Career advice from future me to my grown son (yeah, the one who is now an infant)

As part of my charity running campaign, readers who donated $50 or more were able to dictate the contents of one blog post.  Today’s topic comes from long time RCAT reader, Rich. This is Rich:


Rich asked me to write a letter like it’s in the future and I need to provide career advice to my son Owen who would then be a grown up.   Frankly speaking, it’s a terrible idea. But I am not one to renege* on my promises*, so here’s something sort of resembling what he asked for.

*I initially wanted to use the word “welch” here, but I googled it to find out if it’s actually welch or welsh, and instead I found out I was racist.  So I apologize to all the people of Wales for my near derogatory remark.  I trust you all no matter what.
**Except I might not fulfill anyone else’s blog requests.

Career Advice From Future Me to My Grown Son

Dear Owen,

By now you’re old enough to know most of my life story.  I’m not just “dad,” I’m also the guy that people stop on the street and say, “Hey!  Aren’t you that blogger guy with the beautiful wife who became a billionaire in her late 30s?”  And yes, Owen, technically that is a correct way to describe me, but before I became “just” the trophy husband to your lovely mother, I had a career.  Many careers in fact.  You may not know this, but before that first Rob Complains About Things propelled me to profits in the tens of dollars, I had the following jobs:

  • Paperboy
  • Golf Range Ball Picker Upper
  • Camp Counselor
  • Telemarketer
  • Intern
  • High powered attorney
  • SAT tutor

That’s right, my boy, I’ve done it all, and along the way, I’ve learned many lessons – mostly because I fucked so many things up.  Because I don’t want you to be one of those spoiled billionaire brats, here’s some advice that may help you as you advance through your career:

1.  Don’t listen to anyone else.

You will hear a lot of different things about the “right” thing to do.  In fact, that’s precisely what I’m doing now.  Remember that what’s right for one person may not be right for you.  A wise woman once said, “Don’t go chasing waterfalls.”  Well, that’s the best career advice you’ll ever get (if by waterfalls TLC was referring to money, prestige, or someone else’s approval).

Looking back through old pictures, I’m blown away by how clear my career intentions were. At various points in my life, I made it clear that I wanted to be:

A carpenter:

photo 1

A tiger:

photo 2

and a naked cowboy:


censored for gratuitous penis

Yet somewhere along life’s journey, that path got twisted and turned and tied up in knots, and I ended up trying to fulfill some unrealistic vision of the perfect career.  I’m not sure where that vision came from, but it was misaligned with what my gut was saying to me (and at times that gut was a massive force).

So in a quest for a real corporate career, I wound up in some rather odd places.  My first job was to call mutual fund companies pretending to be someone else so that I could pass judgment on their customer service department.  I was essentially a rogue member of the Jerky Boys (or a humorless corporate behemoth version of the Jerky Boys).

Next, I ventured into the high-powered world of technology as a telemarketing sales rep.  I cold called hundreds of people a day, but spent the majority of my time developing my writing skills by drafting uproarious emails to my friends.

Fed up with the nausea that developed when I told people I was a telemarketer, I left this illustrious career to attend law school.  I’d show them, I thought.  Lawyers are prestigious!!!! Who could hate a lawyer?  I’ll go work for a big law firm and lead a life filled happiness and riches.  Instead, I developed mild cases of anxiety, depression, isolation, OCD, and the Sunday mopes.  That’s when I followed in my old man’s footsteps and became the SAT King of the East.

I hope you get the point here.  Listen to your heart and follow your real passions.  If you want to become

a fireman:


A 1920s paper boy:


A British Guardsman:


Or a Run DMC:


Well, I’m not going to stop you.  Go with it!

2.  Do the things that you want to do.

You come from a long line of entrepreneurs and risk takers.  Your grandmother had a business that was built on a foundation of eggshells (literally).  Your aunt is a Millennial Workplace Expert.  (I know, sounds made up, but it really was a thing back in the Early 2010s).  If you want to be the world’s next great egg painter, then you should.  Don’t worry about what other people will think of your career choices.  If you like it, it will work.

A brief anecdote about your grandfather:  According to legend, Grandpa Buddy finished college and decided to follow in his old man’s footsteps.  Although it seems impossible and contrary to every established fact you’ve learned about the old coot, Big Papa Buddy was at one time going to be a dentist.  That means that he must have taken at least one science class in school.

Well, Big Papa Buddy got so far in his pursuit of a dental degree that he applied, enrolled, and matriculated in Dental College.  Papa Buddy was moving along “the path” until the day the professor introduced them to the drill.  When he started to drill – and take this with a grain of salt because the veracity of Papa Buddy’s stories is always in question – Papa Buddy accidentally drilled right through the tooth he was working on and then through the table in the lab.

Drill Baby Drill

Later that day, Papa Buddy informed your Great Grandpa that the quest for a dental degree was coming to an end.  He became a dental school dropout, spent a brief period of time working in a hippy dippy poster shop in New York City, and then went on to have a legendary teaching career.

The point of this story, Owen, is twofold:  1) Don’t do anything just because I say to or because you think it will make me happy, and 2) Don’t become a dentist or come anywhere near my teeth with a drill.

3)  Embrace the hard parts.

Any time I’ve started a new job, tried to master a new skill, or pursued anything with vigor, there came a time when it got difficult.  Like way more difficult than I had initially thought possible.  When that moment comes, it will seem simpler to take the easy way out.  The “easy way out” can take many forms, but the most common are quitting or stagnating.  If you settle into your comfort zone because it makes your job easier, then I promise you will hit a point where you hate it.  It’s worth fighting through loads of challenges to break through to a level of competency that you could not achieve by staying in your comfort zone.  Another wise woman once said:

Comfort Zone

I stole that from an episode of Girls (who probably stole it from somewhere else).  See, Owen, I’m not afraid to borrow liberally from TV shows with gratuitous nudity and sexually suggestive language.

Anyway, when you hit the point where something gets hard, that’s the point when it’s really important to push yourself to the next level.  If you don’t make the effort at that moment, one of the following things will happen:  You’ll quit; You’ll stagnate; You’ll get bored; Others will pass you by.  All of those are bad options.

Fight the urge to be complacent when you’re “good enough,” and try to be better.  It’s the hardest thing to do because it means stepping out of the comfort zone, but it’s worth it because when you get to that next level, you’ll feel like that effort was worth it.  You will also be really good at whatever you were working on.  I mean, just look at how far my stick figure drawings have come since the beginning of this blog.  Do you think that’s a coincidence?

4.  End on a high note

Sometimes you have to know when to walk away.  Even though I literally just said you have to push through the hard parts, sometimes it’s not worth it.  If you hate something you’re doing, or feel like you’re doing it just to appease the desires of others, or for the money, or for the chicks, then it’s probably a bad idea.  Walk away.  There’s no such thing as career momentum if you’re momentuming towards something you don’t want.

I’m going to take some of my own advice right now, and end this before it gets even longer and shittier than it already is.  So peace out, Owen.  I hope you find a career that allows you to support me and my poker habit when I’m cooped up in that old person’s home eating mashed up peas.

Peace out!

Whose turn to change that diaper?

In my last post, I mentioned Anne’s unbelievable talent for diaper bombing. Someone asked for an elaboration, so Anne whipped up this flow chart. It explains how she decides whether it is her turn or my turn to change that next diaper. (Note I=Anne and you/your=Rob).


Six Lessons from My First Six Months as a Parent

Rob Pollak blog on parenting

It’s been almost six months since Owen was born, and in that time, I’ve learned a lot about the world.  Lucky for you, I have a blog, so I can happily share these life lessons with you. To keep things simple, I have decided to leave out the obvious lessons, like “You won’t need an alarm clock anymore” or “Golf is something you used to do, Rob” or “use a wipe, not your hand” or “moms lose baby weight; dads find it.”  You know these things!

Lesson 1:  The minutes are long, but the months and years are short

At every first birthday party, the parents stand up and say, “Wow, this year really flew by.”  I’m sure that I will give that obligatory speech when my son hits one year.  But what does it really mean for time to fly by?  There are times when I look at my son and think, “Holy shit, he’s a little person.  It seems like just yesterday that I was getting weekly email updates from describing his size as about that of a kernel of corn.  So in some ways, yes, the time flies by.  But sometimes I am equally shocked about how long certain moments feel.  Like I bet you didn’t know that when a baby screams in your ear, you can sing the same verse of twinkle twinkle 14,221 times without the minute hand on the clock moving even once.  Then after giving it all you got and check to see if the baby’s asleep, you look down and see this looking up at you:


I can sometimes hear him saying, “Nice try, dude.”  When the year is done and it feels as if it flew by, don’t forget about how excruciating some of those individual moments were.  There’s practically a life time in there.  Take one of those long moments to reward yourself for a job well done.  You (I) deserve it!

Lesson 2:  Holding a baby is an amazing lower back workout

There is probably some medical reason why it’s bad to arch your back just so in order to support the full weight of a small human being on your chest  But for now, I’m sticking with it.  In fact, there are a number of ways that a small child can be used like a medicine ball or kettle bell.  I’ll leave it up to you to decide which exercises lend themselves to the child as medicine ball approach, but here’s where I come out:



YES (Anne wants me to make it explicitly clear that she says this is clearly a no):



Definitely NO:

Lesson 3:  If you’re going to use Habanero Tabasco Sauce, wash your hands before you put your contact lenses in your eyes.

This one has nothing to do with parenting, but it’s a valuable lesson nonetheless.  You would also think that it’s the kind of lesson I’d only need to learn once.  Not so!  I once read that it takes 21 times to create a habit.  So let’s just say that I’m well on my way to making washing my hands after Tobasco a lifelong habit.  About 1/7th of the way there to be exact.

Lesson 4:  Getting out of changing a diaper is an art.

Getting out of changing a diaper is a subtle skill, and I am lucky to be married to a beautiful, kind, caring, considerate, intelligent, gracious, tolerant woman who has mastered it.

Here is Anne preparing to diaper bomb me.

Here is Anne preparing to diaper bomb me.

Now don’t get me wrong, Anne changes a shitload of diapers.  Literally.  (Get it?) (Because the diapers are sometimes filled with shit) (You get it) (It was bad.  I know).  But, she still manages to be an expert at the diaper bomb, i.e., handing a fully loaded baby over to get out of changing the diaper, but couching it in terms of love, with some sweet saying like, “Ohhhh, do you want to do some daddy hugs??” which makes me feel so great!  Well played, Anne.  Well played.

How to tell if that diaper is dirty from rob pollak,

[A brief note to my female readers:  Please refrain from your inevitable comments about breast feeding, giving birth, the physical demands of pregnancy, blah blah blah.  I get it.  Anne does not deserve to be the butt of my jokes.  Well, she can get her own blog, damnit.  Because when she hands me our child in the name of love, but actually intended for me to have to touch shit with my bare hands, then I get to blog about that.  Also, this never happened.  Most of you know that, I’m sure.  Anne is a saint.  (But just to be conservative, I just purchased and  Suck it, Anne!!]

Lesson 5:  When it comes to parenting, most people are completely insane.

The other day a friend posted an article on facebook about rear facing car seats.  First of all, who cares what other people do?  Second of all, I freaking read the article and all the comments.  Third of all, the comments were the most amazing thing I’ve read in my life.  Here’s a summary of the comments:

Person 1:  A friend of mine recently switched the seat to front facing because her daughter was screaming so much that it caused her to get in 250 accidents.  When we switched to forward facing, she never had an accident again and the kid went on to the Nobel Prize for Car Seat Safety.  Do you think this is okay?

Person 2:  @P1 – If your kid is less than 15 and is facing forward, you are a terrible person.  I hope you rot in hell.

Person 1:  @P2 – Oh really?  Well you can’t argue with results and my friend’s Nobel Laureate daughter is so much safer now.

Person 2:  @P1 – She might be safe now, but if you hit a pothole, her head will probably pop off.  #RearCarSeats4Life #YouMurderousBitch

Person 1:  @P2 – You probably realized it by now, but my friend is really me.  I lied to you because I was embarrassed.  Sorry I lied on the Internet.

Person 2:  @P1 – I am calling child protective services.  You’re a whore.

Person 1:  @P2 – I hope your kid can sit forward facing in High School, assface.

Let’s put this in some perspective.  When people argue about child rearing on the Internet, logic goes out the window.  It’s completely acceptable to use the small sample size of 1 child as a valid defense to an argument.  If someone says, “it’s bad to give an infant alcohol,” another person thinks it’s okay to respond with, “yeah, but we gave my son a little vodka in his bottle every day until he was 3 and he became a neurosurgeon.”  Just because it worked for A kid, doesn’t mean that it’s the right thing to do.  As Wayne Campbell once said upon receiving a gun rack for his birthday, “I don’t even own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack.”

Seriously, go read the comments.  I am obsessed:

Lesson 6:  Blogging is Hard with a Kid.  When in Doubt, Just Show Pictures.

I’m trying my best!

IMG_1488 IMG_1465 IMG_1497 IMG_1573 DSC_0205



The post is over, how does that make us feel?IMG_1630

The Official Rob (and Anne) Complains About Things Baby Pool

Welcome to the first annual Rob (and Anne) Complains About Things (other than their baby) Baby Pool.

A drawing launching a baby pool for my blog

CLICK HERE to submit your entry to the baby pool.  It only takes a minute to enter, but by doing so, you will receive 15 seconds of entertainment.

If you like to read the “fine print” then the rest of this post is just for you!

The Rules are as follows:

  1. One entry per person (no purchase necessary).
  2. The winner will be the person who submits the best entry form.  Because the answers to some of the questions will not be finalized for many many years, this will be a somewhat arbitrary process.  In other words, the person who does the best on picking the gender/DOB/weight/height/Apgar score/Rob Pass out/name will win.  In the event of a tie, all prize money will be donated to charity (Baby’s college fund).
  3. People who have provided interviews to this blog about parenting are all already winners in my mind!  But if they do win the contest, their prizes will be as follows:
    1. If Andy wins, the prize will be one pair of Hank and Jojo socks.
    2. If Ryan wins, the prize will be a weekly guest spot on my blog.
    3. If Suburban Mom wins, the prize will be extra blog traffic for my blog.  She wins!
  4. Anne is not allowed to enter.  Not for any specific reason, but it would really crush my spirits if she did better than I did in this pool.
  5. These rules don’t matter because, as you’re about to see, the prizes are all really shitty.  If you still want to enter, here’s what you could win:  

First Prize:

  • Have the baby named after you (redeemable only if the winning entry has the same name as we were going to pick for the kid anyway).
  • A custom stick figure drawing.
  • An autographed photo of me passed out in the delivery room.  If I don’t pass out, an autographed photo of placenta.
  • A blog post all about you.
  • Three unused Rob Complains About Things Stamps (cash value $1.38)

Second Prize:

  • A slightly shittier custom stick figure drawing.
  • An autographed photo of me doing yoga.
  • A blog post all about someone else but mentioning you.
  • Two unused Rob Complains About Things Stamps (cash value $0.92)

Third Prize:

  • Yeah, right.  Like I’m going to give a prize to someone who couldn’t even make the top two.  You suck!
  • $3 cash
  • One unused Rob Complains About Things Stamp

Last Place:

  • You will be mocked relentlessly by me.  Unless I finish last, in which case the scores will be manipulated in such a way as to make it seem like someone else finished last.

Good luck to all participants.  I am ineligible for any prizes (except first or second prize), but I will submit an entry to crush you all with my inside information.

Thanks for participating.  Here’s the link again in case I f*cked up the one I posted at the beginning: