Oh no, has the balance of time finally tipped against me? Have I reached some age demarcation line that says something about who I am, where I’m going and how once taut parts of my body will start to sag like an elephant’s ears? Am I going to start drinking mocha lattes, playing golf and shopping for affordable mid-size sedans, all because I’m turning 35? This month, yes, I’m turning 35. I don’t have a problem with it really. I’ve never had a problem with age. Turning 30 didn’t mean much to me, other than I had made it a whole three decades without losing any fingers or toes via the dumb things I do. Age, I will always believe, is 95 percent mental and 5 percent whether your knees still work. If you think young, and feel young, chances are you’ll stay young if only in your mind. That’s not a bad theory. But something sounds a little off about 35. It’s just a strange number. Say it: Thirty-five. It’s bland and boring, kind of a transition number. Not a number that’s exciting in any conceivable way. It doesn’t have the power or emphasis of the low numbers, and it doesn’t have the maturity or the weight of the high numbers. If you had to pick a number by random, no doubt you would never pick 35, and I bet a search of lottery winners finds none to ever have included this fella’. It’s the audible equivalent of cheap […]
Greatness Should be Measured in Laziness
Could somebody please tell me how we could be the greatest nation in the world, yet have to work so dang hard? And so often? Not in the rest of the world. No. I’m always hearing about how in Europe the average worker gets a total of 18 months of vacation each year. That is astounding, and wonderful. But not us. They have shorter work weeks, waiters come around dispensing cheese all day and they sing. They sing like they’re in a Disney movie! And now I read about a Japanese company that gives you time off if you break up with a loved one and need a day or two to get over it. Huh? No doubt we are the greatest country in the world, but explain to me how we weren’t the ones to invent “break-up days.” That’s just unfathomable. I saw this in a Reuters story the other day. It was about a Japanese marketing firm that believes when a partner gives the other the shaft, it’s so traumatic that the jilted needs some time to grieve maybe even to go out and find a new significant other. And because it gets harder to recover the older you get, they give you more days as you age.
Not So Terrible Are the Twos in My House
Terrible twos? What terrible twos? Bah! Hogwash! Who says? I think it’s a myth. Of course, as I write this I’m also knocking on all the wood in the house with a sledgehammer, just to be safe. How many times have I written something like, “Never has the hot water heater exploded, flooding my house and causing it to float down the street” . . . only to have it happen the next day? Too many times. So knock, knock, knock! But for all the talk of terrible twos, it’s been quite timid at my house since little Amelie celebrated her second birth in December. Yet, everybody asks about it, and has warned us it was coming. “Oh man, talk about terrible,” we commonly hear. “My kid would scream so much, the paint fell off the walls. I’ve been medicated ever since.” People told us she would turn wild, like a jackhammer. That she would be mean, loud and angry. That she might pout and make unreasonable demands, like letting her drive the car. People said she wouldn’t listen anymore and would stomp her feet in protest at everything.
Stuff Theory 101
With the holidays well over and life returning to normal to a degree it’s the perfect time to reflect on all that was as well as all the stuff that it brought. For, if your house is like mine, you’re still inundated with “stuff.” It’s piled high. It’s taken over the dog’s bed. It’s overflowing the trashcans. It’s occupying every available nook, cranny and crevice from the front door to the back. Shoot, you scratch an armpit and some nick-knack falls out. It’s the attack of the killer Christmas stuff. The holidays breed it, whether it’s gifts you haven’t found a place for, the decorations and ornaments that still need to go away or the mountains of other things that emerge from secret hiding places to crowd your domicile. “Why is there a spare tire in the living room?!?” But there’s a method to the madness. If you look very closely at all that chaos, you’ll see there is really order. You’ll find patterns — a series of universal constants that make up what I call “Stuff Theory.” That’s right, stuff theory: that which governs all the crap that you collect in your house, especially right after Christmas. Don’t understand? Well, see if you recognize some of these Stuff Theory constants in your own house: Constant No. 1 — Toys that your daughter hasn’t played with ever, and that you’re now weeding out so you have room for all of the new toys she won’t play with, will become incredibly […]
No flu-ing Around
My New Year’s resolution? Get over this nagging cold, or flu, or whatever this horrid, despicable sludge of an ailment is that afflicts me. It’s pestering, nothing too horrible, but annoying, frustrating and involves coughing that sounds like a pig snorting out a Cadillac. It prompts my wife, in the politest of rude ways, to ask me to go sleep in the shed. I’ve been more-or-less sick for a good part of the holidays, although it never dragged me down so far that I couldn’t enjoy it. Sometimes the flu must be treated like an annoying sibling drag him around with you, never acknowledge him, and if the law will allow it, sell him to the gypsies. “Cold? What cold? Hack, hack, wheez, wheez, gasp.” It’s one of the strangest flus I’ve had because it didn’t come all at once in a flood, but rather gradually in a series of symptoms that would erupt and then fade to allow a new one to take over. First I had the aching body, then a burning sore throat, followed by the sniffles, some hacking up of what can only be described as modern art, an urging to shave my tongue (don’t know what that was all about), congested lungs that felt like a dying cement mixer and finally, really bad hair days. (The last was the toughest to ignore.)
Remembering The Year That Was
A few of my favorite things from 2007? Where to begin. So many wonderful, terrific, funny and fascinating things to recall and I didn’t write any of them down. Well, some of them I did, so here’s a look back at a few of my favorite things a virtual compendium of vital information to help you remember the year that was for you and me. In case you forgot, your life improved exponentially in 2007 because of one little device that changed everything (except maybe your underwear.) This was the year of the iPhone, and just because you didn’t get one didn’t mean you weren’t impacted somehow. In fact, the beauty of the iPhone is that it made all of our lives better. Really annoying people, we found, weren’t out on the road, crowding stores or making us wish hogtying complete strangers with duct tape was legal. Instead, they were home on the sofa muttering to no one in particular, “Whoa, check this out!”
Meatfest: It’s the Most Meatiest Time of the Year
Of all the holiday traditions, this one might be the most special, the most glorious, the most magical and memorable. It also might just be the most artery-clogging of all. But as they say, if it doesn’t strain or pain your heart, it isn’t worth doing. And this one sure did strain the heart. To the holiday season, I present you Meatfest, a celebration of all that is grizzled and beefy. Meatfest was born last year by my brother and a few friends who, for some reason, determined that their intake of beef, or really anything that fit in the walked-crawled-or-swam category, had dropped to dangerous levels. These are people who brush their teeth with turkey-flavored toothpaste and, with Eagle-like eyes, can spot a breakfast sausage from two miles away.
The joy of Christmas, toddler-style
Boy is it easy to get into the Christmas spirit when you have kids. Shoot, I wouldn’t even mind wrapping a present or two, and normally I would choose dengue fever over such a chore. But there’s something magical in the air. Something wonderful and festive. Something like I haven’t experienced since, well, since I was a kid. Back then Christmas was always magical and exciting. It was pop-the-elastic-in-your-waist-band exciting, and everything about it was a thrill, from the Christmas music to the wall-to-wall decorations to the 98-degree weather we would get in Tampa. Now I’m getting to experience it as an adult through the joy of my little 2-year-old daughter, who is suddenly old enough to take it all in and really appreciate the wonder.
Are the Chimps Really Smarter? Guess so, Bubbles
Why is anyone surprised that a chimpanzee might be smarter than a human? I wasn’t. We think so highly of our own intellects, yet, as far as I know, we’re the only species on the planet who leaves our keys hanging in the door while running around the house screaming, “Where are my keys? Who stole my keys? Heavens, the world is over, I might as well end it all.” They’re right there in the door! Do you think a chimp would do that? A chimp would have those keys out, be in the car and half way to Vegas, baby. The news this week was that researchers in Japan tested not only chimpanzees’ mental abilities, but also pitted one 5-year-old chimp against college students in a cognitive test of wits. It involved numerals (something most college students have never seen) and flashing white blocks on a computer screen. The chimp smoked them.
People, Do We Really Need Drugs for Longer Eyelashes?
Reason No. 672 that we as a species are doomed: Doctors are now prescribing a glaucoma drug to patients, not because they have glaucoma, but because it also makes eyelashes grow longer. I repeat — IT MAKES EYE LASHES GROW LONGER! This, many of you probably know, is quite desirable to certain people. In fact, many of you might want to get on the horn right now to your medical professionals. But don’t. You’re eyelashes are long enough! Leave them be! You’ll look like palm fronds if you’re not careful. I just don’t know what’s wrong with the world. I thought I had heard it all when they came out with Botox, which just happens to be made from the same toxin that causes that all-too-pleasant and very deadly food poisoning called botulism.