Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes misery easier to live with.

At this point, my own natural sense of the absurd and cynicism is running at full tilt but I am beginning to think that is normal these days.




Take Your Kid to Work Day didn't go as planned.

I had been looking forward to "Take Your Kid to Work Day" for weeks. My eight-year-old daughter was finally old enough to see where her dad went every day. I pictured her being impressed by the office, the computers, and maybe even sitting in my big chair.

As we walked through the glass doors into the quiet, fluorescent-lit office, the gentle hum of printers and the soft clicking of keyboards filled the air. My colleagues, a perfectly normal group of accountants and project managers in their cubicles, looked up and offered warm, welcoming smiles.

But instead of curiosity or excitement, my daughter’s face instantly crumpled. Her bottom lip trembled, and before I could kneel down, she was crying big, heaving sobs that echoed in the suddenly silent room.

A small crowd of concerned coworkers quickly gathered around us. "What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them asked gently. "Are you hurt?"

I crouched down, holding her small shoulders. "Honey, what is it? What's the matter?"

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, looked around the room of perfectly ordinary office workers, and asked in a voice cracking with profound disappointment:

"Daddy... where are all the clowns you said you worked with?"