When I was in grade school I figured out pretty early where I was on the Coolness Scale.

You know the one. 

Top of the scale= Good athletes, pretty girls, guys who could make fun of you and crack up the rest of the class.

Bottom of the scale= Fat, ugly, dorky, shy, awkward, weird boys/girls (we were rather egalitarian in our cruelty)

I was upper-middle class. 

I was a pretty good athlete, could occasionally get off some pretty good zingers, and pandered pretty well to the Cool Ones, carefully keeping my head down and out of the line of fire.

But I wasn’t a great athlete. And I mostly thought of great comebacks and put-downs a day later (So when I did get a good one off, I was merciless and rode it for all it was worth).

The point is I was never quite as cool as I wanted to be. If I had known about “glass ceilings” in those days I would have secretly identified more with feminism than I did. (Very few 4th and 5th grade boys were openly sympathetic to feminism in any form. Especially the dorkier guys who were picked for teams after the Tom-Boys in the class.)

But I felt like I was up against it even if I didn’t know what it was called.

Always on the strain to be in the cool crowd, but never quite there.

As goofy as it is, I’m still there. 

I still care too much about that crap. I still want to be thought of as “cool”. 

Take this blog, for instance. My motives here are a tangled mess of good- trying to tell the truth about stuff so others won’t think they’re alone and maybe be encouraged. And, how shall we say it? “impure”-wanting folks to think of me as wise and insightful.

I say I want to be anonymous, yet I’ve told a couple of other bloggers, that really are wise and insightful, to check it out. I’ve left comments at other sites as “Zelig”, secretly hoping they would be intrigued enough to visit and help elevate me into the upper reaches of blogdom coolness. 

So in order to help take a little pride out of the equation, I’m not telling anyone else, and I’m giving up blog stats forever for the next two weeks.

Keep me honest.


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