I try and spend a portion of my summers immersing myself in new cultural experiences or tackling goals previously written on Post-It notes taped to my computer monitor. It’s what keeps me from whiling away the hot months on my patio, drinking beer as the grill heats up.
No sticky note needed for that activity.
Last year I investigated the burgeoning home-sharing market, staying in Airbnbs and other rental properties in far-flung locales like Larkspur, Colo., and French Lick, Ind. I recounted my travels via a video blog and continue to film new episodes, time and funds permitting.
Prior to that, I finally made good on my promise to complete my second book. Confession, it was a collection of previously written columns; but I still had to hire a photographer to shoot the cover photo. That required hoisting myself out of the lounge chair and turning off the grill.
This summer, I vowed to, or was rather forced to, learn the definitions of two phrases that consistently began appearing in both my social media and breaking news feeds:
“Unicorn employee” and “Bigfoot porn.”
My definition of unicorn was, until recently, one I learned in grade school; that of a mythical, white, horse-like creature thought to have magical powers contained in the single horn upon its head. I vaguely remember having to write an essay in middle school, the topic pertaining to what I would do with a unicorn as a pet.
I theorized the horn would make an excellent tool in which to inflict pain upon my older sister. Remember, this was middle school.
But, I recently discovered, “unicorn” has become a slang term given to workforce employees who can perform any task assigned to them, and do it brilliantly. While Human Resource departments claim these employees exist only in a fantasy world, much like the creature itself, the millennial generation appears full of them. Just ask a millennial.
A search of LinkedIn and other job search sites reveals a cavalcade of young professionals who include the word in their skill sets. Recently, while speaking at a technology conference, I encountered an employee who bluntly stated, “I like to think of myself as our company’s chief unicorn.”
Unfamiliar then with the word’s corporate definition, I began scanning his face, searching for a protruding object. I don’t believe he noticed; his gaze had moved quickly to his phone. I assumed he was waiting for a text signaling an incoming crisis only he could solve.
Just when I closed my LinkedIn app, confident that I should do my best to avoid these self-aggrandizing employees whenever possible, I was faced with learning the definition of a more disturbing phrase: “Bigfoot porn.”
The idea of having sexual trysts with another mythical creature, this one standing upright, covered in hair and otherwise known as “Sasquatch,” recently went mainstream when Virginia congressional candidate Leslie Cockburn accused her Republican opponent, Denver Riggleman, of an obsession with Bigfoot erotica. This after a drawing of the creature, its genitals obscured, was found on Riggleman’s Instagram page. Although Riggleman has co-authored a self-published book on Sasquatch, he strongly denied he was fixated with the creature’s kinky side. That hasn’t stopped Cockburn supporters from keeping the issue in the campaign’s forefront.
I typed “Bigfoot porn” into Google and was immediately relieved I did not share a computer with my wife. Links to numerous adult-oriented sites littered my screen, although none promised evidence of Bigfoot in compromising positions. Still, I came away enlightened, sadly, that Bigfoot porn is real, even if the creature is not. I suppose I could have asked an all-knowing unicorn for confirmation, but I needed to explore it myself.
I have already taped a note to my computer with my lone goal for next summer: Invite multiple unicorns and Bigfoot porn aficionados to my house for a barbecue and lively conversation.
And most definitely film it.
