Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded: A Decade of Whatever, 1998-2008

by John Scalzi

  Every single one of them. Gay like a disco at 2 am. Gosh, it’s a miracle that any of us kids grew up straight at all.

  THE FINAL

  JUDGMENT ON

  THE FINAL

  COUNTDOWN

  Thanks to that TV commercial for Mario & Sonic at the Olympic Games, in which various chunky Wii gamers train under the watchful eye of their pixellated masters while cheese rock booms in the background, Athena’s been exposed to that most hideous of 80s hair metal anthems: “The Final Countdown” by Europe. More to the point, because she saw me wince when the snippet of the song’s synth fanfare barfed out of my TV speakers, she’s made it a point to torture me with it, coming up to me at inopportune times and singing “It’s the final countdown!” and then running away giggling.

  Well, I can’t have that, so this morning before school I finally did what I should have done a long time ago, and made her listen to the whole damn thing, the idea being once she listened to its entire flaccidly vomitrocious length, she would be forever cured of the need to sing any part of it, to me or anyone else. Of course it meant I had to listen to it again, too, but these are the sacrifices parents have to make for their children.

  Naturally, it was no surprise to me how craptacular this particular song is, but I had largely forgotten the reason why, which was, aside from being insipid and banal popcraft in that peculiarly Swedish way, instrumentally, every part of the sounds like substandard apings of other 80s rock bands. The synth riff is a clunky transposition of the synth riff from “Only Time Will Tell” by Asia, lead singer Joey Tempest sounds like he spent his teenage years in front of the mirror, attempting to imitoot exarctly Scorpions lead singer Klaus Meine, and the tunelessly finger-mashing guitar solo sounds like a smudged photocopy of every other tunelessly finger-mashing 80s faux-metal guitar solo, which in themselves are smudged photocopies of the fretwork of Randy “I’m the only person who can actually pull this shit off” Rhodes.

  Individually it’s all crap, but put it all together, and it apparently becomes the sort of super-synergistic hypercrap that goes to #1 in twenty-six countries; apparently only the US maintained relative sanity in the face of such musical manure, allowing it to reach only #8. But that was bad enough, people. Even so, the next time some smug European starts lecturing you about how America has lost its moral compass, and tortures people, and is turning its Constitution into hamster bedding, you can look them straight in the eye and say “at least we didn’t let ‘The Final Countdown’ go to number one, you tone-deaf bastard.” And do you know what they will say to that? Nothing. Because there is nothing to say. You held the line, America. Stand tall.

  FATHERHOOD AND PIE

  Today, a two parter from Claire:

  1. How has fatherhood changed you? What is your experience like as a father? How has it changed your relationship with your wife?

  2. Pie or cake?

  Well, first: Pie. All the way. I don’t believe this should even be a matter of discussion.

  Now that we’ve got the important subject out of the way, let’s talk fatherhood.

  As a practical matter, fatherhood’s changed me in that a large portion of my life is now given over to what can be described as “child maintenance”—the myriad things you do for a kid. For example, later this morning (I’m writing this very early) Krissy and Athena and I will go to the local school so Athena can have her entrance examination for kindergarten, which she starts in the fall. They’ll ask her to do her letters and numbers while they also talk to Krissy and me, I imagine primarily to see if we’re complete parental idiots that they’ll have to work around or not (let’s hope not).

  Later in the day I’ll drive out to Athena’s preschool to pick her up and take her home; since Krissy has class tonight, I’ll make dinner for Athena, and afterwards we’ll probably go out and play in the yard, then Athena will take a bath and afterward we’ll either play a computer game together or watch some cartoons. Then Athena is off to bed, and Krissy and I alternate getting her ready for that (tonight’s Krissy’s turn). In between all this are the usual conversations, questions and so on that go on between Athena and me on a daily basis. The kid takes up a lot of time, in other words, and I imagine she will for a long time to come. I didn’t have to do any of this kind of thing before becoming a father; now I do.

  Which naturally leads to the question of whether I miss having the freedom of not having a kid. I don’t think so. I mean, I do wish sometimes I had more time, especially when I’ve got deadlines and Athena is bugging me to play with her instead, which I can’t do and which can cause me to become irrationally irritated that my five-year-old doesn’t understand daddy has to work. As if any five-year-old grasps the actual concept of work—and particularly in my case. When daddy works from home and is sitting around in a bathrobe at 5pm, and he’s using the same computer the both of you use to play your favorite pinball game, I think it’s fair to say that the already-fuzzy idea of work becomes even more jumbled. So, yeah, a little more time would be nice. Somebody work on that for me.

  But otherwise, I’m very happy with the trade. People who don’t have have kids often think about children as a matter of what they require from you (time, money, attention), which are resources taken away from other things. And this is of course entirely true, but only half the equation, since you also get something from your kids in return. I mean, having a kid is a lot of work, but having a kid is also a lot of fun: The reason parents burble on mindlessly about whatever allegedly amusing damn-fool thing their kid did today is because they’re having a ball raising that child, and all those clichéd moments of domestic gooeyness are, in fact, different when they’re happening to you. Kids are not merely a black hole of needs, sucking away your time, money and youth. They are also entertaining. So long as they’re yours.

  I don’t think fatherhood has changed my personality much. Parenthood is famous for gentling a person’s soul, but I don’t feel any more gentle concerning the world than I did before. Anyone who’s read the Whatever over any space of time can see that the vector of my personality is speeding toward bitter curmudgeonlyness with nary a bump in the road. Nor has having a child curbed my often black and inappropriate sense of humor—indeed, I often use my child as a willing (nay, enthusiastic) prop for my own amusement.

  Having said that, I will admit that one of the completely annoying after-effects of having a kid is that I become much more quickly emotional over incredibly stupid things. Hell, we were watching Brother Bear last week and I was getting all teary at the ending. I could die. I have no doubt that the 25-year-old version of me would be happy to smack around the 35-year-old version of me for getting weepy over greeting card commercials. But at the very least I am aware of how much of an ass I look welling up like a soap star at the drop of a hat. I don’t seek out opportunities to have a good cry, you know. And it’s not like I don’t know that most the stuff gets me verklempt is ridiculous and lame. So I don’t know that this qualifies as a change in personality, rather than a change in response. If you see me getting all choked up at something, feel free to mock me.

  I am happy to say that being a father has confirmed some things about me that I had hoped would be true once I became a father. I was delighted (and relieved) to discover that once I learned I was going to be a father, no part of my brain started looking, frantic-eyed, for an exit (one part of my brain started obsessing about death, but that’s not the same thing). I also think it’s strengthened my sense of responsibility; I’m still a flake, but less so than before, and if it came down to having to work as, say, a Wal-Mart greeter to keep my family going, I’d be willing to do it (I have a hard time imagining a world in which the only job available to me was “Wal-Mart greeter,” but that’s the point—it’s an extreme example). And the love I feel for my child is, as presumed and hoped, unfathomably huge. I simply cannot conceive of having a regret that this child is in my life. Nothing in the world has ever brought me closer to the feeling of a higher power than she has fr
om the very moment of her arrival. Yes, this is probably overdramatic to say. But it also happens to be true.

  It’s also made me, in public at least, a rather more polite person. If there’s one thing that I and the rabidly childfree are in agreement about, it’s that there are far too many ill-mannered sloth spawn rooting about places where other humans need to be, and the reason they’re ill-mannered is because their parents are complete wastes of protein. Yes, you need to allow for kids being kids, and “public” by and large does not imply “adults only.” Even factoring that in, however, there are still too many obnoxious, horrifying children who need to be mulched along with their parents. I don’t want my daughter to be a mulching candidate, so I’m generally on her in public to be polite. Which means that I have to be polite and set the good example because Athena does definitely cue off what I do. It mostly works in both our cases.

  Now, on the flip side, having a child has also made me aware of some of the less attractive aspects of my personality as well. For one thing, I’m lazy and stubborn; sometimes Athena wants to do something with me, and I just don’t wanna. Sometimes I just want to do my own thing, waaaah. For another, I don’t gradiate my anger well; I have a tendency to be very calm as I become progressively irritated and then I suddenly become, well, not calm. This is a decent anger response for adults (it keeps me from saying or doing incredibly stupid things, and most of the time whatever’s irritating me goes away before I go ballistic), but it’s really not great for a kid, especially for kids who (like Athena) take a certain delight in trying to see how much they can get away with before they get in trouble. My problem is that I don’t communicate to Athena that she’s crossed a line until she’s so far over it that she’s not only on the way to Trouble Town, she’s in fact a longtime resident and running for Mayor. As a result, Athena is confused (and a little scared) by a sudden and to her mind inexplicable confrontation with Angry, Angry Daddy. Where did he come from? He wasn’t here two seconds ago! It’s a failing in regards to my daughter. In this matter, I’m trying to make myself more like Krissy, who shows her displeasure quicker but also doesn’t allow herself to get as revved-up as I get.

  (In case you’re wondering, the appearance of Angry, Angry Daddy is not followed by a series of beatings. I’m not opposed to spanking, but I also think that you save it for when nothing else works and your child is bent on a behavior that’s going to get her killed—constantly sticking knives in wall sockets would be a good example. Athena is a child who has a sufficient enough learning curve that I can count the number of times Krissy or I have spanked her and still have fingers left over. We are both unbelievably thankful for this.)

  As for how being a father has changed my relationship with my wife: Buckle in, kids, because it’s going get sappy. I happen to think my wife is a tremendous mother. For one thing, she’s got a maternal instinct that borders on the terrifying; get between her and her kid and she will gnaw on your heart. If you don’t think I mean this literally, well, I’ll pray for you. For another, she’s always smart with, fair to and respectful of Athena, and as such is a positive model for me as a parent. The realization that she is a great parent on top of all her other qualities reminds me that I hit the karmic lottery in duping her to marry me, and that I’d best be spending the next 50 or 60 years making sure she does not experience buyer’s regret.

  All this mushiness aside, the parenthood aspect of our relationship is something of which we’re always mindful. We talk to each other about what’s going on with Athena so we can make sure she doesn’t get conflicting signals from us as parents; when Athena is stressing one of us out the other will swoop in to give the stressed-out one a break; and (I think very importantly), we make sure that Athena sees how much the two of us love each other and also love her. I don’t believe Krissy and I have ever been angry with each other around her (a nice side effect of generally not being angry with each other at all), and any disagreements we do have are generally handled when she’s not around. Athena’s going to have her own neuroses to develop; best not to add to them if we can avoid it.

  As with any parents married to each other, we do have to make sure that our entire relationship and life doesn’t revolve around Athena, which means making sure we take the time to spend time with each other. It helps tremendously to have family around for this (family was why I got my ass hauled to Ohio by Krissy, and it was the correct decision on her part), but even just during day-to-day life peeling off some personal time makes a real difference. We also make sure we allow each other time to other things, too. Krissy likes to go out with friends some evenings, and I’ll happily watch Athena so she can do that. Sometimes I like to disappear in my office to write or play a game or read or whatever; Krissy keeps Athena amused and distracted so I can have that time.

  It’s just part of the work of maintaining a relationship. But the rewards are significant, in that I I can honestly say I admire and desire my wife more now today than when we didn’t have Athena. All in all, it’s an excellent relationship (from my end at least), and if it’s been changed by fatherhood, I suspect it’s been for the better.

  So, in sum: Thumbs up on fatherhood. Lots of work, and lots of reward—the former being integral to the latter. Is it for everyone? Probably not. But it’s for me.

  “RULES” WOMAN

  GETTING A

  DIVORCE

  Ellen Fein, one of the women that co-wrote those ridiculous “Rules” books is getting a divorce, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Some of you may recall that my life intersected with the “Rules” women in 1996 when I was on the same Oprah as they were, offering the man’s perspective on their embarrassingly awful book, thanks to a column I wrote on the subject. I actually had a limo ride with the two of them on the way to Oprah’s studio, and I’m here to tell you that there may not have yet been born a more unpleasant pair of vaguely human bipeds; it was inconceivable to me that either of them could have possibly been married, much less dispensing advice on how to collar a man, since any sensible man would have launched himself into a cruise ship propeller rather than to cross either of their paths.

  But that’s not why I’m happy the woman’s getting a divorce. After all, even unpleasant people need love, and far better that they’re married off to someone else so they won’t think to train their sights on you. No, I’m happy she’s getting a divorce because “The Rules” offend the hell out of me. Any relationship that is started under their auspices is inherently dishonest, and the sooner that the relationship unravels, the sooner the woman practicing “The Rules” will realize that she’d be much better off approximating an actual human being rather than the disturbing wedding-seeking man missiles “Rules Girls” inevitably turn out to be. That even one of the alleged masterminds behind “The Rules” can’t make “The Rules” work will hopefully be the crashingly obvious sign any remaining “Rules Girls” need to give it up.

  The icing on this cake is that these two dreadful women are about to release a “Rules” book on how to stay married! And the icing on the icing on the cake is that this woman’s soon-to-be-ex-husband will now probably get about half the proceeds from the “Rules” books! Ha ha ha ha ha!

  I realize it’s weak and petty to be having this schadenfreude moment at this woman’s misfortune. But you know, I don’t feel the slightest bit bad about it. At all. Primarily because “The Rules” is another one of those periodic attempts to yank women back into believing that they ain’t nothing if they ain’t got a man. It’s not the most recent or even the worst example of this concept—that dubious honor belongs to the “surrendered wife” movement, which states that a woman’s response to any cockeyed decree her husband lays down should be Whatever you say, honey. Here’s the checkbook—but it’s bad enough. Anyone who attempts to screw women over psychologically as badly as “The Rules” authors do deserves to be punished. So I’m just peachy-keen about Ms. Fein getting hers.

  I’m going to talk as a man here for a minute, pleading to any woma
n out there who might possibly be considering expending a brain cell or two on this whole “Rules” or “Surrendered Wife” angle of things. I will begin by saying that I can’t possibly imagine what the Hell is wrong with you that you’d ever possibly be considering something like this seriously anyway—perhaps some heretofore undetected brain damage or recent ruptured blood vessel in your frontal lobes is starving out your capability for reasonable judgment. Whatever the reason, stop. Just stop. The last thing you want to do is put yourself in a position where a man has total control over you.

  Why? Well, beyond the fact that it’s an irredeemably stupid thing to let anybody have total control of your life besides you, there’s the more particular matter of the fact that men, invariably, are dumb-asses. Big fat stinky dumb-asses, with dumb-ass ideas about every dumb-ass thing. Why we’re allowed out of the house without leashes is beyond me. And anyway, the sort of man who would enjoy having a “surrendered wife” is almost certainly exactly the sort of man who should not allowed to be in total control over a woman—he’s the sort of guy who will eventually smack her and tell her to shut up and fix him a pot pie. This sort of fellow should have his tibiae crushed by a sledgehammer, not awarded a slave in the form of a wife.

  I frankly can’t even begin to imagine why any man would want a wife like that anyway. This morning I was listening to my wife blister the hide of some poor bastard automaton from Sprint, who was feebly trying to argue against expunging some bogus charges from our phone bill, and my heart was welling up with pride and love. My woman doesn’t take crap from anyone, least of all me. It’s one of the reasons I’m married to her, because she’s fearless and straightforward and confident and sexy and she pays all the bills on time.