Well, financially illiterate anyway. Maybe not completely illiterate, I can sign my name and make out the various nouns and verbs of the financial world. Let’s say I’m at the “see spot run” phase of financial knowledge. The most troubling thing is that according to everyone except my psychiatrist, I am an adult. An adult with a high school diploma and a college degree. Sixteen YEARS of schooling. And yet finances, beyond paying the guy at my bodega for 3 lbs of cheese, is this mystical world beyond the scope of reality. And I’m not alone.
Recently, I was introduced to a new concept of personality called grit. My only previous understanding of the word was as dirt or, when pluralized, a favorite food of the former Confederate states. The only time I had heard ‘grit’ used to describe a person is in relation to John Wayne and Jeff Bridges.
So what is grit? According to researcher Angela Duckworth, it is the single greatest indicator of success in your life! But wait, you might say, what about intelligence? Grit’s better. What about intrinsic talent? No grit, no good. What about the fact that I was genetically engineered by German scientists to be ÜBERMENSCH!… If the wissenschaftlern neglected the grit in the recipe, I may have a tough time of it. So what is grit?
Freedom is really important to Americans.
“Land of the Free“, “Freedom of Speech”, “Freedom of Religion”, “Live Free or Die”, “Let Freedom Ring!”, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty! Free at Last!”, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe Free.”
The Unofficial Motto of the United States: Freedom: We FUCKING LOVE IT!!
And in NYC it seems to many citizens that Freedom is under attack. Evil, vicious, fascist, neo-Nazi attack… because the mayor is taking away Soda!
The insistence of parents that young children should extricate themselves from a jumble of pillows, sheets and blankies (yeah, I said “blankies”… like a boss) and then immediately turn that mess into an aesthetically pleasing picture of old-timey bedding perfection has always seemed to me the greatest injustice in parent-kid relations since the dawn of time. Perhaps the dawn of beds. Because I know and you know and they know and the imaginary monster under that messy bed know that the bed-making charade if futile because the bed is just going to get messy again.
What is this injustice!? What is this stupidity? Room cleaning likewise ground my gears as a child. I was not showing my room to the public at large. It was my solitary space used for the accumulation of dirty clothes, very pointy toys and a varied amount of lost foods and deadly fungi. What should messiness matter?
Well here is goes: Making your bed makes you better at life.