Ask Mr. Smartypants

For most of my married life, I've worked nights. That's because if my bosses, who work days, had to deal with me for more than an hour at a stretch, they'd realize corporate policy demands they do something about my management style, personality, attire, voice level, surfing of morally ambiguous Web sites, television viewing, personal calls, attitude and ethics, all of which I refer to as my "verve."

It also makes sense because if my wife, who works days, had to deal with me on a daily basis, she'd realize common sense dictates she do something about my continued presence in her home and influence on her child.

Already, weekends spent together leave her so drained she's begun to suggest I take up hobbies like missionary work (not that big with the Jews, whose reaction to potential converts is "You don't watch much History Channel, do you?") and Iditarod-style dog races (I'm cute in a parka).

Because I am home during the day, I do a lot of chores. Angela does chores at night, but she does them while caring for a 7-year-old, which is like running windsprints with a fully-heated kiln on your back: It's possible, but it's neither effective nor pleasant.

I do a lot of laundry, and while I don't ruin stuff, neither do I fold it particularly well or put it away terribly neatly.

My laundry motto is: "It's washed, get off my case."

All my mottoes include the phrases "get off my case" or "I'll give you something to cry about."

Thursday, during an Ironman Triathlon of folding, piling and stowing, I began to despair because after nearly a decade of doing laundry for a family, I have no idea what most of it is or where it goes.

I have no problem with my clothes. I own pants, shirts, socks and underwear. They all go together and can be worn year-round, in any setting, at any time of day or night.

But Angela and Quinn's clothing is broken down into sub-sub categories that defy (male) comprehension. To me it's a short-sleeved shirt. To them it's an "early autumn semi-casual lounging print-patterned separate, to be hung on a 24-gauge plastic or six-grained wooden hanger."

Both Quinn and Angela have two reclining wardrobes, one for lying on the couch and the other for in bed.

These go in different drawers, are folded and sorted differently and are identical.

But nothing confounds me like towels. I'm red-green colorblind to the point where the most ornate scenes of Christmas frivolity look like cold bowls of Cream of Wheat, so which set of finger towels, washcloths, hand towels, ear towels and leg towels should go in which bathroom is unfathomable to me.

I almost had the rules down pat six months ago and Angela, sensing my mastery, redecorated two of the bathrooms.

One is now (I'm told) apple green and black, with stainless steel fixtures, while the other has a fish/ocean/men-are-stupid motif.

And since none of the towels are made of stainless steel or shaped like fish, the situation has exceeded my accessorizing abilities.

I think it's even begun to affect my verve.

At some point in the process of interviewing pretty much anyone who is seeking public office, they will turn to me, and with their big, sincere eyes giving me the big, sincere look, say, "I'm running because I want to give something back. I'm running to serve my fellow man."

That's when I think, "Really, dude? Are you sure raising and spending somewhere between $20,000 and $200 million to talk about how great you are and how horrible other people are is the best way to go about it?"

I was reminded of that Thursday evening when I had the honor of speaking at the annual dinner of the SAFE Homes-Crisis Coalition.

It was brought home to me that the desire to give something back and help one's fellow man is the opposite of political ambition and dogmatic fervor.

SAFE Homes provides such a wide array of services in terms of helping women and children who have been victims of violence that detailing them would take the rest of this column.

SAFE Homes requires such a magnitude of dedication from volunteers and employees that detailing it all would take the rest of this newspaper.

This kind of volunteerism is the most apolitical and noble aspect of our society.

That's not to say that the volunteers don't have strong political opinions, or even that they're not politically active. Some of the folks honored Thursday are, on both sides of the political spectrum.

And some of the people who run for elective office also spend time doing good works.

But politics and good works are separate, as are the motivations that drive us to pursue them.

I am more awed every day by the amount of quiet good being done in our society. Think of the effort volunteers put toward Mobile Meals, the hours people volunteer at our hospitals, the food banks and the shelters and the tutoring programs and the Big Brothers and on and on.

Which of these works are liberal or conservative or Republican or Democrat in nature?

People of good will, from all walks of life, all religious backgrounds, all parts of the political spectrum, have so much in common.

How have we come to be convinced, by the politicians and the rabble rousers and those who argue and manipulate for a living, that we do not?

Explain to me the liberal method of emptying a bedpan versus the conservative style. Show me how a Republican holds the hand of a rape victim as she sits in the hospital, and then how a Democrat does it.

We need elected officials in our society. We need political debate in our society. I recognize that.

But it angers me when people say they're running for office to serve us, because we know better.

In general, when you hear about somebody running for political office, you can trust they are doing so because they like power, or like to run things, or like publicity, or have an agenda.

In general, when people are driven to give something back to society, to help their fellow man, you'll never hear about them at all.