken dangerously. That was day-of, not a year later. But try telling your brain that a story it heard once about a different person's injury doesn't apply exactly to your situation.

What I'm saying is: I spend a lot of time wondering if they're going to have to cut my hand off.

I think most of this would have been resolved had I gone to the follow-up appointment the urgent care doctor scheduled. But out of spite for the $1,300 bill — which I fought for three months and got reduced to around $300 — I skipped it. Healthcare charges ruin lives. I might lose a hand because no one will tell me if my wrist is still broken.

In high school, a classmate died when a bone chip from an accident traveled into his bloodstream and ended up in his heart. Or something like that. The details are murky. We were in high school. 9/11 had just happened. I was trying to make out with my girlfriend in a basement. But I'm pretty sure there was something about a bone chip. Can that happen a year later?

TBD. Watch this space.

2. The issues with me running for PTO.

I badly want to be more involved in my children's schooling. Maybe this is a passion I take up in my 40s. As it stands, we'll be at this school for five years — and there are only a few reasons I could see that changing. Primarily: I hate the parking lot. Is that a good reason to change schools? No. But it's currently at the top of my list.

Here's the situation.

From the east, you can see the parking lot. It looks like a normal parking lot. But between 8:50 and 9:05, it's a hellscape. In theory: one way in, one way out on the south side. In practice, the parents have decided that the driving lane between the parked cars and the sidewalk operates as three lanes. Parking perpendicular to the stalls, then a driving lane, then more parking along the curb. Some people — guilty — park in either lane and walk their kids to the door. Others park and wait, watching their kid walk in. A third option is to idle in the driving lane, let your kid out, and block everyone in the parking lane until the kid gets out.

It's terribly inefficient and wildly dangerous. Have you ever seen a kid in a parking lot who's excited about school? Or seeing a friend? Or furious about school? Or sad about saying goodbye? Parking lots are dangerous to begin with. Add small people and big emotions and it's amazing more kids don't get run over.

On a nice spring morning, the area is merely dangerous. But toss in snow — which we have here in Minnesota from, conservatively, November through March — plus a school district unwilling to plow functionally, and those three lanes get tighter, traction gets questionable, and more people are driving than walking. The whole thing becomes basically inoperable. It sucks. I hate it.

So you can imagine my delight when I found a new parking space.

I can only assume it's meant for utility trucks — it's near the garbage and recycling bins — but for a four-minute drop-off, it was almost always open. The catch: you had to back in. And if there's anything I learned in Qatar, it was how to back a big vehicle into a tight space. For a few months, this secret spot was my salvation.

Until a new class of offenders arrived.

Functionally, the three cars shown are doing an A+ job. Good job. One backed in, two pulled forward. No notes.

The problem is the drivers who see an opening along the sidewalk — indicated by the red arrow — and claim it as their spot. It's open for a reason. It's a driveway. Minimal problem if they're just waiting for a kid to hop out. Slightly larger problem if that kid is still in a car seat. Larger still if there's a younger sibling who also needs to be extracted while you walk the first one to the door. And now we've got a backup.

Cars pulling in from the right toward the secret lot, other cars blocking the exit by sitting in the driveway. Throw in snow, or a kid running away from his mom, or who knows what, and suddenly you've got two bad options instead of one. I still prefer this spot to the hunger games of the main parking lot — but it's maddening to watch someone pull up to the secret space and then just not use the three parking stalls sitting right there.

Drive eight feet further. Park in the parking space. Your car is in park — put it in a parking space. This is not rocket science.

So why can't I run for PTO? Because I don't think anyone else thinks parking is a problem. This is simply the narrative we've all agreed to ignore.

PTOs are generally concerned with things like equity, fundraising, events, volunteering, and maybe some notion of curriculum aspirations. In Minneapolis, given the ICE situation, our PTO has been heavily involved in organizing safe passage for kids to and from school. So some of these parents I've been lightly shading were, in fact, transporting extra kids.

Am I irrational for thinking that being a good Samaritan doesn't absolve you from being a bad parker?

We currently have community observers stationed on corners all around the school, watching for ICE. I am vehemently anti-ICE. I am also aware of how insane it is that this is what I'm fixated on. I contain multitudes. But could we weaponize these observers to also guide parking? Like airport security gently dictating drop-off lane policy? They've already got whistles. Can we blow those whistles to move people into the right spaces?

To ensure nobody's parking illegally. There are enough spaces for everyone to operate smoothly. We just need a master of parking ceremonies. No one is corralling the stakeholders and I am not ready to be the one attempting to step up. Someone else please be as worried about parking as me.

Here's a proposed system: dropping off? Use the secret space on the right. People queue, kids get out, cars leave. Want to walk your kid to the door? Use the lot — but find an actual space. People in, people out.

Badda bing.

This is not fundraising. This is not ICE prevention. This is not event planning. It's parking.
And as a bonus: if you've got a few minutes while you wait for your kid, bring a shovel. The school grounds aren't maintained. Help out.

That's my platform. I just don't think it's electable. I am simply the wrong messenger.

3. Summer travel.

I went a lot longer on parking than I expected. If you know anything about me, this should not surprise you.

Here's a quick rundown of what we've got up our sleeves for family travel this summer. It's both exciting and mildly dread-inducing. I used to long for travel. Now it sort of stresses me out.

Admittedly, my wife is going to take the brunt of the pressure head-on. She hates packing but will do it militantly, weeks ahead of time. She's packed and repacked for the whole family three times before I've even pondered which suitcase to bring. We approach travel differently. This is probably for the best.

Our first adventure happens in a few weeks: she and I head to Atlanta for a wedding. I've never been. Neither has she. Never even been through the airport, so this is pretty groundbreaking. We're leaving the boys with family, driving seven hours to Chicago, then flying out of Midway. Three days in Atlanta. It'll be her first time on a plane since 2020 and only my second. We used to fly what felt like every six weeks, so a six-year gap is really something.

Have they updated planes? Has travel moved forward? Backward?

There was a moment I thought: oh no, we'll need to rent a car in Atlanta. Then I remembered Uber exists. I am simply travel rusty. We'll get there. We'll have a good time.

Upon returning, we drive into Wisconsin for a weekend — another wedding. The boys are stressed about this one because we've kept them in sweatpants for their entire lives and now: wedding attire. Nothing crazy, but Roman is button-averse. And Eliot senses fashion weakness. Bribery will be required.

Then the two-week sojourn. First, a flight to Long Island by way of Baltimore — I reasoned I'd rather sit in Baltimore's airport than on the LIE in a rental during rush hour. We're meeting Leen's family there for about eight days. After what I'm sure will be an eventful stretch of city travel, beach days, and pool time, we fly into Milwaukee and drive to a cabin on the shores of Lake Michigan. Capping it all off with a five-hour drive home.

How does my car get from Minneapolis to Milwaukee? Sort of TBD. I think we've got it sorted, but it'll stress me out until the minute I'm in the van.

What are you doing this summer?

4. Buying new things.

I bought a pair of pants the other day. The guy told me they were from the same brand as Jeremy Allen White's t-shirt in The Bear (Merz b. Schwanen).
Honestly, not the selling point. I just need more pants for the office. Chef t-shirts aside.

We've also been eyeballing a hybrid for Leen. Her CRV is logging serious miles — she works way north. The debate: used with a bad interest rate, or new with more sticker shock. Decisions, decisions.

And it's mattress shopping weekend. You in the market? We've been on the same mattress since 2020 and, as we've both become hot sleepers, the foam situation is simply not cutting it. The mattress review market is unfortunately all liars — I learned this during my brief stint in affiliate marketing. The internet is mostly lies now, so maybe I should be less precious about it. But I still want something less gamified. I just don't want to buy it at a big box store.

Box store or mattress in a box. Decisions, decisions.

What are you sleeping on? Foam? Hybrid?

5. HBD Roma.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention him. He turns five this weekend — which is why I saved this for number five.

We threw his party last weekend. In doing so, I arrived at a realization I think is useful for any parent navigating a new school situation.

He's in PreK at a new building. Everyone is new. We've made some acquaintances, he has some friends, but he's four. So when it came time to build a guest list, we couldn't figure out who to invite and who to cut. We decided: just invite the whole class. Skip the politics. We made an invite, sent it to his teacher to push out on the communication app, then made fliers and sent them home in backpacks.

This was the worst-attended birthday party we've ever thrown.

I've had parties where we invited five kids and got five kids to show up. This one: twenty invites, four attendees. Three friends we'd specifically texted — heads up, please come — and one family whose daughter just really likes Roman.

Here's what I think happened. When everyone gets invited, it feels less essential that anyone shows up. I know this because we've been on the other side of the blanket invite. We've mostly ghosted those. No offense — we just didn't know the kid, or had something going on, or didn't.

The lesson: invite the friends. Get the smaller cake. Generality is worse than specificity. I had food for forty people. I threw away a lot of pizza.

Que sera sera.

To be clear — he had a great party. He loved who showed up. The weather was perfect. I'm only talking about guest list construction.

This weekend: a smaller family shindig, a hotel staycation, some LEGO, more cake. He will be a happy camper.

Happy Birthday, Roman.

I am technically parked in a space reserved for customers of a place I left two hours ago. I was a customer.
How long does that status hold? Can they tow me? Am I the problem I spoke of before? Parking woes are a two way street.