Hi, I'm Ron Stauffer
I’m Ron Stauffer. If you’ve found this website, you may be wondering, “Who is Ron Stauffer anyway, and who does this guy think he is?” Here’s a list with a baker’s dozen of things that “I think I am:”
Unemployable solopreneur.
Philosophical gadfly.
Autistic Mennonite.
Critic of woke “institutions of higher education.”
Father of five kids.
Dual citizen of America and Ireland.
Opera singer.
Grammar snob.
Lowercase-l libertarian.
Lowercase-c catholic.
Stoic and iconoclast.
I am, believe it or not, all of these things. My life is a weird, paradoxical collection of threads that don’t make any sense together, like an overly-colored tapestry woven from different types of fabric, such that the end product is a bizarre, kaleidoscopic gingham pattern that wouldn’t “normally” make sense or go well together.
I’m sorry I’m not “normal” or “don’t make sense.” Actually, that’s not true. I’m not sorry: I don’t mind it at all. I have a pathological inability to feel “sorry” for things that aren’t actually wrong.
I’m usually a quiet, introspective person who cannot understand why other people in the world aren’t endlessly fascinated with deep thoughts about life, the universe, and all that matters.
I’m utterly consumed with the hard questions that plague mankind, such as:
“What does Kafka-esque mean, and why do people use that term so flippantly, like it’s obvious and I should already know about it when in fact I don’t?”
“What is the difference between quotidian and quixotic, and why can’t I keep those two separated in my mind?”
“How can “bucolic” possibly be a word to describe calm scenes of farmland and pasture, when it sounds like it should refer to a boiling cauldron of battery acid and vomit?”
I enjoy trolling Corporate America™, slaughtering sacred cows, and just saying what needs to be said. I think, unfortunately, that most organizations and employers in the 21st century are just plain stupid. Oh, hold on, was that rude?
I’m sorry—wait, we’ve already been through this. I’m not sorry.
I’m really not that sarcastic until I see idiots on Twitter who say dumb things they haven’t thought through. In that case, I feel a strong conviction to adhere to Proverbs 26:5 and “Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes.”
I recently discovered that I have Asperger’s Syndrome, a processing disorder that makes it nearly impossible for me to pick up on most social cues, so I’m basically immune to fads or following trends, and I cannot, for the life of me, comprehend why people care so much about what other people think of them, especially dumb people they don’t respect.
I don’t understand why people do things “just for fun” or say words that they don’t actually mean. When people say, “Yeah, I know said that, but I didn’t mean it,” — I have no ability to comprehend this.
I have only ever said words that I mean, and I can’t understand why people would do anything differently. On a side note, if you ever try to surprise me, you will certainly regret it because I cannot stand surprises.
I’m an advocate for freedom, liberty, self-employment, looking at the data, speaking the truth in plain English, damn the consequences, and honestly… screw people’s feelings.
If they can’t handle the truth, that’s their problem, and they must have a small intellect for that to be the case.
I have a passion for telling people to trust their gut, follow their instincts, believe in themselves, and demand respect for the work they do. This Substack account is my attempt at engaging in radical transparency and honesty, even if it gets me fired or canceled.
I would, if I were a Greek philosopher, probably be forced to drink the Hemlock.
I think that’s enough about me, though. Notice how I’ve managed to start every single paragraph on this page with “I?” That’s plenty about me now. So, tell me about yourself. Do we have anything in common? If so, send me a message and let me know.
I appreciate it.