Shopping. That's what I do when I'm alone, playing house husband in Singapore. For the last four years, I've rarely stayed in one place for long, and I was surprised how quickly I satisfied the "bored housewife" stereotype. After two weeks of housesitting from 8:00AM to 7:30PM, I've spent unreasonable amounts of time shopping online and watching Netflix, my generation's versions of Home Shopping Network and daytime soap operas. (Feel free to mock "Peloton Wife," but I understand the Peloton bike's intended audience.) Why are shopping malls doing well in developing countries like Philippines and Indonesia but not in developed countries like Japan and USA? Part of the answer must be the dwindling population of affluent and bored housewives, not just fewer overall births.
One unexpected consequence of being home alone? Well, being alone. In an era when technology is supposed to make it easier to connect with locals, websites and apps are still driven by advertising and sponsorships, meaning the new "friend" you meet at an event might be getting a commission or other kickback from the venue. (I once tried to buy a book directly from a small publisher and was told I could only buy it if I downloaded the Venmo app.) Instead of meaningful connections, the internet has increased loneliness for many people by providing greater opportunities to make fake friends and yet, we're shocked, shocked, fake news has become prevalent.
Despite expecting routine, I didn't anticipate the steepness of my productivity decline. By week two, staying inside all day in my underwear was an acceptable schedule, and going out became an event worthy of careful color-matching. When younger, I noticed stay-at-home dads and moms tended to be nice and well-dressed. It's that way when you're always looking for friends around the corner until eventually, you start nibbling any bait in front of you. Those jokes about sleeping with the mailman or delivery agent? They're not jokes. They're the realistic output of a silent-suffering society starving for connection. I've heard of older women taking part-time jobs at retail establishments like Williams-Sonoma for the employee discount, but now I know the real reason for Williams-Sonoma and every other "upscale" retail establishment--they, like every other successful business in America, peddle cures for loneliness.
Thankfully, it's not all snake oil. Relationships thrive on routines. Give your girlfriend her favorite Starbucks drink at the end of a long day for a week, and you might have added a full year to your relationship's probable longevity. As for online discourse, it degenerated the moment we no longer had to expend paper, ink, and a stamp to deliver our thoughts, but the joy we feel when a verified user (or his or her PR team) responds to a tweet or comment remains legitimate.
Speaking of relationships and online messaging, the ability to instantaneously connect with one's spouse during the working day has probably increased divorce rates. In the first week of my isolation chamber, er, stay-at-home vacation, I snickered at a NY Times' piece about a husband's failure to put away a shirt. By the second week, I snickered no more. When alone, everything is magnified, and your life revolves around finding interesting things to say, do, and see, a battle you don't always win. So if a friend says she's going to bring or mail you an item in three days, the related anticipation might be the highest of highs--and, if she happened to forget, the lowest of lows--in Day 3.
If someone was visiting, I'd jump in the shower and freshen up better than any desperate housewife. I've bought cologne and pomade exactly twice in forty years, but had I seen the right discount online, you'd better believe my inner "metrosexual" was making a comeback. Given such efforts, I expected similar levels of effort on the other end. Did a full minute pass between my text and a response? Congratulations! You're now on my personal "Do Not Call" list. By the second minute, I'd already contemplated a hundred scenarios in which my friend had died, preferably via self-immolation--oblivious to my own unreasonableness. (Husbands and wives, take note: what you and the rest of the world consider reasonable does not apply in the vacuum of an adult-free home, with children or without.)
Ever wonder why America has so many churches? Stay-at-home parents need places to go, and the American government has failed to adequately promote affordable childcare or child-friendly policies. Last I heard, Congress tried to prove it cared about taxpayers by passing a law giving federal employees--and no one else--paid family leave. As someone who favors small government, I am always surprised to learn the true extent of religious institutions' influence--almost all my local city and county council-members went to private Catholic schools and/or Catholic universities--because I am single and childless and try to avoid hospitals, schools, and "nonprofits." In context, once one sees an invisible mass of humanity alone at home, struggling to make meaningful human contact, the political picture becomes clear: if government does not actively enter the transportation, healthcare, and childcare markets, voters and non-voters are asking to have their public institutions supplanted by anyone peddling snake oil--as long as there's free food at the 3pm event.
Now if you'll excuse me, I think I hear a knock at the door. I need to practice my flirty face.
© Matthew Mehdi Rafat (December 2019)
One unexpected consequence of being home alone? Well, being alone. In an era when technology is supposed to make it easier to connect with locals, websites and apps are still driven by advertising and sponsorships, meaning the new "friend" you meet at an event might be getting a commission or other kickback from the venue. (I once tried to buy a book directly from a small publisher and was told I could only buy it if I downloaded the Venmo app.) Instead of meaningful connections, the internet has increased loneliness for many people by providing greater opportunities to make fake friends and yet, we're shocked, shocked, fake news has become prevalent.
Despite expecting routine, I didn't anticipate the steepness of my productivity decline. By week two, staying inside all day in my underwear was an acceptable schedule, and going out became an event worthy of careful color-matching. When younger, I noticed stay-at-home dads and moms tended to be nice and well-dressed. It's that way when you're always looking for friends around the corner until eventually, you start nibbling any bait in front of you. Those jokes about sleeping with the mailman or delivery agent? They're not jokes. They're the realistic output of a silent-suffering society starving for connection. I've heard of older women taking part-time jobs at retail establishments like Williams-Sonoma for the employee discount, but now I know the real reason for Williams-Sonoma and every other "upscale" retail establishment--they, like every other successful business in America, peddle cures for loneliness.
Thankfully, it's not all snake oil. Relationships thrive on routines. Give your girlfriend her favorite Starbucks drink at the end of a long day for a week, and you might have added a full year to your relationship's probable longevity. As for online discourse, it degenerated the moment we no longer had to expend paper, ink, and a stamp to deliver our thoughts, but the joy we feel when a verified user (or his or her PR team) responds to a tweet or comment remains legitimate.
Speaking of relationships and online messaging, the ability to instantaneously connect with one's spouse during the working day has probably increased divorce rates. In the first week of my isolation chamber, er, stay-at-home vacation, I snickered at a NY Times' piece about a husband's failure to put away a shirt. By the second week, I snickered no more. When alone, everything is magnified, and your life revolves around finding interesting things to say, do, and see, a battle you don't always win. So if a friend says she's going to bring or mail you an item in three days, the related anticipation might be the highest of highs--and, if she happened to forget, the lowest of lows--in Day 3.
If someone was visiting, I'd jump in the shower and freshen up better than any desperate housewife. I've bought cologne and pomade exactly twice in forty years, but had I seen the right discount online, you'd better believe my inner "metrosexual" was making a comeback. Given such efforts, I expected similar levels of effort on the other end. Did a full minute pass between my text and a response? Congratulations! You're now on my personal "Do Not Call" list. By the second minute, I'd already contemplated a hundred scenarios in which my friend had died, preferably via self-immolation--oblivious to my own unreasonableness. (Husbands and wives, take note: what you and the rest of the world consider reasonable does not apply in the vacuum of an adult-free home, with children or without.)
Ever wonder why America has so many churches? Stay-at-home parents need places to go, and the American government has failed to adequately promote affordable childcare or child-friendly policies. Last I heard, Congress tried to prove it cared about taxpayers by passing a law giving federal employees--and no one else--paid family leave. As someone who favors small government, I am always surprised to learn the true extent of religious institutions' influence--almost all my local city and county council-members went to private Catholic schools and/or Catholic universities--because I am single and childless and try to avoid hospitals, schools, and "nonprofits." In context, once one sees an invisible mass of humanity alone at home, struggling to make meaningful human contact, the political picture becomes clear: if government does not actively enter the transportation, healthcare, and childcare markets, voters and non-voters are asking to have their public institutions supplanted by anyone peddling snake oil--as long as there's free food at the 3pm event.
Now if you'll excuse me, I think I hear a knock at the door. I need to practice my flirty face.
© Matthew Mehdi Rafat (December 2019)
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