Back in October, I went out to dinner with some friends in DC, and one married friend talked about how he and his wife had had COVID the year prior and had to quarantine together. Another coupled friend said, “It’s a good thing you could it together.” I chose not to respond but I wondered if it would really be that bad having to do it alone.
I found out recently (although, to be fair, I was boosted and vaccinated, something the couple could not have been, so the symptoms were mild. After a few days of what felt like a really bad cold, cough, and sore throat, I decided to get tested just to ensure it WASN’T COVID. Fortunately for me, I live in Washington, DC, where antigen tests are distributed like candy and PCR tests are given throughout the day. After my antigen came out positive, I thought it may have been a false one. Sadly, a few days later, when I got the text telling me my test results, I was surprised to see, “POSITIVE.”
I didn’t leave my apartment for few days. Fortunately, I had a three-day weekend, which I spent watching movies on Netflix, not to mention the second season of my Married with Children DVD collection (that show is the ultimate pro-single show, and while the datedness of the humor could make it feel inappropriate, I just can’t help but laugh). As I worked while in quarantine, I found myself getting bored of the work, watch Netflix routine, so I eventually took out my guitar for the first time in several months and started playing. I’m not trying to learn anything new per se, but I just fooled around, and it was therapeutic. And I read as well. My latest is Dance of Days, a punchy, information-packed tour through the history of punk rock in DC.
As an introvert, I was fine, although I was missing certain aspects of life, like working out and being able to go to the grocery store. Instacart’s a little complicated for my liking. And I couldn’t be too close to Chester due to cats’ ability to catch this thing. Knock on wood, he’s his usual feisty self.
My last point: the research that says singles have more friends than married people. Well, it proved to be helpful in my case. I had quite a few people offer to bring me medicine and groceries. While I didn’t need it (save for that one Instacart purchase), it was good to know that friends were looking out for me. If I had put all that energy into one relationship (with a significant other) and they had caught COVID, I might not have all that support. And if it’s a toxic relationship, it REALLY would have been a bummer.
As of now, my antigen and PCR tests are negative, and I’m easing back into my routine. Grocery shopping, weight lifting, and jogging. And starting next week, I can finally teach on campus. Features of a normal life returning…
Twice a year, I go to New York to visit my mother, and I’m blessed to have a job that allows me the time to do that. This holiday season, since I’m working remotely, I decided to head up early to: 1) give my Mom extra time with me and her grandson Chester; 2) I hate that road trip up, and since I had an opportunity to get it out of the way, I thought I’d do so. It’s like the needle at the doctor’s office.
I was pleased to see that my CoSP compadre Michelle was in NYC and looking to hook up (as in get together) with people from CoSP. Introverted as I am, I love socializing with other happy singles, so I came a-running.
The trip was a nice combo of alone time and social time. I hopped the New Jersey Transit, my favorite mode of transportation, into New York City. I brought books with me, but I was content to stare at the window into the wilds of northern New Jersey. Lots of two-story homes with large backyards and pools, as well as some less privileged areas, but all are good for visual story.
I got into Hoboken at about 4:30, and I’m always reminded of Marlon Brando’s classic, On the Waterfront. After walking around the waterfront and taking in some picturesque views of the Hudson River, I walked around and got a hankering to check out Carlos’s Bakery from that old Cake Boss show, just for the photo opp. And, of course, I had to stock up on pastries, including the New York staple known as the cannoli.
After hopping the PATH train to Christopher Street, I did my routine of the pizza slice and street hot dog, must-dos once I’m in New York. It had gotten dark, but the Village is fun at night. Always good for people-watching. I had time to kill before meeting Michelle, so I got a ginger tea at Joe and the Juice and engaged in two more of my favorite pastimes, reading and writing. Emma has been a slog, but I’m enjoying Charles Blow’s memoir, Fire Shut Up in My Bones. Journaling has always been therapeutic, but I’m finding it more helpful to do it in a marble composition book than on a Word document. It feels more natural. I also liked this classic typewriter:
I met Michelle at the Four Points Sheraton just as she was checking in, and we walked around the Village and Soho in search of delectable yet affordable cuisine (a hard find in lower Manhattan). Finally, it came down to a choice between a pizza place and an Indian restaurant. When we checked out the Indian restaurant, we realized it was called “Taco Mahal” as opposed to “Taj Mahal.” A place that fuses tacos and Indian food? Ummmmmm, yes!
We were able to find seats in a tiny patio near some heat lamps (but with wobbly chairs). The taco was enough to satiate me with the hot dog and pizza slice I had gorged on earlier, but I still had to have my cannoli. Michelle and I also shared a cookie.
Since we’re both academics, much of our conversation steered toward the craziness that pervades both of our professions, and we also talked about growing up in the New York suburbs (it turns out she knows my second cousin, who taught social studies at her high school for over thirty years). And some small talk about food and our various travels.
After we parted ways, I headed back to Hoboken, which brought me back to my 20s, which were spent wandering Manhattan and Hoboken. I was pretty much in a fog as I rode back in Suffern, but it was a pleasant one. With CoSPers, they always are.
I get up around 7. Get out of bed around 7:30. After stumbling over a bunch of empty pizza boxes on my way to the refrigerator that has all kinds of mold and stain throughout, I drink some orange juice directly from the carton. After I take a swig, I kick my pizza boxes at the wall. One feels heavier than the rest. I open it, and jackpot, I find a slice that hasn’t been touched! It’s got some dust on it, but all I need to know is blow on it, and it should be edible. I woof it down in two bites.
I spray cologne all over my body before pounding a Red Bull. I doze off a bit on the Metro before getting into work at around 9, where I find an email from the commissioner of my fantasy football league giving out an announcement about lineups needing to be solidified before Sunday.
I do some work before going to the breakroom to chat with the boys about where we’re hitting happy hour. I pound down a 5-hour Energy Drink to get through the afternoon, and work ends, we down some McDonalds before heading to the bar to party, which we do until the bars close. I catch an Uber back to my pad at around 3:30 in the morning and crash out on my sheetless bed.
I get up around 7. Get out of bed around 7:30. Repeat cycle.
So, on Friday night, I had the opportunity to go out to dinner with a new group of guys, and while it was fun and I enjoyed their company, I feel kinda left out when a few of them started talking about their wives and such, and three of them were going to Atlantic City for a “bachelor party weekend” (not my cup of tea anymore, but still). There were other singles at the table, but I happened to be sitting next to the married crowd. Oh well.
I didn’t know what to expect logging onto this discussion group of Amy Gahran’s Off the Relationship Escalator, a book I read for my research for How to be a Happy Bachelor. After my morning run, I logged onto the Zoom group and was placed into a breakout room about “Preserving Autonomy,” where I heard others talking about the same issues we discuss on CoSP. I had to give them Bella’s site, as well as that recent Atlantic article, “The Hidden Costs of Living Alone,” and that OpEd from Charles Blow, “The Married Will Soon Be the Minority,” the latter of which really cheers me up.
There was another talk about intimacy outside of a committed romantic relationship, which I’m on board with. I’m more intimate in my platonic friendships than I’ve ever been with a romantic partner. I got a great deal out of it, and those feelings cancelled out the isolation I felt Friday night, but I was a bit sad to leave that space of truly like-minded individuals. And then I thought of the idea of a singles-centered utopia.
I would like to live in a community populated by single-at-heart people. No coupling or romance, and I’d especially love a world where marriage wasn’t privileged. Equal tax benefits for all, equal leave for all and no microaggressions. I remember reading about solo-dwelling communities in Eric Klinenberg’s Going Solo, and for my retirement, I’d like to live in one (or if I have the money, start one of my own). Spaces like CoSP are starting to make me believe that something like this can be possible for us singletons.
Happy Ace Week!
After coming back from my concert Friday at about 1 a.m., I set my alarm for 8:30, knowing I’d be dragging my blistered feet to the big Women’s March. But the way I see it, this abortion ban is an intersectional issue involving feminism and Singles Studies. Those old white men who think they can control women’s bodies are also implicitly saying that having children is mandatory, which ties into societal propagation of the “relationship escalator.” So I wanted to put together a CoSP meet for this.
I had fallen out at about 2:30 earlier that morning, and my eyes were burning, but I knew this was a worthy cause. That being said, that thermos of coffee was much needed. Janice and I ended up meeting at the Metro Center station downtown, and walking over to Freedom Plaza to meet up with Maggie and Dan, a couple, but allies in our singlehood fight. We met up with Maggie at the volunteer tent, and we made our way to the front of the stage. As the sun beat down on us, we admired all the cool signs (including “Keep Your Rosaries Off My Ovaries,” “We Stand with Texas Women,” “Real Men Are Feminists,” and Maggie’s “Men of Equality Don’t Fear Equality” sign, which got a bunch of requests for pictures). Janice and I also talked music, Singles Studies, and travel, a few of my favorite topics.
There were a large number of speakers, including Planned Parenthood CEO Alexis Johnson, and Erika Forbes, a progressive Reverend from Texas who supports LGBTQ rights. The music had a female empowerment theme, including “Vogue,” “Miss Independent,” and “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” The Soul Rebels, a funk band from New Orleans, also showed up to play a few songs. One woman even said, “It’s great to see men here.” As a cis white hetero male, it was certainly humbling, but it’s important that I be aware of my position and that I use my privilege to help other marginalized groups.
At around 1:45, we marched down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the Capitol, at which point Dan said, “This is what a peaceful protest looks like.” I responded, “Yep, no need to go storming the Capitol.” A bunch of people booed and made unflattering gestures at the Trump Hotel. Once we reached the Supreme Court, the crowd split off, and tired as I was, I made it with our group to We the Pizza, which had some pretty good slices. Not quite NY worthy, but pretty darn close. The Powerade I drank with the pizza helped revive me some, as we walked back toward where Dan parked. Janice split off to hit the Metro, but since I don’t see Maggie that often, I hung with them until I reached the Metro Center station.
That night, I needed to nurture my introvert side, which I did with leftover pizza, the end of the first season of Seinfeld, and the third season of Dear White People. I was exhausted, but I felt good in showing up and being a part of a movement that’s way bigger than me and that ties into something that’s become a big part of me these past few years. It was even better having a fellow singleton there. Thanks for coming, Janice; we’ll be in touch!
My sympathies out to the women of Texas who’ve been subjected to men’s outdated views on what they should do with their bodies. I had a conversation with a close friend who was feeling enraged about it. Millions of people (not just women) are feeling similar anger, which is why there’s another Women’s March happening October 2.
After our conversation, I’ve started thinking about all of the activism I’ve been doing on singlehood, and I’ve told the story about how my interest developed so many times it’s become second nature. I felt anger at all the times I’d been microaggressed (that verb should really not be highlighted red) about being single, and that anger developed as I read more about how laws and policies are designed to benefit the married. I can’t even watch a film without analyzing it for a pro-romance message.
While anger is looked at negatively, it can actually be a good thing if used constructively. My anger resulted in this blog, which in turn, resulted in a bunch of articles, a book, and a developing brand. I thought of this when I suggested to my friend that she engage in some painting, a favorite pastime of hers, as an outlet for her anger.
I do find that through conversation and writing and allowing myself my anger over discrimination toward single people (micro- and macro-), I’m actually able to be a lot less angry. I find myself being genuinely happy for people who get married, engaged, pregnant, etc. Because even though it’s not my life path, I can congratulate others who are doing the things they want to do, even if I won’t be attending their weddings or getting them gifts. After all, I didn’t get any gifts when I got my doctorate, got my promotion, published my book. So why should I subsidize them? But maybe that’s my anger there.
At any rate, I’m proposing that CoSPers and other singles activists attend their state’s marches on October 2. The abortion ban in Texas is very much an intersectional issue that involves singlism, because banning abortions is anti-single in that it reinforces the government’s preference in marriage and children. And to my DC tribe, hope we can meet there!
NOTE: This post is cross-listed with one on my other blog, Not Enough Concerts.
In the spirit of living my best solo life, I decided to take a two-day trip to Baltimore since I have the time “off” during the summer. Friday was spent walking the city, enjoying its crab cakes, and being dazzled by the unconventional artwork at the American Visionary Art Museum. But the real reason for the trip was meeting fellow CoSPer Heather for the Acrocats show, that event where cats do cool tricks like jumping through hoops, walking on balance beams, and even playing instruments!
After hopping the #56 bus to Highlandtown (which seems like the cultural hub of Baltimore), enjoying an Italian sub at DiPasquale’s, I walked over to High Grounds Coffee Roasters, where I did another thing I intended: distributed a few flyers for my coaching business. I had a nice conversation with an older gentleman named Wiley, who asked if I helped with things like ancient writing. I gave him my pitch wherein I tell people I coach the individual writer and what that writer needs, and he revealed he was a student of ancient writing. Very cool.
After reading my newest literary acquisition, Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, and writing in my journal for a bit, I met up with Heather and her friend Missy at the venue, where we look at the cool merch. I acquired an Acrocats bumper sticker for my amplifier, as well as some treats that can help with my cat/son Chester’s hairballs. Missy and I did what all cat owners do when they meet each other in this digital age: show off our cat pics. She also referred to the event as a “catcert,” which I found delightful.
The cat puns continued as the event’s emcee started with an “ameowncement” greeting “Baltimeow.” The soundtrack consisted of cat-related songs like The Cure’s “The Love Cats,” Tom Jones’s “What’s New Pussycat?” and Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever.” I would have also loved “Eye of the Tiger” and “China Cat Sunflower,” but I guess you can’t have everything.
When mice were brought out, my first thought was, “They’d better not have the cats chase them around!” And they didn’t; they just walked the balance beams. We were also treated to some antics from a rooster named Cluck Norris.
The emcee gave some explanation on how the trainers get the cats to do their bidding via the use of clickers. That, and a lot of patience. In fact, her line “nothing teaches you humility like trying to train a cat in front of a live audience” stuck with me.
Tricks that stuck out included the following (I was writing too quickly to remember most of the names):
My favorite was when a white cat named Tuna walked into the audience and eventually headbutted me. Of course, I kept saying “Hellwoooo Chester” under my breath because, again, I associate all cute things with little Chester. Plus I just like to act weird.
The highlight, of course, was the Rock Cats, their band. “Tuna, more cowbell!” was a common request from the trainers. I’m pretty sure I heard “Bad Romance” on sax from Oz, and “Careless Whisker” appeared as well. Bowie rocked out on drums, Nue took us to the 1980s with the synthesizer, Sookie played those chimes like a champ, Buggles emerged from her high perch to play some trumpet.
One line of note. The emcee revealed that she fosters most of these cats. She said, “I won’t say how many cats I have but I am single and probably always will be.” I felt some subdued, awkward laughter from a few members, but mostly silence. I’m not sure how I feel about that self-deprecating humor, which really plays into the stereotype, but then again, I do try to subvert it though my “crazy single cat male” persona, so there you go.
At any rate, it was a fun time, and thanks to Heather’s astute observational skills, I found a place to put more flyers for my business. Of course, I was missing Chester, and was ecstatic to come home and do my thing where I pick him and give him endless kisses. And, of course, some Netflix and chill.
I must say the preview of Kevin Can F*** Himself intrigued me. A twist of the classic type of sitcom with the buffoonish husband as protagonist with demure wife as foil (think All in the Family, The Honeymooners).
Annie Murphy, who, up until this point, I knew as the ditzy Alexis Rose on Schitt’s Creek, plays Alison McRoberts the long-suffering housewife of Kevin, who personifies the archetype of the dumb husband. Whenever he’s on screen, usually accompanied by his father, Pete, and less intelligent neighbor Neil (which isn’t really saying much), the show is brightly lit in the multi-camera 90s-sitcom style, and includes that classic “laugh track” feature.
However, when these stereotypical males disappear, we transgress to a single-camera style, and the screen turns dark, as does the story. Without giving too many spoilers, Alison dreams of a better life, a life where she’s more than just “Kevin’s husband,” and it turns out that some of Kevin’s antics that make for a good sitcom storyline have a much darker impact on Annie’s life (like putting sugar in the gas tank of Alison’s boss, and subsequently getting Alison fired from a job that seemed to give her a send of purpose). Accompanied by her jaded, taciturn neighbor Patty (Neil’s sister), she decides she can only do one thing: kill her husband and enjoy the freedom to sit in a café with a book, a scone, and some peace. How many trapped wives have enjoyed that fantasy (and even some husbands for that matter)?
The show does a pretty neat thing with that classic “family sitcom” structure by twisting it on his head, but it also provides some commentary on marriage. I don’t know how many actual marriages resemble the sitcom union (I suspect many, given how many women I hear about on CoSP talk about being “mother” to an ex-husband), but the show does take a few pokes at the institution. In one scene, Alison complains to her aunt/boss at the liquor store where she works about her marriage, and her aunt responds with an anecdote about how she hid a foot injury so she could wear heels to titillate her husband. She concludes with, “That’s marriage.” Even though it’s television, I was sad to hear that statement.
(SPOILER ALERT) At one point later in the season, Alison begins an affair with her former high school flame, Sam, and she ponders running away with him, but he points out, “You’ve never stood on your own.” It’s a true statement. She stopped going to school because Kevin told her it was a waste of time; she also rarely drives because Kevin tells her she’s a bad driver. Part of the show is a female empowerment tale in which she comes to realize she can be a whole person.
There’s a parallel story as well: Patty, the neighbor, has been “one of the guys” as part of Kevin’s crew, but she feels dissatisfaction at her role of having to put up with her brother Neil’s antics (usually influenced by Kevin). Initially, she regards Alison as a “Barbie” but over time, she gradually develops a respect and affinity for her and her situation.
The movie’s last scene, which I won’t spoil here, is a masterpiece, in which the single-camera setup and multi-camera setups merge. I’ll only be curious as to how they can maintain the storyline in Season Two.
Kevin can F*** Himself is essentially telling sitcom views of marriage to go f*** itself. Perhaps it could continue societal trends in telling marriage itself to go f*** itself? Only time will tell.
After a breakup and subsequent period of sadness during which I obsessively told myself I was going to die alone, I found the work of Bella DePaulo, which essentially saved my life and transformed my thinking about singlehood. It transformed it so much that I’ve become a scholar/writer/activist/crusader for singlehood, writing articles and even a book about it.
Yet, there’s been a downside about it. I now hear microaggressions where I hadn’t previously (such as politicians referring to “American families” as opposed to “American people”). On the way back from a solo trip from hiking the AT, as I walked toward my apartment, I heard a woman refer to her brother as a “loner/bachelor.” That triggered me for a second before I realized she may not have meant it as a negative thing. After all, I hadn’t heard the entire conversation, so I’m probably missing a great deal of context.
I’m reading a book entitled The Professor in the Cage: Why Men Fight and Why We Like to Watch, which is about a professor’s foray into cage fighting, done as a study in masculinity (and in my opinion, the primal urges that lead to toxic masculinity). He mentioned that marriage pacifies men, and that the lion’s share of violence is done by unmarried men (I hate that word “unmarried”). I grinded my teeth for a second, and then I thought, well, actually, I think I felt pacified when I was in relationships. And toxic masculinity among men is real, and men are often competing for relationships/sex, so yeah, I guess it makes sense that would be the case. Of course, without such perceptions of how manhood is connected to sex, we might see that violence drop, so we need to look at the root of that problem, which the author neglects.
The problems of singlism and matrimania still exist. But the trick for me is learning to see it where it actually does occur and to not overread where it may not.
A short prose piece inspired by Peter McGraw's Solo podcast episode, "Waiting." A widower is infinitely more attractive than a never-married person, as our protagonist proves.
There was word of a widower in Pine Hills, the gated community for senior citizens. Peter, a grey-haired man in his 70s, had lost Elizabeth, his wife of thirty years. All the widows in the complex brought him casseroles and pastries until he coupled with Gretchen. Upon doing so, he placed Elizabeth’s pictures in storage.
Peter had been a graphic designer. His specialty was altering stock photos to give them different appearances. Elizabeth, whom he had gotten from one of his suppliers, was his masterpiece.
My name is Craig. I'm an educator, writer, and unapologetic singleton. When not reading, writing, or teaching, I enjoy hiking, running, watching movies, going to concerts, spending time with friends, and playing with my cat/son, Chester.