Every month, the good folks at Facebook send me 10 bucks for no good reason

Right from the start of today's post, it's important to mention two things, at least one of which you already know:

(1) This blog is an exceedingly small part of the Internet and is read by only a handful of exceedingly smart individuals (that's the part you already knew).

(2) I am fully aware of this fact and harbor no illusions of the blog's reach and influence.

Having established that, I will also tell you that every month, without fail, the Facebook people send me $10 or so for being a "digital creator." And since 90% of my Facebook posts are blog links, they're basically paying me for driving traffic here to 5kids1wife.com

This is funny to me for several reasons, not the least of which is that I would be doing the same thing even if they didn't pay me. It's also funny because I'm sure there are powerful cyber-influencer types to whom Facebook (actually its parent company Meta) pays hundreds and probably thousands of dollars.

What I get is chump change, and deservedly so.

Still, the fact is I get it, which means the engagement I create on Facebook must be worth something to Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg.

I don't know why Mark finds my traffic to be of value, but he is, if nothing else, pretty savvy when it comes to making money.

The actual amount I receive depends on how many Facebook likes, comments, clicks, etc. I generate in a certain month. It varies from as low as $8 to $12 or more. I just say $10 because it's an even number and it sounds good.

Until I started receiving these payments from Meta, I didn't know this is how the Internet works. The more traffic the better for these giant digital platforms for whom more eyeballs on advertisements means more revenue.

You will be glad to know I invest these monthly stipends back into the blog to make it better, which is to say I usually buy coffee with them. Coffee motivates me to write, which keeps all of you graciously coming back, which keeps 5kids1wife.com going.

So every time you click on one of my blog links, or like or comment on one of my Facebook posts, you are stimulating the economy, which feels like a very patriotic and admirable thing to do.

In the end, your engagement doesn't really benefit me so much as it benefits you and our whole economic infrastructure.

So keep being a virtuous person and click/like/comment to your heart's content. You are an upstanding and high-minded citizen.

Yeah...that's it. 

Our oldest kid consistently brings the funny

One of the funniest people I know was born on this day in 1994. She also happens to be my daughter Elissa.

Elissa's humor is perhaps best described as "dry," "biting," and I'll go so far as to say "dark."

Whatever you want to call it, she makes me laugh all the time.

She is, for example, a master of using capital letters to humorous effect in texts. A funny word is somehow 10 times funnier when Elissa types it in all caps for emphasis.

Each of our kids has the funny gene, but Elissa started at a particularly early age. I remember one time when she was very young – maybe 18 months old – riding in her car seat while Terry and I sat in the front. A song I liked came on the radio, so I started singing along.

Suddenly from the backseat came a little voice urging me, "Sing it, Scotto."

Terry and I died. Elissa knew she was funny, and she has never wavered in her comedic confidence since.

Elissa's hobbies include crocheting clothes for her plastic goose Fernando, who sits in her front window and entertains the whole neighborhood with his fashionable 'fits. Only someone with a deep sense of the absurd would spend so much time making a plastic goose look good.

I am inordinately proud of her.

Happy birthday to our first child and the headliner of our family comedy festival. And thanks for the laughs, kid.

Three aspects of modern life that would have amazed my 8-year-old self

This isn't me in the late 70s, but given the tube socks and the somewhat confused expression, it could have been.
 

I was born in 1969, making me a relatively early Gen Xer. The world in which I grew up in the 1970s and 80s was a very analog one. Everything was bigger and clunkier. It was just a different time.

If you took 1978 Scott and transported him into the world of 2025, here are three things he would immediately notice:

(1) Cars are quieter and less smelly

When I was little, cars ran on regular leaded gasoline. That gas produced a certain kind of exhaust, the smell of which was different from the smell most cars emit today. It was heavier, more industrial, and more (I guess) "gas-like." Cars were also generally louder, even the ones with good mufflers. You could hear a car coming from a greater distance than you can today. Right away, 8-year-old Scott would be impressed by your low-noise, low-exhaust cars of the future.

(2) There aren't as many cords and wires everywhere

The first place I ever remember seeing a wireless television remote was, I believe, my Uncle Still and Aunt Jean's house in North Carolina. We visited there in 1976, and they had this space-age clicker that changed the channel with no physical connection to the TV. I couldn't understand how it worked, though I'm sure it was primitive compared with the remotes of today. We didn't have a remote of any kind in our house at the time, and even the ones we got when cable TV came along four years later had these long, gray cords that cluttered up living rooms and basements across America. The wireless revolution has made us forget how most things needed cords to operate back then.

(3) Smoking? Not nearly the thing it once was

I've written about this before. Many (even most) adults you knew were smokers back when I was a kid. Both of my parents smoked. So did Terry's parents. Heck, we made our moms and dads ashtrays in art class as presents. People smoked in most public places, including malls and grocery stores. You just kind of got used to the smell, though I certainly never liked it...and to this day I've never even tried it. 1978 Scott would wonder where all the clouds of cigarette smoke and  the cig vending machines had gone in 2025. And as someone who was anti-smoking from a very early age, he would love it.

Five first names I wouldn't mind having

(NOTE: This post originally ran here on the blog 12 years ago today on March 19, 2013. It's our monthly Blog Rerun and a list of names I still wouldn't mind having.)

I like my first name. Always have. But if I had to change it, here are five alternatives I wouldn't mind:

(1) BRUCE: Seems like a solid, manly name. Maybe because it reminds me of Brut aftershave, a bottle of which could often be found in our house when I was growing up in the 70s. The bottle was green plastic, which probably spoke to the quality of the product inside, but I thought it smelled nice. And some bottles of Brut came with a cool silver medallion. I would wear the Brut medallion today, if given the chance.

(2) TIM: Tims are good people. You don't run across a lot of annoying Tims. And if you do, they're most likely a "Timothy." Big difference. (NOTE: In no way am I implying that guys named "Timothy" are necessarily annoying. Just some of them. If you're named Timothy and you're reading this blog, you're probably not annoying.)

(3) DAVE: The Tim Rule applies here, too. I have good associations with the name Dave. Like Dave Matthews, for instance. Seems like a good guy. Someone you'd want to hang out with. Or my brother-in-law Dave. He's a good guy. Or former Cleveland Indians manager Dave Garcia, who according to Wikipedia is 92 years old and still going strong. Apparently Daves live a long time, which is a plus. (NOTE: Dave Garcia passed away in 2018, five years after this post was published. He was 97 years old, so the point stands.)

(4) HANK: A dark horse candidate. I used to associate Hanks with people missing most of their teeth. But then the TV show "Royal Pains" came along, and now I think Hank is kind of hip. Still, it's hard to separate "Hank" from Hank Williams, and it remains my go-to generic hick name. But it's still an up-and-comer. (By the way, have you noticed so far that all of these are short, one-syllable names? So is "Scott." I'm just lazy enough to want a first name that doesn't require a great deal of effort when writing it out. Let's see if #5 bucks the trend...)

(5) KAI: Not only did we stick with the one-syllable pattern, we actually went back to the three-letter first name. "Kai" is a cool name. It's actually a relatively common name in several different cultures, most notably in Finland. I associate "Kai" with Kai Haaskivi, a Finn who played professional indoor soccer here in Cleveland back in the 80s and early 90s. "Kai" also means "probably" in Finnish, which is fitting because I would "probably" be the coolest person on the planet if my name was Kai.

HONORABLE MENTION - DJ: My dad wanted to name me DJ. As he explained it, it wouldn't have stood for anything. Just the letters "D" and "J." I think I would have liked that, but he was overruled by my mom. And as we've mentioned before, the pregnant woman always gets veto power over name suggestions. It's OK, Mom. I really do like Scott...

I experienced the luck of the Irish 39 years ago

One time Terry and I went to Australia and we took this photo that is for some reason tilted. The only explanation I can think of is that, if you look at a globe, you will clearly see that Australia is upside down, so it makes sense that we would be a bit off kilter, too.

I write these blog posts about five weeks in advance. Sometimes I'll adjust if a topic is more time-sensitive, but for the most part, I like to stay well ahead of the game.

When I'm trying to think of a subject about which to write, I'll first consider the date on which a particular post will publish. In this case, of course, it's St. Patrick's Day. But it's also the day before my wife's birthday.

So which do I choose? Considering it's a family-oriented blog, the logical choice is to write about Terry, which I've done many, many, many times in the last 13 years. And for good reason. Without the 1 Wife, there obviously wouldn't be the 5 Kids.

But there's also the fact that she is the reason and the foundation for so much of what I do every day. When there are life choices to be made, I make them together with her. If I'm stuck on a particular problem, I will usually pray first and then go right to her.

If I have no idea where we keep the small red cooler with the white lid (and I don't), I will ask her.

I've known the woman since 1986, and in that time I have used essentially the same list of adjectives to describe her over and over. She is smart, funny, pretty, generous, honest and kind, and she has a smile and a laugh that make life worth living.

You do not have to tell me I hit The Wife Jackpot. I'm well aware.

It's a day early, but if you want to wish her a well-deserved happy birthday now, I think it's entirely appropriate. In fact, I'll do it myself:

Happy birthday to my four-leaf clover.

A Room of One's Own

 

When Terry and I were first married in 1992, one of the upstairs rooms in our house was designated "the computer room," but it was in most respects really "Scott's room."

Oh, we both used it, but I was the one who "decorated" it, if you want to call it that. It had hockey and music posters on the wall. It featured stuffed Bill the Cat and Opus dolls from my favorite comic strip of the time, "Bloom County." It had a little nook in which I placed the Yamaha keyboard on which I would doodle from time to time.

As I was just 22 years old at the time, it was in some ways the college dorm room I never had.

It was the only room in the house over which I had (or wanted) any real say when it came to what we put there and how it looked.

Fast forward 33 years to our current house and this tradition of giving me one room to play with has continued. Terry uses our upstairs office all the time, but most of the stuff there is mine.

There are, for example, three bookshelves to hold my personal library, including this one devoted largely to my military history books:

And on top of that is a little shrine to our dearly departed cats Fred, George and Charlie:

The music theme continues in this little corner with the inclusion of two instruments (a keyboard and guitar) that I technically cannot play, though that never stops me from trying. Note that the room also contains my alto saxophone, which for the record I can play.

On the walls are various photos reflecting my interests, from a large autographed image of Sting to an autographed Lake Erie Monsters (our local hockey team, now called the Cleveland Monsters) layout. I also have a map of the Appalachian Trail and these two pictures of my mom and dad presumably taken on Parents Night when I played high school football:

Above those are my undergraduate and graduate school diplomas from John Carroll and West Virginia universities, respectively:

There's also a closet containing music and sound equipment and a large bin of sheet music I won't even bother showing you.

The point is that, while this room will never win any interior decorating awards, it's my room, and I love it. Terry does a wonderful job putting together the other rooms in our house, but I'm very grateful to have one to myself.

After all, I have helped us make a lot of mortgage payments over the years. It feels like I've earned a few square feet of my own.

I didn't think I was especially old at 55, but then...

Even when I was very young, I never thought 55 was particularly old. And I still don't, given that I turned that age myself a few months ago.

Then three things happened that gave me pause:

• I drove past the site of a new development here in Wickliffe where 55-and-over housing is being built. A sign out front referred to the soon-to-be-constructed houses as "senior living" units. Senior living.
  
  
• I was flipping through the Wickliffe Connection, our town's quarterly newspaper, when I came across an article about the Wickliffe Senior Center, which I've always thought of as a nice gathering place for the very elderly in our community. Then I noticed this line: "Anyone 55 and over may become a member" of the Senior Center. I'm sorry, what??
  
  
• Every year, my company generously makes a lump-sum contribution to each employee's 401(k) account. This contribution is a certain percentage of your eligible earnings, with that percentage rising as you get older. The age group receiving the highest-percentage contribution – the old fogies of the company who presumably need the money the most – is 55 and over. Yes, I'm now considered essentially the same as a 70-year-old. I appreciate the infusion of cash, but that one hurt.

I guess I always thought stuff like this didn't happen until you turned at least 65. But even as lifespans increase and people generally maintain their youthful vigor for longer periods, we're suddenly associating age 55 with "senior citizen," and I'm admittedly shaken.

On the other hand...

I'm thinking Terry and I should consider moving into one of the new 55-and-over houses and joining the Senior Center. It may be disconcerting to find ourselves in the old person demographic, but compared with our prospective neighbors and fellow Senior Center members, we'll be the young, rowdy kids! Like the slightly overweight person who hangs out only with very fat friends, by comparison, we'll be the life of the party.

Shuffleboard at our house. 3pm tomorrow. BYOE (Bring Your Own Ensure).