A Jack of All Trades Mindset

I enjoy a lot of hobbies, and sometimes that can feel a little like that means I’m not good at anything. I took up cooking recently because my wife and I were gifted a cast iron skillet that I fell in love with. I started by getting a couple of cookbooks, trying out different recipes, then going off-book and coming up with my own, now slightly-informed concoctions. And it’s been going well. I know more herbs and techniques now than ever before in my life, and I love the creative process of it all. Not everything I churn out is menu-worthy, but some stuff is.

And as with any activity, trade, or artform, there’s always more to learn, and there’s more going on under the hood than appears on the surface. That’s true when you learn anything, and it’s part of what can make everything fascinating. Once you realize everything’s that way – there’s a starting point, a process, progress, and development – anything new you try is at the same time more daunting and more accessible than it was at first glance.

It was that way with rock climbing and running, when I did those back in the day; I’m a big Magic: the Gathering player and it was that way learning the in’s and out’s of the game; same way, albeit simpler, for my recent backgammon obsession; similar to learning how to bend notes and operate your tongue playing the harmonica; and it was the same when learning how to shoot a bow back in the day, learning how to stand, how to use your shoulders and set your hips, how to release without plucking, how to breathe, etc.

Frankly, I’m kinda good at a number of things, because I’ve pursued them with interest. But the downside there is feeling like I also kinda suck at everything, since in each of those avenues mentioned above, there are loads of people who are better at them than me.

I’m better now at cooking than I was a few months ago, and it’s been real nice to impress friends and family with my newly acquired know-how, but next to any truly savvy cook, I’m a total chump. I’m much better than your average person walking the street at using a bow and arrow or playing Magic, but would be a slack-fingered halfwit on the line or at the table next to anyone who trains and/or goes to tournaments. I earned my first ever backgammon against a good friend the other week, but your average club member would probably use me to mop their floors.

But – and this is a big ol’ nice jiggly “but” – being the best at your hobbies shouldn’t be the point.

Kurt Vonnegut had a good story once about being sent a letter from a fan, and while I’m foggy on the details, I do remember the advice he had for said fan: Go home and write a poem. Make it the worst, most stupid and dumb-sounding poem that’s ever existed if you have to, then rip it up into tiny pieces and scatter them. The point isn’t in having the poem to show off, but in having written it. Art isn’t supposed to be done for a sale (funnily enough being said at that point by a profoundly successful professional author – an irony he himself points out). The whole point of art is to do it and enrich yourself by doing it. So write a shitty poem, sing a song that sucks, make a clay pot that’s ugly as sin – just do it, though.

I’ve raved before about how great a lesson the Pixar movie Inside Out had to give out, and up there next to it is the movie Soul. If you haven’t seen it yet, skip to the next paragraph, starting…now, but in essence the lesson of that movie is that a single-minded pursuit is the best way to miss out on life. The main character is so wrapped up in his romantic pursuit of being a jazz musician, he not only misses out on the joys of his daily life and he’s shocked to see the realities of that life don’t fit his ideal once he becomes one. It takes a cartoon cat to show him that life is about the small, loveable mundanities, the variety. No one slacks him for having a dream, it’s just that there’s more to life than that.

Now, there is a certain nobility to giving up a varied life experience in order to power-level one particular skill, to eschew other interests and pleasures in pursuit of mastery of one specialized thing. The star athlete that devotes every waking thought and action toward championship of their sport, the craftsman that locks themselves away in pursuit of perfection of their art, the businessperson that is single-mindedly focused on whatever they heck they’re doing – there is a certain degree of honor due to that lifestyle. But I’ve been stuck with the following quote ever since I came across it, spoken by Lazarus Long in “Time Enough for Love” by Robert Heinlein: “A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”

So in conclusion, does a part of me lament not being the best at whatever I set myself to? Yes, a little bit. Does the rest of think that’s a pretty stupid thought? Absolutely. I think it’s kind of awesome to celebrate the talents, displays of skill, and ingenuity of our fellow peoples. We, individually, can’t do everything, we never will, and it’s a load off to realize that. Should we strive to be good at what we do? Sure, in the name of accomplishment and enjoying whatever thing is in question, but not to the detriment of that enjoyment.

Shoes for Little Sap

by Evan A Davis

It’s cool knowing a little bit about a lot. 10/10, would recommend.

ALSO! If you haven’t heard, got another story out there, this time courtesy of Abyss & Apex Magazine. So check them out and tell them how much you really like “Shoes for Little Sap” by that Evan guy.

Our Daily Bread (+ News)

“Quickly, help me with him!” shouted the first. “It’s the only way he can be saved.”

The second solemnly shook his head. “You know, if we do this,” he said gravely, “he will never be the same.”

“If we don’t, he will die! He’s already begun to turn, before long he’ll fall apart entirely. I’m not going to leave him here to rot!”

The first searched his feelings for a moment, before taking a deep breath and relenting. Together, they lifted their beloved elder and carried him to the steps of the Great Door, and upon its opening, felt the wintry breath of the beyond.

“Lo, there do I see my father,” spoke the second. “Lo, there do I see my mother, my sisters and my brothers. Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning of The Journey.” He began to sob, pain wrestling with the words. “Lo, they do call to me, and bid me take my place among them.” He placed a hand on their elder, snowfall already burying their feet.

“Rest well, brother,” he said. “Wait for me, beyond the bread.”

“Beyond the bread,” echoed the first.

Then, with heavy hearts, the two bananas closed the door to the freezer, and retook their place in the fruit bowl on the kitchen countertop.

*

[THE EXPLANATION]

So, I thought I was hilarious when I first scribbled this one out. And to be fair, I do still chuckle when I read it back to myself. I’ve shown it to a few friends and get nothing but a raised eyebrow and a “Huh…?” back. If it didn’t come across, it’s a couple of young bananas taking an older banana that’s started to spot and turn brown up to the freezer, where it later has a chance of being made into banana bread – which, if my wife has taught me anything, is the promised fate of all bananas that wind up in the freezer.

I’d also just watched The 13th Warrior, which is likely where the Lo speech came from. If you got it and enjoyed it, freaking right on! Thank you for the validation. If not, I mean, I get it, and thank you anyway.

Lastly, if you haven’t heard or don’t remember from last time, I have a story coming out! Yeehaw’s and Woohoo’s all around. The lovely little tale this time is called “Shoes for Little Sap”, and it’s coming out with Abyss & Apex Magazine on Monday (4/1/24), so keep a look out.

Shoes for Little Sap

by Evan A Davis

Writing is just a Gambler’s Fallacy (+ News)

I’m gonna do one of those things I dislike, which is writing about writing. It always feels…I don’t know, almost masturbatory in a way, even if it’s self-deprecating. Like in movies or shows, or any of Stephen King’s short fiction where the protagonist is a writer, it strikes me as so obvious that I’m just consuming somebody else’s self-insert fantasy.

Which, I mean, what else am I subjecting your potential eyeballs to with this rant, really?

My point is that rejection letters are a part of this game. They go along with that saying of how success is 1% reward and 99% work that others don’t see. Speaking of 1%, actually, a lot of places I submit work to have an average acceptance rate of 1% or less. I take that to mean that I can expect 99 rejections for every pickup I get, or to put it another way, I have to try 100 times for each success I can expect. Now, I’ve beaten the odds on that a fair bit, but rejections start to get a little brutal when they pile up without a win somewhere in the mix.

But there are things that keep me at the table.

Like when a rejection is personalized. Most are form letters, templates, fine. But when one is personalized to say “Hey Evan, I liked your story. Here’s what it did well, here’s what missed, and we almost accepted it, but have to pass this time. I know it would have been a good pay day with great distribution and you were this close, but nah. Better luck next time. Kisses.”

Boof. Ouch. I think back to Loki’s words in the first Avengers movie, talking to Nick Fury: “It burns you, doesn’t it? To have come so close, but then be reminded of what real power is?” I don’t know what “real power” is in this analogy, but shit, yes, ouch.

That said, my brain can’t help but focus on the huge other side to all that: So…you’re sayin’ there’s a chance?

The truth is that there are a million reasons why work can get rejected. Loosely paraphrasing an essay I read from an outlet, Dream Forge, on the subject: Your story could have been funny and a good fit, but the editor who read it just didn’t feel like funny that day. Could have been the slush reader who happened across your story in the pile just went through a break up and took it out on you. Your story about kickass ninja vampires on the moon could actually be a perfect fit, but it just so happened that the story just before yours on the stack was also about kickass ninja vampires on the moon, and they accepted that one because they saw it first.

So submitting fiction is a lot like playing the lottery, if you don’t have an agent or a hook-up (and maybe even then, I don’t know). And knowing that I got super close to a win makes it feel like I’m about to, you know, just like the logic that the steretypical gambler that uses to lose their house at a blackjack table.

And there’s also the rush to consider. Either when an acceptance comes through, or even just when a new prospect or idea surfaces. I get a lot of my news about available submission windows through newsletter services like Freedom With Writing and Authors Publish, and most times when I send out a bevvy of submissions, it’s like sending a bunch of soldiers out on a suicide mission. I know most of those aren’t coming back.

But you have to try.

And when a fresh wave of new submission opportunities pops up in my email, scanning through them to look for anything promising…ooo, the rush of potential is what keeps me addicted to trying. And in the background, I try to always have something cooking, some new grist for the mill.

And sometimes those come through.

My story, “Shoes for Little Sap” is coming out with Abyss & Apex Magazine on the 1st. It’s cozy, quick, and has a special place with me, both being a former NYC Midnight piece of mine and something I read to my mom when she was in hospital some years back and got her to smile. (I remember thinking then and there that the story had served its purpose, and I’d be okay if it never again saw the light of day after that. Of course, pretty thrilled to have it be published, but still, you get my meaning.) So yeah, check it out! I’ll be bugging folks about it on here more between now and then, but mark your calendar anyway.

The Challenger (A Napkin Note)

Zzzit’ck climbed the precipice until he stood at the ziggurat’s peak, and there he beheld Her.

“I have come, Titaness!” he bellowed. “Another challenger to bask in your glory and one who will defeat you! Many have fallen where I now stand, and I have taken the mantle of their number, their valor, and their memory. Now come, Great Lady, face me and reckon!”

And lo did the goddess, fierce and unknowable, strike down the challenger with unconquerable fury.

“Ugh, God,” Sarah grunted.
“Hmm?” grunted her husband.
“Every night I find, like, a single ant on my nightstand and I’m getting sick of it. Can you pick up more traps from work tomorrow?”
“Hmm,” he grunted again.

END

A Quiet Strength

A few of us had nothing to do so we just decided to skate at the middle school until it got too dark. We headed out the gate out past the soccer field and saw a bunch of fire trucks in front of one of Michael’s neighbor’s place. No fire or anything, but there were a bunch of people standing around and we wanted to see what was up. We texted Buzza to meet up, saying we were probably going to go get stuff at the corner store before heading to Austin’s for some Gears. Then we just killed time, talking shit, laughing, until he got back to us.

After a while, this guy comes up to us. He has his hands in his jacket pockets all casual-like and nods to us with his head. He looks like he’s forty or something.

“Hey guys,” he says with a little laugh. “How’s it goin’?”

“Not much, just hangin’ out,” says Riley. But nobody really says anything else. The dude is weird.

“Right on,” he chuckles, then nods his head at the scene. “Any idea what happened?”

“No,” we tell him, but he sounds like he does. “What’s up?” we ask.

“Ah, right on. Yeah, no, I guess Nancy got a call – that’s the lady on the front lawn there – yeah, she got a call from her kid, Jess. I guess she came home from a friend’s and found her dad after he put a gun in his mouth. Redecorated the kitchen wall with it, too.”

“Damn,” Michael answers. “No shit.”

“Yeah,” says the guy easy enough. “That’s why she’s on the lawn now, coroner’s dealing with the body, you know?” I mean, we didn’t, so no one says anything. He sort of sighs. “She’s probably wondering what to do now. Besides losing him like this, she’s got the two kids, her job she might need time from to sort things out, probably wondering how she’s going to keep the house now without him…but once she’s pulled herself together, she’ll probably focus on the kids first and foremost, and the rest will follow from there. But her life’s going to change now, a lot, that’s for certain. Can’t hardly imagine what she’s going through right now.”

The group was pretty quiet. The guy was making his point.

“Yep, anyway,” he sighs. “You guys were being pretty loud. Might be good not to do that here. Have a good night, though.” And with that, he brought his shoulders up against the cold and walked back to the house.

Oof.

So, while fictitious here, it’s based as faithfully as I can remember on a conversation that actually happened. We were the gaggle of teenagers, hanging out together and thinking the world was ours, when that guy approached. And I remember specifically that Austin and I afterwards talked about how much like utter crap we felt, rightfully so. It wasn’t on purpose, but we were being assholes, given what was going on, whether we knew it or not; and that guy did everything right.
He approached us, informed us in his own way the severity of what was happening and that which we were unwittingly taking lightly, and asked us (without asking us) to leave. If he’d come down on us with fire and brimstone and “Get the hell out of here!” we wouldn’t have listened, and I’m sure he’d calculated it that way. Rather than leaving with a good lesson seared into our brains, we just would have felt like hooligans that had gotten away with something and talked about “how much of a dick that guy was.”
It was also an excellent demonstration of strength, one that’s quiet, sure of itself, and calm, and I think about that guy every now and then, some fifteen years later. I don’t get angry or blustery very often (and if I do, 99% of the time it’s over something dumb and in a fun way, like over a game of Catan) mostly because when a feeling like that would start to swell, a wave of embarrassment washes over me first, prompting me to measure out my response and consider how I want to be perceived or have my point taken.
And now, looking back on this little memory, that nameless, calm, sure, compassionate guy probably had a part to play in it.

Athena vs Aries (An Excerpt)

“What I find funny is this: Do you think Greek peoples worship the Greek pantheon today?”

“Probably not, no.”

“Right, but they did in ancient times?”

“Well, yeah. At least most did, if not everybody. How else are they going to get all those statues?”

“Totally. Last question before my point: Do you think they thought of the gods as real, or as ideas?”

“Mix of both, likely. But would it matter?”

“Totally, and in some ways, maybe. Take Athena for example, goddess of wisdom, right? More specifically, she’s the goddess of wisdom in battle. Strategy and tactics in war. Ideas. Pieces on a board. That might be why she’s depicted beautifully and with strength. But war is the domain of Aries, right? And his statues aren’t always as pretty. Some are, when he’s being glorified, but many others show him as savage and scary.

“That might be because while Athena rules the strategy, tactics, and pieces on the board, Aries is the brutal, on-the-ground reality of war. So when a soldier died, feeling the sharp steel of a spearhead tearing through his guts while far from home, that was Aries. When a once fresh-faced young man had to lie face down in a slurry of mud, blood, and feces in hopes of being overlooked while the enemy combed the dead slaughtering survivors, that was Aries. And when a child’s memory of an unremarkable, warm morning fades as she watches from beneath the bed as her mother has her body pillaged by rabid men, the stink of her blood and the sweat and the breath fills her nose, she’s staring deeply into the eyes of Aries himself.

“I think the gods had their statues built out of a mixture of worship and of fear, but I think that’s always been the way that power has been displayed to people, and I think that’s on purpose.”

A Brief Discussion About JOMO

I’m not a hermit, I don’t play one on TV, but I do sometimes fantasize about being one.

Of course, when I say that, I’m sure I do mean “not a real hermit,” but a squishy kind. I fantasize about a cozy, far-away cabin, tucked away in the cradling arms of some distant mountain, where I could spend my days as I wished in pleasant solitude. Of course, in that daydream, that cabin also has central heating and WiFi.

But precisely what makes that a daydream is that that isn’t the real world. In the real world we have responsibilities, obligations, endure a constant barrage of attention-grabbing things and whatnot. In a world where we lead our lives in a seemingly increasingly faster and faster manner with so much going on, I’ve no doubt at least some of you have heard of the term FOMO: a Fear Of Missing Out.

If you don’t suffer from it yourself, I’m willing to bet you know someone who does. They always need the new thing on its release, or better yet they preorder it. They want to be a part of conversations they would/should otherwise pass by, and they anguish the thought of missing an event or announcement that’s got any degree of public interest. And sometimes, either feeling eroded by the anxiety of FOMO or being surrounded by those afflicted by it, it can feel like you’re on the outside.

Well, please allow me to enlighten you.

I’ve never really felt the pull of FOMO, but as I’ve gotten older (I’m 30 now, yeesh), I’ve it’s become even less so. I never would have thought to describe myself as a private person, but evidence builds more and more to the contrary. I love my friends, I love my family, I like going out and doing stuff – I do. But I also kind of love not. It makes me feel like a boring lump to say it, but dang, I enjoy quiet afternoons or evenings after work just spent at my desk, by myself in the kitchen, or on the couch. In the earlier paragraph where I described the cabin daydream as providing “pleasant solitude”, that was a careful word choice. Solitude, not isolation.

If this sounds like you at all, allow me to present to you the delightful cousin to FOMO-

JOMO: The Joy of Missing Out

Just as schadenfreude describes the tiny inner thrill at another’s pain, JOMO is the tiny inner thrill one might experience when plans get cancelled or postponed. Have dinner plans with a friend or for a beer after work with a colleague that fall through? Mmm, nice. Had plans to see a movie with your cousin but something came up and now you have the afternoon free? Cooool.

It doesn’t at all mean you didn’t want to do those things or that you dislike those activities or the people involved. You very much were happy to grab that beer, get that dinner, see that movie, socialize and all the rest, and for sure maybe there’s a pang of disappointment in there. Totally.

But that little breeze of freedom you feel now too? Aaaah, that shit’s JOMO.

So there, hopefully if you’ve felt the same way, or have wanted a way to express it but couldn’t quite find the way, now you have a word for it. And with words come power.

Go forth an enjoy life with the power of JOMO as you wish, you triumphant bastards.

‘Longest Road’ Thinking and Being Behind the Curve

Self awareness is an important skill, and I do think that it’s a skill. Some folks are good at it off the rib, and some of us need to cultivate it carefully through attention and practice. In my view, it’s an important skill too, maybe the most important as it relates to one’s degree of emotional intelligence, as other forms of empathy and the ability to interpret others’ actions and words can spring from your own self awareness.

And I believe much of this following an infamous game of Settlers of Catan.

I enjoy boardgames and shared tabletop activities a lot (talked about that recently, in fact). It’s a great hobby that can be social, intellectually challenging, adventurous and just plain fun. But that doesn’t mean it comes without its faults. I’m reasonably certain everyone has those family members or know a That Guy who’s either overly competitive, prone to being spiteful, or otherwise capable of ruining a good boardgame night.

One night – and what’s follow isn’t to say that Alan was being a That Guy, in fact, it might have been me in this case, but – we were over at our close friend Alan’s house for a dinner thingy and game night. On the docket, Settlers of Catan, and for sake of a cast, the players are myself, Alan, my wife Mandy, and our friend Micah.

You’re likely familiar with Catan, but if you aren’t, the short version is that you’re trying to reach ten Victory Points, and you do so by building Settlements, Cities, and Roads through collecting resources and trading them with other players. Everyone starts with two Settlements on the board, and thus, everyone starts with two points. Just eight more to go! There are also bonuses you can earn by, for example, building The Longest Road. <grumble, grumble>

So the game starts and right away Micah starts kicking the rest of our asses, to put it mildly. In a few short rounds, thanks to his admittedly strategic planning, shrewd trading, and some good luck, he rockets up to seven Victory Points. SEVEN! The rest of us all still just have our starting two. Part of that pool of points is the couple one gets for having the Longest Road.

I planned my start poorly that game, so my prospects at eventually winning are slim, but I could build roads. In fact, it was just about the only thing I could do. So I start aggressively building roads on the map to try and steal some points back from Micah, give the rest of the table a chance to catch up. In a round or two I’ve nearly surpassed Micah on roads, and much to my shock, confusion, and dismay, Alan blocks my move.

I…I stare at him. My flabbers are ghasted. My bams were well and truly boozled. And so I ask Alan, my dear friend whom I love just what the fuck he was doing.

His response: “…but you always get Longest Road.”

I discovered that night that I have a pet peeve when it comes to boardgames. It…God, it gets under my skin when somebody makes a tactically stupid play at the table. I don’t mean making a mistake, or a Hail Mary longshot, or forgets something, or has a misunderstanding, or even makes an admittedly risky choice for the sake of a big payoff or just for chaotic fun. Those things are all either understandable or are great in and of themselves. But when someone makes a decision that goes directly against even the most basic and rudimentary strategic sense…

Even writing this now, this game having taken place years ago, I shake with fury at his answer.

To reiterate, as I did to Alan then, all I was capable of at that table that night was building roads. You cannot win by building roads. You must construct Settlements and Cities to win. In blocking my road expansion, Alan only hurt our collective chances of competing with the far-and-away frontrunner, Micah. And I tried explaning that past games just cannot matter in one like this, especially with the dynamic at the table at present.

But it was cool. I pivoted, redirected my expansion and went another way…and he blocked me a second time, for the same reason.

I almost flipped that goddamn table. And it’s a heavy table. And I have a bad back.

Now please don’t imagine I made (much of) a scene. I’m not a voice-raiser or a shouter. And I don’t get angry at much. For the most part, I find displays of anger to be more embarrassing than they are likely to be justified – just my life experience. But like, I did berate him pretty good, but not with anything that was cutting or couldn’t be within the (stretched) bounds of good fun. And I still bring it up. And will do until we’re geriatrics, likely.

Anyway, what do I bring up this story and any of the rest of it for? Well I’ve come to find that ‘Longest Road Thinking’ – that is, an emotional response to a situation that actively hurts the one having it while simultaneously justifying said response as being helpful – can be found off the Catan board and out in the real world. In fact, I’d be willing to be that over the course of that last sentence, a few examples from your own life (or social media) probably sprang to mind.

But while relating these things to real life – another detour.

There’s a documentary out there called Behind the Curve. To summarize it here in brief, it explores those in our society that believe in a flat earth, and in my opinion it does a fair job of presenting them as neutrally as could be done, allowing prominent members of that community involved in the work to represent themselves rather than poke low-hanging fun at them. The juxtaposed flat-earther interviews with those of astronomers, psychologists, and other scientific minds as a sort of counter, foil, or opposed argument to balance them.

In the end, the documentary posed Flat Earth Thinking – that being something which to you might make perfect sense or seem perfectly adequate, despite those around you disagreeing, sometimes vehemently – is something that can happen to any of us, and challenged the audience to consider what thing, what belief they might hold could be their own personal Flat Earth, and why they hold that particular belief.

Tying this rant together in an effort to bring it to a close: Settlers of Catan is just a game.

Boy howdy, did Alan’s stupid, stupid move with blocking my road not deserve the amount of energy I’ve given it over the years, but I like to harness it differently now. Now, when I catch myself having an emotional trigger to an event, it gives me pause. Not always a big one, but just enough to consider if the thing I’m considering doing or saying is about to block someone’s longest road.

Bikes, Bows, and Everything Else

I recognize that I’m saying this from the perspective of a first-world dweller, but I like simple things. I think it’s part of what keeps me frustratingly (for my friends, not me) about five years behind any kind of trend or bandwagon, and by now most of my friends know not to ask if I’ve heard of something before those requisite 1,825 days.

As I mentioned recently, I got married in October. My wife was the one who taught me about this “wedding registry” thing, and she held most of the interest in keeping and updating it for the longest time. My brain just didn’t have the depth for considering things like receiving wedding gifts. That was until a couple of our friends gifted us with a two’fer: a serving set of margarita glasses and a cast iron skillet.

Y’all, I love that skillet.

Even when we opened them, we both gave audible happy sighs, but then she grabbed the glasses and I hugged the skillet, silently each telling the other, “I love you, til death do we part, but if anything happens, this is mine and that’s yours.”

In the months since then, I’ve taken a real cooking turn. I bought a couple of cookbooks (The Official D&D ones – Heroes’ Feast and Flavors of the Multiverse – because I’m a nerd) and have been churning out culinary creation after creation. A lot of the credit goes to my aforementioned spouse for challenging me to bake her a cake a few years ago (which has gone on to become a solid tradition) for first introducing me to the magic that is following a recipe, and the rest goes to that skillet.

Certain things on occasion call for using food processors and immersion blenders, but I’ll modify as I need to in order to eschew those and make due with the following: a knife, skillet, hands, yum. That does the trick nine out of ten times, and it had me thinking of the tons of kitchen gadgets and shiny things that exist out there for cooking. And that had me think of a couple other encounters where I think it’s easy to be oversold, namely bikes, bows, and everything else.

I remember a time I was at my favorite archery shop. I’d just finished at the range, had packed up, and was milling about before leaving. All sorts come through, from hunters, competitive shooters, casual and seasonal shooters like myself, to total beginners. One such newbie was looking around the store, thinking aloud on where to start, when another somewhat-new guy approached him. I’m all for being helpful, but I…disagreed with his advice.

“Yeah bro,” Sorta New Guy told him, “I tried all sorts of bows when I started looking, and I just got my first. Now, you can get one of those beginner units, and that’s all well and good or whatever. And this puppy” (he said, hoisting up his own, pretty expensive compound bow) “cost me about $1,700, but let me tell you, you get what you pay for. You can feel the difference.”

Which to that I say, you can…to a point.

My bow is a faithful steed that was just a baseline Great Tree recurve, out-the-door all said and done for about $300. He’s stuck by me for north of eleven years and…well, got me preferable results up at the line than Sorta New Guy with his bells and whistles.

Am I against bells and whistles? No. Am I here bragging? Well…a teensy bit, yes. But just more to say that that dude way overbought, and that a sturdy, reliable, baseline set can demonstrably serve you for over a decade. Kind of like the above-mentioned “knife, skillet, hands, yum”.

The other encounter was when I went shopping for a commuter bicycle about six years ago. This was an expensive purchase, but that’s because…I won’t lie, I guess these things are just pricey. Mine cost me about $1,000, which hurt, but I genuinely think it’s immortal. And when I was looking at bicycle prices, the costs could be little dinky ones for less than mine, ones like mine, and then quickly and suddenly up into the thousands of dollars, then thousands of thousands of dollars. Like, Jiminy Christmas, I guess if you’re Lance Armstrong and microseconds count to you in a race, but outside of that, no thank you.

The lesson I found in these things is this: More often than not, baseline will do you. Like bikes, bows, and everything else, stuff can and will get as expensive as you want it to be, but wow will that not really mean that it’s much better. It’s about the skill you apply (or eventually apply, through learning) that will make the difference.

And that’s the fun part.

Would Your Coworkers Survive the Apocalypse? (Oh, and Happy New Year!)

Wowzers. Happy New Year, everybody. I know it’s a little belated, but I think I also kind of just wanted the first blogged word of 2024 to be “wowzers”, if I’m honest.

Hope your respective holidays were all grand, and your Resolutions such as they might exist are so far going to plan. Normally, I’m big on making Resolutions for the New Year and doing what I can to see them through. Thing is, I’d made a habit out of making Resolutions that were ambitious to a degree that I would need to devote an average of six hours a day, every day, for the whole year to see them through.

It’s usually a list of things I’d like to accomplish, since I find vague Resolutions such as “Swear Less” and “Get More Sleep” as being too easy carry out for a day then check off one’s list. “See? Went a whole day without saying ‘F***’. Good enough.” Whereas giving yourself things to accomplish can bring about those changes you want to see along the way to completing them.

This time though, rather than a huge list of things like Run a Marathon, Write a Book, Save Up $100k on a $30k Annual Salary, and other huge tasks, I’m going more moderate. I AM going to finally finish my novel manuscript goddammit, but now instead of a marathon I want to run an old trail I used to when I was active; and instead of a million dollars in savings, I’ll settle for actually starting my 401k like I’ve been telling myself I will and doing my taxes on time this year (like I also always tell myself I will).

Anyway, enough potatoes, now for the meat.

[After this quick note, because speaking of po-tay-toes, my wife and I went to a Lord of the Rings trivia night a couple weeks ago. I recently finished reading the books, and we did a rewatch of the extended cut of the movies. I wanted to be extra prepared though, so I also took a few online quizzes to make sure I was sharp, and you know what? We got first place and a $25 gift card for our efforts! So whoever said being a geek doesn’t pay can cover their own tab.]

Right. Potatoes done. Meat now.

I remember asking this icebreaker at a wedding once, and it earned me a friend for the night. It isn’t applicable to everyone, since everyone’s work environments and professions vary wildly, so I just picture a “typical” office setting when I ask it. It goes as follows:

If the apocalypse happened while you were at work and you couldn’t leave – say the building you’re in gets buried in radioactive snow full of mutant beetles or something, I don’t know – and communications are down so you’re isolated with just your colleagues now, what sort of hierarchy do you think would emerge?

To think of it another way if you need it, your coworkers and you are all stranded together on a deserted island. Do you think the organization of the workplace would persist into that new post-apocalyptic, survival scenario, with the managers and whatnot still giving directions and organization to the lower level workers? Would it stay that way because it’s easier and pre-existing? Or would that all dissolve and reshape into a new form of leadership, with Lyla from accounting becoming the new Chief and the old CEO Todd now relegated to being the Water Boy?

The guy at the wedding who I asked about this was pretty quick to posit the latter scenario, though when he said it, he started with “Oh, f*** those people,” so his answer could be considered biased.

I would get into a larger conversation about how thinking on it a bit creates an interesting perspective on social organization as a whole, and why we follow the rules we generally follow in our daily lives (Social Contract, and all), but that’s too brainy for this little pocket of the internet we got here, at least for right now.

For right now, it’s a fun question to pose to fellow wedding guests or to make conversation when you don’t know anybody else at a party or something. Tools for life, that’s what we provide here at the Light of Day.

Go now, in peace and power, y’all, and conversate with strangers about how you’d likely cannibalize Eddy in IT or something.