I Implore You

My boss recently purchased a Porsche 911. And I'm talking about a man that already possesses a Trans-Am, a Dodge Ram 4x4, a crotch rocket, a speed boat, a camper and a dirt-bike. Its quite an impressive list of toys. I was fairly confident that he was holding a team of elves hostage in that garage of his, but I've revised my theory. I now just think that this is a guy who really knows how to talk to his wife. I'm certain of it. The man has magical communication powers.

I don't. You should see me ask my wife for stuff. It would be like watching Harry Caray ask a team of Navajo wind-talkers for directions. Futile and hard to watch.

But maybe I'm just doing it wrong. Here are the five techniques I use for talking my wife into frivolous crap, and why none of them seem to be working.

The Garden Weasel
I use the 'Garden Weasel' method to plant seeds in my wife's brain, in hopes of harvesting them at a later date. This is the easiest method for getting an almost instantaneous thumbs-up from the pants-wearer in the house. The reason it works so nicely is because you are asking for something in the future. To women, the future doesn't exist. They live in the now. Especially if they have kids. They're just trying to get through the day. And for that reason, they will grant you your silly request, because they will never have to make good on the promise. Its like buying a house when your 97. Chances are, those mortgage payments wont be coming home to roost. But let's see a real world example of how this works.

Lets say its July. And you want to go to a dungeons & dragons convention in Salem, Oregon with your buddies the following February. (Ok, not the greatest example. Under this scenario, none of these guys would have ever gotten within 50 feet of a woman, much less marry one. But lets plow through). You're wife might say something like "Oh, that sounds like fun, sure have a good time at your dork festival, err um, convention".

Great, you just got permission. And made fun of, but who cares, mission accomplished. Or is it. The 'Garden Weasel' is not without its problems. One big mistake you can make is not cultivating that 'yes, you can go' crop at least once a month. You must remind her of what she has agreed to. And do it multiple times. If you get permission six months in advance, and then never bring it up again until the week of, you can forget going anywhere. She will accuse you of fabricating the whole story. So not only are you not going anywhere, but she's also pissed at you for lying.

The Sully Sullenberger
I can't really recommend this technique, but there is a time and place for it. Basically, the 'Sully Sullenberger' is about putting all cards on the table, and damn the consequences. You're going in guns a blazin, and you're gonna need your confidence to be at a dangerously high level. This is a one and a million death-star type shot, and you're bold enough to try it. And you know what, its crazy enough that it just might work.

Here's how it goes using the above example. You come home from work. You don't say hello, give a kiss, or collect $200. You just come right right out with it, berserker style. "I want to go to the nerdatorium next month with my friends. I deserve this and I never get to do anything, and I've already thought it out, and I want to do this".

Now, you might get lucky. Say the moons are aligned. Say she just watched an Oprah episode about domineering women and the husbands they domineer, and she feels kinda bad. Say she appreciates your bravado for once and just says yes.

But probably none of that is going to happen. Where this train invariably comes off the tracks is when you start qualifying the reasons why you deserve something. Don't do this. Because you deserve nothing. She does. And at the same time, she also feels like she never gets anything, so really your just screwed.

The Cowardly Lion
I shouldn't need to explain this one, other than to say its pretty much the bizarro 'Sully Sullenberger'. Here, you have zero confidence and your wife can smell it before you come up the driveway. I suffer from this one. I shouldn't. My wife is 5 foot 3 and weighs 110 pounds. Technically not a midget, but she could definitely get work in who ville. Why am I so scared of what she thinks? Wierd how that works. Anyway, if this is your problem, good luck to you sir. Dial up Oz on your GPS. Maybe the Wizard has some confidence for you.

The I Can't Believe Its Not You Buttering Me Up a Little More
AKA The Plea Bargain. Basically in this scenario, you coax your wife into a "yes" answer by promising her stuff, probably that you can't deliver. And the deal is never fair. Let's say you want to go to the aforementioned NerdFest we discussed earlier. You start out by offering to watch the kids for a whole Saturday while she goes out with her friends. But that would be a straight-up type of deal. That won't fly. You need to keep buttering up the deal. You'll need to throw in some sort of "We can invite your friend and her husband over for dinner, and I'll promise to act engaged" to sweeten the deal. And so on.

The reason this never works is because you promise stuff you can never follow through on. Because your desperate. Its the same stuff we have been doing since we were kids. We promised our parents we would clean the whole garage in exchange for 50 cents, so we could get a pack of baseball cards. If you recall, you would start off well enough, but your garage cleaning ADD ultimately would get the best of you, and you'd peter out about 12 minutes into the job. Same principle applies here.

The Hobosapien
Ok, this is just pure begging. Use this judiciously and only as a last resort. This technique is the second cousin to the "I cant believe your not buttering me up more". Take a second to make sure there are no video cameras running. You'll want no evidence of any kind that portrays you groveling on your knees in front of your wife. It's deadly in the hands of your friends. And for the love of God, get yourself together man. Have you no pride? Go through the list again. Did you even try the 'Sully Sullenberger'. Did you?

The biggest thing here is that you risk losing whatever respect your wife had for you in the first place. I guess that's why I tend to use this method a lot. Nothing to lose. But for the rest of you, there is still time. Save yourself. And Godspeed to us all.

Gonna See My Friend

I never do anything cool. I'm usually too cheap or lazy or married to really get to do anything that reminds me of me in my 20's. I'm not saying I used to be Howard Hughes, but I did stuff. I went places.

But lately, I haven't done anything I'd want to write home about. (My wife may stab me repeatedly with a rusty butter knife when she reads this - she does what she wants far less than I do.)

A few months back I sheepishly asked her if I could go up to Portland and see a Pearl Jam concert with my friend Clancy. I went ahead and made this request via email because I feel like I articulate better in writing than I do when I'm speaking. In other words, when I make requests that I don't necessarily deserve, I tend to have zero confidence, and even zero-er self-esteem, and well, it becomes a 'blood in a swimming pool full of hammerheads' sort of thing.

So suffice it to say, I didn't have a ton of confidence that she would say yes, and I knew that very same lack of confidence would manifest itself when it came time to make the request. So I put it in writing. And thank god for email. She gave me the go-ahead. I didn't expect that. Not at all. In fact, I was more confused than Han Solo when he first woke up in that carbonite chamber at Jabba the Hut's house. He needed a minute. So did I. But when I came to, I realized I needed to get going on some logistics. Logistics meaning I had to clear it with Clancy, see if he was available. Or wait....I know..

I'll just show up on his porch the day of, with him having no prior knowledge. It will be a mind blower. I seem to like that kind of thing. Not sure what this says about me.

So I emailed his wife Holly, and she agreed to it, and the trip was officially on. The success of the surprise hinged on her being very Deep Throat about this, and she really pulled it off. (I contacted her on Aug 10th, and I showed up on Sep 26th. That's 47 days of Clancy not having a clue. Again, well done).

So fast-forward to the day of. I showed up, and he was sitting in his lazy boy watching football with a muscle shirt on, and there were assorted cashews and funyuns sprayed about his chest. Clearly, not a guy who had been tipped off.

The man was stunned. Remember in Christmas Vacation when Cousin Eddie shows up at Clark's house? That was the level of surprise we're talking about. But better. He then made the proclamation to the room that this was the best day of his life, better than the day he was married, better than the day his son was born. Exaggeration perhaps, but this is the great thing about the element of surprise. The highs feel higher than they actually are. Plus it makes for a decent story. Clancy started calling friends, letting them know how unfortunate they were that they were not 'him'. And mostly because 'him' would be going to a sold-out PJ show in less than two hours!

We headed off to the show, but not before Clancy went to the safe and retrieved "The Letter".
Most people don't know about "The Letter". Allow me to explain. The year was 1994. I was floating around the Pacific Ocean while stationed aboard the USS Kittyhawk. We didn't have fancy email machines. It was a different time. But I did have some college ruled paper. So I decided to pen a letter to Clancy, let him know how I was doing. It turned out to be so much more. This letter ended up bringing joy to so many people. Ok, just two, but that's enough, right? I ended up expressing myself in a way that my Wife and Mother must never know about. Or Clancy's wife. In fact, we should burn this letter. Immediately. Seriously, make it happen.

Well, every time we get together, this letter gets recited like 'The Night Before Christmas'. Or something not quite like that. Anyhow, "The Letter" didn't disappoint this time either. It wasn't quite as great as I had remembered, but still decent. I guess that happens as you get older....things don't always hold up, especially in the humor department. (Best example: 'Spaceballs the movie'. I thought this was comedic gold when I was a teenager. I saw this recently, and I have to say, it sort of sucks).

It was a good trip to the show....lots of laughs. Lots of old stories. Lots of new stories involving people I lost touch with. Just solid. Then we got to the venue. It was time to get our seats and see where we would be sitting. Turns out, we got 7th row or something like that.....super close! More calls were made. Clancy bought his wife a $25 water bottle. Seemed worth it at the time.

The band came on and blew us away. They started things off with 'Gonna See My Friend' off the new album. I thought it was appropriate. Lots of old favorites like 'Once', 'Last Exit', 'Evenflow', 'Porch', 'Not for You', 'Why Go', and 'Yellow Ledbetter'. Some of my favorite moments of the show were not even PJ related. Clancy kept having to go the bathroom. He went 3 times before PJ even came on stage......I told him next time he left to bring me back a soda, and to pick himself up some Avodart. He never did leave....he didn't want to miss anything.

So after the show, we both really, really had to take a piss. Somehow, we thought better than waiting in line at the bathroom. "Lets just get out of here, and then find a place". We ended up waiting to get out of the parking lot for an hour and a half.

Clancy had passed out from urination poisoning some time earlier, but I was somehow able to save myself.

We got back to Clancy's at 2am. Not awesome planning on my part, because I had to leave at 6am to go back to the airport. We said our goodbyes and vowed never to talk about him urinating in a spent Wendy's cup in the backseat of my rented Chevy HHR, and then him later getting thirsty and forgetting he did that, as long as we both lived. No worries buddy, my lips are sealed.

Man's Milestones in Marriage

My wife and I recently celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. We celebrated by going out to Olive Garden with our son Thomas. He generally disliked everything about that place. Didn't like the waitress, didn't like the bread sticks being on the table. Didn't like the other humans sharing our airspace. Just didn't like it.

Seems like just 3 short years ago, we were celebrating our first wedding anniversary in San Francisco, taking in a Pearl Jam concert. Now look at us. We have an 11-month old, and the opportunities for doing the things we used to do have seemingly been put on an indefinite leave of absence.

But that's not the only thing that's different. Mom and Dad aren't the same either. Its unrealistic to think the person you married will always be that person you married. Humans evolve, grow. We go through phases.

Similar to the way a baby does. For example, you can go on the internet right now and look up what your infant should be doing according to how many weeks he/she has been alive. Month 1: The baby will smile at you. Month 6: Baby is ready for solid foods. And so on.

But what about our marriages? Are we really on our own? Can't anybody out there tell us how we're supposed to be acting? Tell us if we're on track or not?

Who knows? I can't predict the future. I can only make assessments based on the past and present. So this is my wedding gift to the newlywed wife who might be noticing some changes in your relationship already. Maybe its freaking you out. Well no need to panic, I've come up with a
short list of things to watch out for. And trust me, its all perfectly normal.

Year 1: By the end of Year 1, you should start to see a small spike in the amount of games your husband watches on the television. You see, he lied to you when you were dating. You might remember when he told you "I'm a casual fan. I like watching sports at the stadium, but I don't really watch that much on television". That's just plain old salesman talk. Anything to close the deal. The reason he lied to you is because he wanted a 2nd date. Plain and simple. Women are always shocked by this behavior. Don't be. Remember, from the second you meet your potential husband, you are going to see their best possible traits, and slowly (or shockingly fast) work towards their dirty discrepancies. You didn't really think he was having a good time watching 'Bride Wars', did you?

Year 2: Hygiene is starting to become a problem. For example: Flossing, that's gonna require a court order. The only time men floss is about 12 minutes before a dental cleaning. Its kinda like working out before you go to the gym. You don't want to look bad, right?

Also, by this time your husband should be a pretty comfortable farter. Actually, if it takes until Year 2, you might have a late bloomer on your hands. If this is the case, watch out. He'll probably be wanting to make up for lost time. And under no circumstances should you agree to play a game of his called Turtle.

Year 3: Depending upon what age you got married, your husband might be larger than Louis Anderson at this point. You want to take away sports from us? Well, we are just going to fill the void with spare ribs and margarine. Eating becomes our sport. This is actually a good thing. You see, it means the marriage took. Your husband has stopped caring about his appearance, because he is no longer on the hunt. Isn't that good news? You're the one baby!

Year 4: This happened to be the year my wife and I had a child. In fact, most couples will have a little one by year 4. Its just the natural progression of things. Make sure you got yourself a good pair of all-purpose radials, cause if not, you're going to hydroplane right off the sanity highway and straight to his neck with a rusty pair of scissors. This is because the husband was finally getting the hang of things, finally got himself a schedule he could deal with. Now he's just another poor resident in Demandsville, and he aint the Mayor.

Besides the afformentioned, you will probably be seeing an increase in dead, blank stares coming from his face. This is normal. Just let him have this. He isn't hurting you. In fact, how could he be hurting you when he isn't even in the same place? No need to put out an APB, he'll be back. Eventually.

Year 5: This is the year of discovery. You're husband has discovered that he is someone completely different than the guy he used to know, and he will either adapt to this realization, or he will douse himself with kerosene and eat a match sandwich. But probably the realization thing.

Also, you should see a decrease in his general line of questioning. By now, when you tell him to do something, he will suppress his natural inner voice that wants to know why. It doesnt matter why anymore. Men become like an obedient pair of Nikes, and just do it. Because its no longer useful to fight about it. It takes 5 years, but we realize that winning an argument doesnt win us a prize. And when this happens, I think you'll know that you are on the right track. Of course what do I know? It's not like I buy into any of this crap.

A History of Music - The Kittyhawk Years

I grew up in a very musically friendly environment. My mom was a piano teacher; she loved music of all types and encouraged each one of her kids to pick up instruments. All six of her children gravitated to an instrument of one kind or another. I chose the drums. Well, it ended up being a single second-hand snare drum with a puke green case, but who cares? I loved it. I banged on that thing day and night. But I tired of that pretty quickly, I needed something more complex. If I was going to become the next Alex Van Halen, I would need a complete drum set. I ended up filling up flour buckets with different levels of grain, turned them upside down and used them to form my own drum "kit". I used the box spring on my bunk bed as a cymbal. The only thing that I couldn't replicate was the kick drum. I believe that I could have been a decent drummer, but I just didn't have the right equipment to practice correctly. I could blame my parents here, but really, I was too lazy to get a job and I probably wasn't the most likable or most appreciative child in the house. I was sarcastic, but whats worse - I was sarcastic and knew no bounds. Which was the quality my mom boasted about most. But anyway, those were the end of my playing days. I messed around in the high school marching band for a few years, but then I fell in love with football and I never really picked up the sticks again.

But I always had a song playing in my head. I still do. Its my own personal soundtrack to life and its on a constant loop. Can't be stopped. And its fueled by all the music I listen to. I began collecting music early on, and I was always looking for more in order to satisfy my appetite. I stole hundreds of cassette tapes from various music stores, so I could add it to my collection, and refresh the songs in my head. (I ended up doing 10 hours of community service picking up trash and doing odd jobs at a state park after my mom insisted I turn myself in for shoplifting. But that's a story for a different time). One thing I never really experienced though, was the live show. But I was about to. When I was 15, my friend Jason invited me (and my other friend Steve) to Tacoma for the weekend to see The Judds farewell tour. Not exactly in my wheel house, but it didn't matter.

I knew this was going to mean two things for me.

1) A weekend away from Forks, Washington. It mattered not that I was about to witness world's biggest line dance, I was heading to the Tacoma Dome!!!It was a four hour drive from Forks, but it might as well have been worlds apart. I still can't believe my Mom let this happen.

2) A coming of age of sorts for three 15 year olds who were about to embark on a weekend road trip with absolutely no adult supervision. What could go wrong?

On the way to the show, my friend cut off another driver on the 5 freeway. This was the first example of the social condition we know today as 'road rage'. The offended driver pulled out a knife and flashed it at me as I sat in the passenger seat, and I officially crapped my pants. This thing made Mick Dundee's machete look like an exacto knife. Amazingly, nothing escalated. But Jason never was able to extinguish the "fruity" smell of my loom from the cockpit of his dodge dakota.

At the Dome, The Judds were upstaged by an up and coming star in the making, Garth Brooks. He was incredible. I thought he would just stand around motionless on stage while he crooned about whiskey and quarter horses. Wow was I wrong. Garth was a friggin rock star. This guy combined crazy on stage antics (he smashed his acoustic guitar on the stage into tiny little pieces) with a seemingly limitless supply of lasers. What more could an impressionable young teenager want? It was an orgy of belt buckles and vertically striped dress shirts, and I loved every second of it. I left that night thinking of how much I loved the show, even though I didn't even really like country music. I didn't know how, but I knew I needed to see more of this. I needed to see a real rock show.

It would be four years later when I would finally get my chance. I was 19 years old. I was living on my own (well, I was living with about 3,000 guys with a first name of Seaman on the U.S.S. Kittyhawk) in San Diego, California. The Navy was good for one thing: you were guaranteed to get a paycheck every two weeks. And the only thing I spent my money on were things I never had as a youth. Namely, rock shows and big macs. Suffice it to say, I've seen alot of concerts. Not counting the time Crosby, Stiils and Nash came on the Kittyhawk to do their "holy crap do we suck without Neil Young" tour, I think I have been to over 47 shows. Here are my three most memorable, and two bad ones from the San Diego days. Lets start with the bad.

Korn - Soma San Diego - September 24, 1995. Soma probably holds less people than a subway sandwich shop, so we were packed in there pretty tight. This was the scariest thing I've ever gone too. A friend dragged me there, and I was almost dragged out on a stretcher. My mom never taught me the intricacy's of moshing. That's on her. But that being said, whats the point of this behavior anyway? When a person engages in moshing, he is essentially saying he wants to pay to have an altercation with random strangers, and set the whole thing to music. And probably there will be some puking involved. Its the kind of thing that made you wonder why you just didnt wait for the DVD to come out instead.

Natalie Merchant - San Diego Copley Symphony Hall - November 20, 1995. Ok, I admit I have no idea what I was thinking. I went to this show because I think she has a great voice, and I just wanted to check it out. But I did go alone, which was kind of wierd. It was me and about 2,000 women who were taking breathers from the Lillith Fair Festival. Natalie came out, she danced behind a see-through sheet for about 12 minutes, then she started the show. I guess that was supposed to get us revved up for all the crazy rocking that was about to happen. Lost of girls with hairy armpits and opinions about the forest. I went home and decided that was just a wierd thing for me to do, and I never told a soul I was there. Until now.

Van Halen - San Diego Sports Arena - April 6, 1995. This was my first real rock show. I really only remember how incredibly loud it was, and I wasn't exactly sitting front row.. I also remember waiting in line all morning at ticketmaster to get tickets. This was before you could just camp out on your computer and hit the refresh button all morning. I stood in line with about 100 other suckers, and then we were given random seats. Awesome system. Anyway, I ended up near the back. I went with a dentist from the ship. He was upset he had to drive me back to the ship after the show. I understood, after all he was the one who woke up at 7am on a Saturday, took a bus clear across town and stood in line for tickets. Or wait, you know what??....come to think of it.....THAT WAS ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pearl Jam - San Diego Sports Arena - November 6, 1995. The same guy who took me to Korn, took me to this. (He owed me after almost getting me raped at the Korn show). This show changed my life, and has easily cost me the most money out of any other band on the planet. I have hundreds of discs, records, bootlegs, videos, posters.......and I will see them for the 9th time in August in San Francisco. I have flown as far as Indianapolis to see them. I have driven as far as Las Vegas to see them. I even spent my first wedding anniversary seeing them in San Francisco. During that show there was a section of the crowd that was gated off and split down the middle so that Eddie could essentially walk down off stage and be in the crowd, but not be malled by everyone. I admit to nearly trampling my wife in order to just touch the thread of his jacket. I didnt succeed. But I do remember never wanting to touch another man so badly in all of my life.

Stone Temple Pilots - University of California San Diego Rimac Arena - May 21, 1997. In my mind, there is a 2-way tie for best front man in rock n roll, and its between Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Scott Weiland of STP. The Pilots started things off with a song called Crackerman. Its one of the greatest openers I have ever heard, and Weiland came out wearing a fur coat and carrying a bullhorn. I guess what I am saying is that I am very captivated and attracted to men in fur coats who carry bullhorns. He just gets it, right? I left that night knowing I just saw one of the all-time bests.

I saw some great things from 1994 to 1997. Mostly the inside of a haze gray aircraft carrier. But hey, I went to some cool places, met some great people. I even saw Green Day bassist Mike Durnt beat some guys head in with the business end of his guitar. It was just a different time. And now that I've written it down, one that I am sure not to forget.

A Chip Off the Old Socially Dysfuntional Block

We took our son Thomas in for his 9-month well visit yesterday. Historically, everything usually goes pretty well exam-wise, but if he has to get a shot, we can count on him doing two things:

A) Screaming louder than Chris Cornell during a botched colonoscopy. (To be clear, I 'm talking about the 1992 Chris Cornell, which is so much different than the modern day Chris Cornell who's solo album is both unlistenable and produced by Timbaland. Coincidence? If I went back to 1993 in a Delorian and told all my friends that the lead singer of Soundgarden would one day team up with a rap producer to make an album that sounds like it was made on one of those casio synthesizers that are held like a guitar, they would have surely shattered the Jews' single-day record for most repeated use of the word 'Blasphemy').

And B) Feeling more betrayed than Otis from Superman II when Lex Luthor skips prison in a hot air balloon and leaves him behind. Thomas hasn't the ability to talk yet, but if his tear-laden eyeballs could, I think this is what they might say: "Why? Why would you do that? We don't even know her. We're here two seconds and the next thing I know you’ve got Nurse Ratchett shanking me in the upper thigh, prison style. Awesome stuff. You two idiots should head up a parenting fantasy camp. You're naturals".

Funny though, yesterday's visit went a little bit different. This time it was the exam and not the shot that gave him trouble. The nurse came in, inserted a 1/2" needle in his thigh, and the boy didn't flinch at all. Impressive.

Ten minutes later, the actual doctor comes in to do the exam. Thomas gets more pale than Powder when he realizes he left his sunblock on the kitchen counter. Then the screaming. He's clearly mortified to be in the same room as her.

So I got to thinking: Why is it that Tom is so afraid to see a doctor that has a track record of never harming him, yet he is able to laugh off a DTap salvo to the thigh? Then it hit me, he's slowly becoming his Father.

I'll explain. You can sum up Pops in two words: socially + retarded. I just don't function in society the way that I've been told I should. Let's count the ways.

1) For starters, my worst fear is being left alone with someone I don't know. Because there is no way I am going to get comfortable, and there is no way I can command a lead in any conversation. I just can't. In fact, I'm pretty sure pilots require less flight time to become a pilot than I require to become comfortable around strangers.

One time, my friend Clancy asked me to say a few words to his 5 year old son on the phone, whom I've never spoken too. Awk-ward. Clancy gets backs on and suggests "you're not good at this are you?" No, I'm not. Especially with a first grader. The pressure is all on me to come up with edgy stuff to say. I don't need that. Besides, what am I gonna tell him? That the cat is out of the bag with regards to Elmo's sexuality? Seems like something I should let him discover on his own.

2) I avoid one-on-one interaction at all costs. Here's an example: In week 5 of Navy boot camp, my drill sergeant (for the most accurate mental imagery, you'll need to picture R. Lee Ermey from Full Metal Jacket) calls out my name during a routine roll call. Before I can answer, he wonders very out loudly "Perkins?....Who the hell is Perkins?" I had to convince him that I indeed was a recruit that belonged, and didn't just wander into an open bay barracks full of 90 skinheads with their names and social security numbers stenciled in their underwear.

I used to have this boss of mine that would never talk to us or bother to learn our names for that matter. His name was Centaur. I remember hyperventilating into my lunch sack at the very though of encountering him in a situation like the bathroom, where there is just no escape. Pure torture.

3) Speaking of bathroom, this is where I really have a phobia of other humans. What I think I need is my own private porta potty. To me, there is nothing worse than running into someone I know in a spot where we both know pooping is about to happen. Its weird. There is nothing unique about it, but it is extremely awkward to me.

Plus, what do you say to someone while your both standing at the urinal taking a pee? It seems rude to say nothing. And its really not the venue for discussing weather or sports. Its a problem. I don't know about you, but at work we have a 3-urinal setup. Time after time, I continue to walk in on dudes taking a leak in the center urinal. Animals. If I were the bathroom commissioner at work, I would require you to pick a side. There is no good reason that two people should have to pee next to each other with out the buffer of that center urinal. Its just not natural. What if two guys ditch work to go catch a matinee? Do they not have a buffer seat for um......popcorn? Alright then, why should this be any different?

Actually, what I really think we need is a bathroom attendant. But instead of handing out towels and mints, this guy would officiate at the urinals. Improper use of unoccupied urinal? No problem, attendant makes you move. Let's say you're holding high court in a handicapped stall, but your not handicapped. Guy comes in with his seeing eye dog and he just had fajitas for lunch. You must move my friend. Hey, the attendant calls them like he sees them, and there is no instant replay. His call stands.

Anyway, I desperately try not to let anyone catch me in the act of actually "being" in the stall. Its so shaming. So here's what I do. I enter the bathroom and if there is at least 1 other patron, I call an audible and b-line it for the urinal, and come back when the room is cleared out. But if I do get the head all to myself, and I'm say, mid-pinch, and someone comes in, well I go into stealth mode. I'm talking super silent. I pause all movements. I put down the jumble. I resume nothing until I hear the sweet, sweet melody of Debbie Gibson's "I think we're alone now" in my head again.

By the way, if you work in an office setting, I have a fun game for you. I call it 'identify the phantom in the stall and let everyone in the office know via email that he or she just spraypainted the toilet with more gusto than Sherman Williams'. Here's how it goes: You notice that someone is in the crapper taking care of business. Probably without a courtesy flush, but that's neither here nor there. Your job is to guess who is occupying the stall, and the only thing you have to go off of is the shoe brand and/or the grunting. Try it, its more challenging than you think.

In closing, when my son made the clear choice of physical pain over an uncomfortable social confrontation that day in the doctor's office, I saw myself in him for the first time. It was scary. I realized for the first time that this little dude might turn out like me. And if I am gonna cure him of that, I'm gonna have to start now.

Look, its too late for me, there isn't a tool in the shed that can repair this damage. I know this. But when I saw how uncomfortable Thomas was the other day, I know I have a responsibility to fix him before he breaks. I don't know how I'm gonna do it, but I consider it my personal mission. Otherwise he'll end up 33 and blogging on a friday night about how embarassing it is to have a fully functioning set of bowels.

Dumbsizing America

Quick, what's the capital of Delaware? How 'bout West Virginia? Well, if you live there, those might not be that tough, but I'm willing to bet that there are states with capital cities you've never heard of before. Or maybe you've never even heard of the state. Just admit it.

Well, don't go signing up for 'I'm much more retarded than a 5th grader' just yet. I've come up with a few solutions that might help slow the dumbification process in this country, but I'm not sure we're ready for it yet.

First off, I don't like that we have so many states. Its no wonder we don't know our own Geography. We divided it like your mom divides a pumpkin pie when all your friends show up for Thanksgiving dinner unexpectedly. I mean, China has the same land mass we do, and they only have 33 states. Canada is much, much bigger than us, and they only have 10 provinces. Ok, they have 3 territories also.......but those are buried underneath 30 feet of glacier and maple syrup.

Well folks, I have news for ya. These are lean times, what with this economy and all. Every major company in America has downsized at one time or another this year or last. So whats wrong with a little speculative trimming of the fat? Let's face it. Tomorrow's youth are never gonna memorize all those capitals. It's up to us to do the right thing.

Under my plan, I propose a total of 25 states. Cut it right in half. How did I do it, you might ask? Well, let's take a look at the map shall we?

I have one or two ground rules that made this very simple.

#1 If you're not a good enough of a state to house a professional sports franchise, well, I have no use for you. Why would I go to you. As a state your just useless. In fact, chances are you're probably just sitting smack dab between two states that do have pro franchises. So now, if I live in one of the 'sports states', and I want to travel to a fellow 'sports state'....I have to travel 10 hours through your horribly misguided/unimaginative state. No thanks.

***Oklahoma City is home to the basketball franchise formerly known as the Seattle Supersonics. But they were stolen. For that, Oklahoma will become Northern Mexico. More on this later.

#2 I'm tired of Texas and their arrogance and their petty need to be the biggest and best in everything. For this, you're state will be downsized to a small area encompassing Houston. That's it. The rest becomes Northern Mexico. More on this later.

Now, the second problem we have as a nation is that most of the capitals aren't the most obvious choices for capitals in their state. For example, you would think California's capital might be Los Angeles or San Francisco. Its not. New York City is the capital of New York right? Wrong again. Doesn't make any sense. In fact, currently only 17 states have their most populous city as their capital. So let's change that. If you are the most populous city in your state, you become the capital. Just one exception.....Jacksonville is the biggest city in Florida, but nobody would think that, so it defeats the purpose. And we can't put the capital in Miami, they aren't focused enough down there...and what if Cuba attacks? Let's make Orlando the capital. Maybe they can get the folks from Disney to build a capital building that comes complete with moat. I'm just spit balling here.

So lets take a look at some of the big changes. Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire...its been nice knowing ya...but you're part of New England now, with Boston as your capital.

Rhode Island, Connecticut....you'll be absorbed by New York, and NYC will become the capital . Simple so far. Its Red Sox vs Yankees, but at the state level.

I've always hated when people went to Washington, but you had to ask if they are talking about D.C or the State. So let's get rid of Washington D.C., and call it 'The District' instead. The flag will have a profile shot of Craig T. Nelson from the TV series The District. Big upgrade. Oh and its the nation's capital, shouldn't it be much larger? Yeah it should...how about annexing Delaware, West Virginia & Virginia. Some of you Virginians might be pissed about this, but my hands are tied. Why do you think native son and founding father Thomas Jefferson looks super depressed in every scene from 'John Adams'. Cause he knew Virginia would never have the foresight to land a baseball team.

***I guess this is why they say Virginia is for lovers.Husbands have no ballpark to go to, so they just sit at home and love.

Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas will combine and be renamed State of Emergency. Self explanatory. New Orleans can still be the capital.

Its silly to have states split like North Carolina and South Carolina. Just have one Carolina. Hmmm, one Carolina under god, indivisible, with tobacco and basketball for all. Sounds fair.

Now, lets look at the heartland of America. Its mostly exists to serve as an unnecessary extension to our already excruciatingly long cross country drives and flights. It will still do that, but it will also serve a different purpose. The state formerly known as Texas combines with Kansas, Nebraska and Oklahoma to form Northern Mexico. This will be our new pilot program for immigrants. It will be Ellis Island with training wheels. Anyone who would like to immigrate from regular Mexico will get a chance, but you have to live in our new Northern Mexico first, and learn English from husky white guys named Dan. Everything will be on the up and up, and we can finally do something constructive with this ugly illegal immigration problem. After a short probation period, applicants will be considered for habitation in one of our 'regular states'. And they'll already be assimilated and ready to jump in the work force. Brilliant. Also, something cool I just thought of.......remember when Ray Kinsella built a baseball field in the middle of a corn field in Field of Dreams? Remember how uptight those midwesterners were, how crazy they thought Ray was? Imagine that, but instead of Ray Kinsella, its a ton of Mexicans, and they're churning out soccer fields at a furious pace. Who wouldn't want to live in that Middle America?

Well, we are still a country of equal opportunity, thus we have to replicate what we did for Mexico, but with the Canucks. Montana and the Dakota's will become Southern Canada. Don'tcha know? Fargo will be the capital. Not because of population (Sioux City is actually larger), but because of the movie. By the way, name me a chamber of commerce that has done a better job at pimping a city in a cooler and more effective way than how the movie Fargo did for Fargo? Anyway, I like what Canada has done with their mounted police, so maybe we can put all of our prisons in Southern Canada, and the mounties can patrol it. On bison though.

Let' see....California and Nevada become one. Silver and gold. Its what Burl Ives would have wanted.

Lastly, we just get rid of Alaska and Hawaii altogether. Nobody wants to use the phrase 'lower 48' right now, and nobody is gonna want to say 'lower 25' either. Its annoying. Alaska, we're good, we don't need you anymore. Superman's dead. Doesn't need that fortress of solitude any longer. Lets just call this what it is. An amicable split.

And Hawaii, what to do with you? I'm pretty sure most people assume that you are your own tropical country, similar to say Costa Rica. Maybe before Barack fixes health care, he can get rolling on that. I mean, Hawaiians dont much like us anyway....let's just 'fix the glitch' on our end; kinda like "The Bobs" do with Milton's paycheck in Office Space. Mahalo.

Always the Bridesmaid........

A friend of mine at work is getting married in September. This will be the second wedding in as many years that I will have to attend a wedding in the month of September. Two thoughts immediately came to mind when I got the invite.

1) Getting married during football season is incredibly selfish; every wedding should take place in February or March. You can dream up any date you like, as long as its after the Super Bowl and before Baseball season. That's the window. Plus, what better time to go on your honeymoon than in February? The snow might be falling where you are, but you're a mere plane ride away from paradise. Look into it, I don't think I'm crazy here.

2) I realized I've never been a best man before. People do seem to want me at their weddings, so that tells me that I'm a decent enough man, but I've never actually been the best man. But why? I'm a nice enough guy. I pay my taxes. Why do I never get the call?

I approached my boss about this last September when he got married. I asked him who his best man was going to be, and he told me he was going to have best man by committee. In other words, he couldn't decide who he wanted to have for a best man, so he decided it was best to have five best men. My head starting reeling immediately........I could hear the voice of the great George Costanza screaming, "we are living in a society here people!!" Yes, we have rules, and one of those rules is that you have to pick ONE best man. We don't pick best men. Nevertheless, he went against those very rules of society, and picked his five best men.

Sidebar - I'm guessing the tradition of having one best man started because no guy has ever had more than one responsible friend at a time, thus you just selected that man.

So I decided I would throw my hat in the ring. This was my chance, he's picking five guys, maybe I can get in on this. I quickly ran down my stats to see how I stacked up. Lets see, I'd known him for almost four years (thats like 28 in Boss - Underling years). I went to college, so I know I can be depended on to generally be where I'm supposed to be, and usually be less than 15 minutes late. Lastly, I don't drink. That means when I'm supposed to be giving the best man's speech, I won't be hurling in the bushes somewhere, while simultaneously hitting on his sister.

Long story short, I asked my boss if I could be his best man, and I was told I was an embarrassment to myself or something to that effect, I can't remember....the point is, I think he could smell my desperation and I never got the gig. Stonewalled again.

After this unceremonious rejection, I took a deep inward look at myself and decided maybe I needed to get better at life. Then maybe, just maybe, I would get my shot. So I checked out a book at the library called 'Mired in Mediocrity: From Bum to Best Man in 8 easy steps'.

Great read, I recommend it to anyone out there who has self-esteem issues and wants to trick people into thinking your awesome.

I realized after reading this though, that I'm not awesome at all. You know how you know if you're awesome or not? Go to a company picnic, sit in the corner and eat your dumb hot dog. Act cool. If no one comes over to say hi, you'll know you're a massive tool. That's the test. If no one finds you interesting, chances are the groom doesn't think you are either.

Second thing I realized is, if you ever expect to be someone's best man, you need to spend some time with them. Problem is, I don't want to spend time with anyone. I just want to be home alone with my gnomes. That's my joy. I don't want to go to anyone's stupid going away party, or their housewarming party. Look, if you really feel the need to throw a housewarming party, maybe you can't afford the house in the first place. Get some cash together and go buy your own Tupperware.

All I'm saying is: I like people, but on my terms. And for this very reason, I very well may never be selected to be a best man in the traditional sense.

But wait a minute. Oh this is good. What if there is some poor guy out there, a guy who wants to get married, but he's having trouble filling the job of best man? You might say he's in no man's land. I could be the rudder in his delusional dingy, steering him back to shore....do you see what I'm talking about here? I think its obvious...

RENT-A-MAN

Look, you're a decent guy. All you're trying to do is submit to the chains of marriage like the rest of us, but all your friends are incapable as humans. That's when you give me a jingle. 1-800-Rent-a-Man. I'll be the best man you ever paid for.

You see, like I've explained earlier, I wouldn't dream of going to your lame bachelor party, but If I'm the one throwing it...... well now we have a whole new ballgame on our hands.

I would always have a theme. I would never come unprepared and themeless. For example, maybe the theme is TOP GUN, and we all meet at the park for shirtless, super oiled-up volleyball. Dog tags optional.

Worried the best man speech is gonna suck? Say no more....after filling out a short 2-page questionnaire, and with a teeny bit of fabrication on my part, you'll have wedding guests asking you to autograph their napkins on their way out.

Oh, its so obvious what the answer is now. Silly to think I was just wasting my time clinging on to bro-lationships that were going nowhere. This is my calling. I see this now. Fellas, I can be your best man. If you just give me a chance, I think we can make some real fake-friend magic.