Writing every day as MileNerd was a huge part of my life for years. Recently, a friend asked me what it’s like to not do it anymore…
Still kind of strange, to be honest.
There were so many things that were a regular part of my world for a long time…
The thick stack of emails waiting every morning…
The feeling of pride from being the go-to guy people trusted in this hobby…
The fun back-and-forth interactions with “strangers” throughout
each day…
And just the warm feeling that came from our unique connection. I loved doing it. You guys loved that I did it. It all felt really…nice.
So, it’s still a bit of an adjustment.
I guess the next logical question is…are there any positives
from stopping?
Well, I do interact with a “normal” number of people each day now. So there’s more time for other passions, like one of my all-time favorites…
Observing the strange creatures known as “human beings.”
In fact, I’ve spent the last few weeks as a fly on the wall of Twitter. As a non-fan of social media, I wanted to get a closer look at the people of 2019. Clearly, we think and communicate differently than ever before. So I decided to invent a state-of-the-art machine. I call it…
THE 2019 TRANSLATOR
This remarkable machine has the ability to convert the strange noises people make today…into actual words. So, without further ado, here are some results from The 2019 Translator…
Translation: It’s 2019 and I won’t be “shamed.” If you suggest I improve my health…you’ve crossed the line.
Translation: It’s 2019, so my brain is gradually being sucked into my phone. Thankfully, yours is too. Give it another year and you’ll probably consider voting for me in the 2020 election.
Translation: In 2009, you would have considered this unusual. Now it’s just Tuesday. (Don’t worry…it’s 2019. You’ll forget this and everything else you read today by the time you fall asleep)
Translation: In 2019, I can’t even tell the difference between a movie and real life anymore. Also, I don’t trust men.
Translation: It’s 2019, so I can’t actually hear anything outside of my own experience. Also, I don’t trust women.
Translation: I’m a millionaire in 2019.
Translation: I’m 2019’s version of royalty.
Translation: My 2019 brain sees everything as racist.
Translation: My 2019 brain sees nothing as racist.
Translation: In 2019, you get to hear my opinions. (Every day. On everything)
Obviously, there are plenty of smart, interesting, and fun people on Twitter as well. In addition to the mind-numbing stupidity. Really, there’s a whole bunch of everything in 2019. That was my biggest observation. The amount of information we take in has completely changed the way we think. Your brain jumps around like a rabbit on a trampoline. Mine does too.
The other observation was seeing people use social media to strengthen opinions they already have. No minds were being changed about anything. I literally didn’t see a single person budge on anything they felt strongly about. Not just politics. That was a big one, obviously. But I didn’t even see anyone budge when it came to debates about the “best athlete” or “greatest tv show.” Do you think any of the shady bloggers give in when people try to call them out? Not even an inch.
So, I guess social media behavior isn’t that different than real world behavior. But I’m still glad I observed all of that noise. For one big reason…
After watching people interact in such petty ways, I realized we should REALLY appreciate when special individuals cross our path. I mean, if you know someone who truly has the ability to have their mind changed…that’s such a rare person in 2019. Don’t take them for granted.
Sometimes it seems like more people used to agree on the simple things in life…
Y’know, like not being an asshole.
We’ve all probably noticed the increase in “go back to your
country” talk lately. And, man, do those words take me back (pun intended).
Growing up, it was confusing…
I’d be in the middle of American kid stuff…eating Fruit Loops,
going to the arcade, and watching Knight Rider. A goofy citizen of the only
home I’d ever known. And then, every so often, I’d hear those words again…
Go back to your country.
Let’s be real…India would have eaten me alive. I’ve got the most sensitive stomach west of the Mississippi, can’t speak Hindi well, and don’t like 3-hour movies that break into song and dance numbers.
But every few years, someone would tell me to go back (to a place I hadn’t even visited).
Crazy how clearly we remember certain moments…
For me (and probably you too), turning 16 years old was a milestone.
It felt like an exciting first step into adulthood. I remember getting that
driver’s license and wanting to be on the road all the time. Even volunteering
to run errands for my parents just so I could get behind the wheel.
I was 16, independent, and ready to buy eggs on my own.
One particular day, I arrived at our neighborhood Kroger and
hopped out of the car with my new I’m-becoming-a-man strut. A sense of pride that
only an 11th grader with his own keys can feel.
As I reached the entrance, an older gentleman stepped into my
path. I thought he might have needed some help for a second. But he looked at
me with disgust and said, “Damn foreigners taking all our jobs. Go back to your
own fucking country.”
Jobs? I was a kid in a Bart Simpson shirt.
Ow.
A couple of years later, college house parties were the main
source of weekend fun. But on this very special Friday, my attention was focused
on a girl named Lisa. She was so absurdly beautiful that she didn’t even bother
wearing makeup. Didn’t need it. She was so fun and so effortlessly sexy that I
couldn’t believe my luck. Why would she want to hang out with me? I mean, it
was genuinely confusing. I couldn’t even talk to her without my palms getting sweaty.
She was clearly out of my league and I really wanted to make sure the night
went perfectly. My wingman David “Toes” Miller was there too (his nickname had
to do with an unfortunate lawnmower incident). He and his girlfriend joined in
the fun as we jumped from one party to another. A very collegiate type of
double date. Somehow, it was actually going well. Lisa was giggling at my lame Adam
Sandler imitations and, wait, what was this? She was suddenly touching my arm as
she spoke too?
Alright, no sudden movements.
Don’t blow this, nerd.
Right then, I heard a basketball debate starting up with a
group of guys at the party. What a perfect opportunity. See, I’d been encouraged
a few times to do a sports talk radio show (and knew more about basketball than
any subject I was studying in school). It wasn’t like I could show off my knowledge
of Michelangelo. But Michael Jordan? Very different story. And it was time to
impress Lisa…
The main debater guy and I started going back and forth
about Magic versus Bird. It was very lighthearted and I was pulling out all kinds
of stats. Going great. Suddenly, for some unknown reason, the guy didn’t find
it fun anymore. He’d had enough of the debate and sneered, “Why don’t you go
back to your country, you fucking camel jockey.”
Everything stopped for a second…
Well, until the group of guys started cracking up.
(I guess “cackling” would be the appropriate word)
It’s amazing how you can be an American but still be made to
feel like a total foreigner in the blink of an eye. I decided to go outside and
“get some air.” The truth is, I was humiliated. And I couldn’t understand why I
was so hurt. But I really didn’t want Lisa to see me this way. Apparently, it
was pretty obvious. She told Toes Miller what happened and he stormed out of
there. Dude looked like steam was coming out of his head. I’d love to say I
handled myself in a more manly way that night, but it totally caught me off-guard.
I was just a young guy trying to impress a girl. And I think she probably noticed
when I started to tear up for a second. Not very impressive at all. I just
wanted to go home and forget the night.
So I did.
I don’t know what happened to Lisa, but hopefully she’s had
a great life. She seemed to lose interest in hanging out with my group after
Toes Miller threw a beer bottle through the window of that party. Go figure.
But, all these years later, I never really thought about the times people told
me to go back to “my country.” Just part of life, right? Well, for some reason,
it was on my mind this week.
And I think something (finally) hit me…
I heard “go back to your country” enough times that I
actually started believing I’m not as American as they are.
Deep down, they really think that’s true.
And, somewhere along the line, they convinced me of it too.
But, hey, these are weird and confusing times.
At least I’m more clear about one thing now:
If you feel comfortable telling another citizen to go back
to “their” country…
Or if you think of yourself as more American than another American…
I love game shows. Always have. Probably always will.
Maybe it’s my gambling nature, but something about showing
up empty-handed in the morning and leaving with a car at the end of the day always
seemed incredible. During my last year of college, a group of friends went to
Florida for spring break. Me? I decided to check out The Price Is Right instead.
Alone.
Was that weird? Probably.
But, hey, I never pretended to be normal. Over the years, I’ve
had a few people ask for advice on how to win stuff on game shows. It’s been a
while and I’m no expert…but here’s what my experiences have been…
That first trip in college 20 years ago was pretty
depressing. I won a bed and a desk…but lost the game that would have gotten me
a car. A dagger through my young heart. Almost immediately, the thought popped
into my head – “Wait, I gave up my last spring break to win a car? On a game
show? What the hell is wrong with me?”
They tape 2 shows a day. So when I was done losing in the
morning, I walked by a few hundred people who were lined up for the afternoon
show. They were yelling out to everyone –
“How did it go??”
“What happened in there??”
“Did you win??”
I remember finding it a bit odd that nobody stopped to
answer their questions. So, I stood there for a minute and described my depressing
experience. I guess they felt bad for the sad young college kid…because all of
those people started clapping when I finished the story. It was incredibly sweet
and actually got me out of my funk for a few minutes. But the mission remained.
One day, I needed to win a car on a game show.
Ten years later, I was allowed to go back. Considering I was
a grown man who’d dealt with the real world by then, there wouldn’t be any
heartbreak. Again, I won prizes…a living room set (they gave me $4,000 instead)
and a fancy coffee machine. But still no car. The mission remained.
2 or 3 years later, I decided to try Let’s Make A Deal. If
you’ve never seen it, the show requires people to wear costumes. It was early November,
so I headed to a clearance Halloween store. Can’t say I spent more than 30 seconds
throwing together a referee’s uniform and a big, shiny dollar sign necklace. I didn’t
even know what it was supposed to be, so I just said I was a referee who takes
bribes.
Waiting in line for a game show isn’t exactly fun. It’s a
long day. And you’re surrounded by the kinds of people who…well, stand in line
for game shows. After a few hours of waiting, you finally get to the short
interview (which I’ll describe later) and then you know the taping is getting
close. I had zero plans that particular day and my thinking was, “Shit, I can either
eat pizza and watch TV…or I can try to win a car.” So I waited a few hours in
line, talked to some weirdos, did the interview, and entered the studio.
On The Price Is Right, you just grab a seat. Let’s Make A
Deal was different. I saw producers telling assistants (through their
earpieces) to sit certain people in aisle seats. Clearly, those were the ones
who would be contestants.
I reach the front of the line and excitedly ask, “Is there anywhere
specific you want me to sit?”
The assistant replies, “Nah, anywhere you want. Just not in
an aisle seat.”
Damn.
Not a good sign.
They start the show and begin, almost exclusively, picking
the most attractive girls in the room. That (clearly) doesn’t include me. I
also happen to be sitting next to the geekiest guy on planet earth. During commercial
breaks, he’s dancing nonstop to the music. And by “dancing,” I mean he’s miming,
doing the robot, and attempting something best described as a clumsy macarena. He
even tries to start a wave at one point. He sees me sulking in my seat and asks
(mid-robot), “Why aren’t you dancing, Edgar Allen Bro?”
Man, if looks could kill.
I should have been at home eating pizza and watching Indiana
Jones movies…but I’m sitting here with a bunch of weirdos trying to win a car. A
familiar thought enters my brain – “What the hell is wrong with me?”
They move on to another game and select…yup, another sexy girl.
But the host adds, “We need someone for her to play against.” He starts climbing
the stairs to Loserville. Hmm…he’s getting pretty close to me. And then I hear:
“You, the referee!”
In a millisecond, my bad mood flies out the window. It’s time
to play!
The game is basically just guessing if certain items are in her
purse – a book, a deck of cards, and a pair of sunglasses. I guess all of them
correctly, win the game, and pick up $1,500. He asks if I want to trade the
money for a chance at what’s behind the curtain. I say, “Of course. I’m here to
win a car” and they reveal…a motorcycle. Hard to feel bad about that. And, hey,
at least it’s something motorized on wheels. Getting closer to the mission.
The show continues on and, with a few minutes to go, I’m
asked if I want to trade the motorcycle for a chance at the “big deal of the
day.” It’s their version of a showcase showdown…but with just one player. And,
of course, with the risk of going home empty-handed.
“Let’s do it. I’m here to win a car.”
Grand finale time. The show all comes down to which of the 3
doors I’ll pick. During the commercial break, Loserville quickly becomes the
coolest place in the studio. Suddenly, I’m like George Clooney in this roomful
of weirdos. SuperGeek in the next seat thanks me for giving him a high-five,
the hot girls in their skimpy costumes want to touch my dollar sign necklace,
and everyone is trying to give me their pick. I notice one guy behind me who
isn’t saying a word. In fact, he hasn’t made a sound the entire show. He looks
almost like a medicine man with his long dreadlocks and ultra-serious expression.
I turn around and ask, “What door do you think, man? One, two, or three?”
He looks at me as if there’s nobody else in the room.
Is it possible that all the secrets of the universe are behind
his eyes?
He clears his throat.
With a James Earl Jones level of bass in his voice, he calmly
says:
“One.”
The lights come up and it’s time for my pick. Of course, I
go with the medicine man…and choose door number 1. For drama, they open up the
other doors first…
Door number 3 is a big vault. Oh shit. This could be bad. They
reveal the amount…
$2,500.
Ok, I survived that one. The big deal has to be worth more
than that.
Door number 2 is…
A weeklong trip to San Antonio in a presidential suite with
all the works.
Nice, but not enough to be the big deal.
Wait, does that mean…could the mission be accomplished?
(Door number 1 opens to reveal a Kia Forte)
WHAT??
I finally got my car.
Honestly, I didn’t care what make or model it was. I just wanted
to win a car on a game show. And now I had. They said I also won the other two
door items as well (the cash and trip). Obviously…it was a hell of a day.
Significantly better than staying home to eat pizza and watch Raiders of the
Lost Ark. The section previously known as Loserville was now officially a
party. Those weirdos turned out to be very sweet. They were incredibly
supportive and happy for me. I turned around to thank the medicine man, but he
had vanished completely. Did he even exist? Had I imagined him the entire time?
That’s my experience. But what’s the answer to, “How do you
win on a game show?” Well, obviously, there’s a lot of luck involved. I wasn’t
exactly playing Jeopardy or anything that required me to have any brainpower.
All I know is that, before you can win, you need to get on stage…
What that really comes down to is the 10 second
“interview.” That’s where they make their contestant choices. 2 or 3
producers will sit down and say, “tell me about yourself” in a very
calm tone of voice. Almost as if it’s a job interview. Businesslike. They’ll go
down the line doing that with groups of 10 people at a time.
Naturally, we humans respond with a similar tone as the way we’re
being spoken to.
A producer says, “Tell me about yourself.”
Most people answer, “Well I’m from Kansas. I teach
second grade. And I hope to win a prize today.”
Next.
(If you do it like that, you’ll definitely be sitting in
line to watch other weirdos play games)
What I do differently is this…
Producer: “Tell me about yourself.”
I yell, “I’M REALLY EXCITED TO BE HERE!!! WOO!!!”
and immediately high-five the nearest person in line next to me. Then I answer the
question.
That might seem simple and dumb. But pretty much everyone
who’s listened to me has won a prize on a game show. Obviously, calm and
collected isn’t the goal of those interviews. Producers should be wondering:
“If this dude gets that
excited about ‘Tell me your name,’ what the hell will he do when he wins a car?”
Last person I told this to won a motorcycle. Others have won trips and other stuff. Anyway, that’s my game show story. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back now that the mission has been accomplished. But, hey, you never know…
