I Got Into Columbia, But I Can’t Get Into Roblox

I graduated from Columbia, but I can’t get into Roblox, because I’ve failed the verification test too many times. In case you are not sure what that entails, it is simply clicking arrows to put a a goat or a buffalo cartoon image right-side-up. You have to do this eight times, and you have 7 seconds to do so for each image. I failed for the last hour. I can’t set my daughter up with an account. Question: Why is Roblox Fort Knox? Bigger Question: What is wrong with me (don’t answer that) that I can’t determine how to set a goat or buffalo upright? 

I got this message about 20 times

Perhaps this is because I am not upright.

I may be upside down, but look at my patent leather shoes!

In other words, I’m kinda struggling here– with the pandemic, the decision to send the kids back to school, and looking for a job. The job sitch is almost as grim as the fact that I can’t prove I’m not a robot on Roblox. Yesterday, I applied for three jobs. Two were promising. The other? It was an Amazon remote job, in which I’d be available to talk to people about their FMLA and Disability. I mean, does this really suit me? Probs not! My career pivot looks less like a pivot and more like a circle–or just a cliff dive.

No, honestly, I’m excited about some of the opportunities. But it’s hard to find something remote. And, if I do, when I search on Linked In, it will say there are 122 applicants ahead of me. I mean, I know I’m a solid pick, but 122? That’s kinda rotten chances. I‘d be better off just going to buy a scratch ticket and heading to the beach with an Italian sub.

Speaking of Italian subs, I am not going to eat those anymore, or at least for today, because I decided I’m going to get really skinny. Like, I want to be a coat hanger. I know a lot of people don’t think of that as an attractive image, but I think all clothes look good on hangers, and some of the ones in my closet are really pissed at me that they’ve been benched.

My ideal body #goals

With that, I’m going to go for a long walk, since apparently I won’t be able to play Roblox!






Dear Parents, The yard doesn’t cut it anymore


“I don’t want to invite anyone to come over to play in our backyard,” my daughter said.
“Why not?” I asked, ready to lob out the invite.
“Because it’s boring,” she said. “We have nothing to do here. I’d rather go somewhere else.”
This hurt.
Of course, she’s referring to the fact that we don’t have a pool or a large trampoline (in fact, we do have a smaller one, and we even have a cool swing set!). But, nowadays, unless you have all the gadgets, gizmos and a virtual Disneyland resort, your backyard is, well, a snooze fest. Dull, dismal and…boring.


Now I know this is a thing with this new generation, and I’m getting in my old lady whicker rocker now and sipping on an Arnold Palmer when I say this, but remember the days of yore when we had like a tree and some acorns to play with in the backyard? Maybe just a crappy sandbox, too?

Well, I do.

I recall playing with imaginary friends, or making a “house” over the vent above our basement with rocks and grass. The neighbors would come, and we’d play kick the can till the sun went down, or we’d make forts with dirt and mud.

There was no zip line, no pool, no hot tub, nothing. Sometimes, my neighbor would have her parents’ camper out back, and we’d move into that for the weekend, tape recording ourselves doing interviews in different voices on an old-school tape recorder. We’d eat rolls of Now & Laters and Jolly Ranchers, play Mad Libs, or MASH. We’d trade stickers or play Chinese jump rope, share the one barbie doll we had between us, creating different hairstyles.

Now, I have 50 barbies and a barbie camper for my child. And an iPad, two dogs, bikes, and a swing set. But it’s boring here? I’m not sure how to keep up. Last year, we were able to join the pool. Now, we have to stay home to be safe.

“Want to run through the sprinkler?!” I ask, thinking this might be a solution. Her look says it all. This, too, is boring and “cold.”

So, we can tell them not to be spoiled, to appreciate what they have, or the “When I was young, I played with acorns,” stories, but it doesn’t seem to resonate. For now, I wonder, what I can BUY to make my yard more “fun?” This is just sad.

You can’t buy an imagination or a sense of wonder. 

Do you think our kids will look back when they’re older and say, “Remember that time I got Robucks, and we sat next to each other on our iPads buying Adopt Me pets or Fortnite skins?”

I don’t know. They might.

But, for now, I’ll sit in my boring backyard and wait to see!