There must be something about freshly laid pine needles that makes a dog think they are expressly for her. There must be something in their chemical composition that causes her to lose a good chunk of her marbles. There must be something that says, “Hey, my owner just got the yard looking so nice it could be the cover of a magazine. So, why don’t I go completely berserk and make it look like NASCAR ran a race?” Goodbye, pretty yard. Why did I even try? Let me say this, for legal reasons: I love my dog. Sweet, adorable, precious mutt. Brings so much love and joy to the family. A faithful companion. A family protector. A wonderful compatriot to my daughter. Hasn’t given any of us worms. (Bonus!) But there are times when I think about trading her for a guinea pig, or a stick of gum. Like the other day, when I thought I heard a troop of wild elephants barreling through the yard. “Is there an earthquake?!?” I screamed, running around the house, peering out windows, expecting to see trees shaking. “Are we being invaded? Have aliens finally come to steal our ice cream?”
To our aspiring presidential candidates: A little advice
I’m going to take a shot at something here. I know, I’m not the most serious guy. This column is better known for stories about my daughter or how a neighbor’s cat threw up on my car and it resembled Elvis. But I feel like with a titanic presidential election shaking our country, I can’t just sit here and waste this opportunity to share my own unique insight. So this week I want to use this space to speak directly to our candidates and offer them some much-needed advice: • Stop promising little things, like walls across the Mexican border or minimum wage increases to $135 an hour. Americans don’t like small. We don’t want practical and realistic. We want ginormous! We want promises so big that you sit back and think a 5-year-old must be running the campaign. Like a proposal to start printing all U.S. currency on Mars. Or a promise to make the next U.S. Supreme Court nominee a character from “Game of Thrones.” Or better yet: That we will end global warming by requiring all houses and offices to open their windows during the summer so the air conditioning collectively cools the planet. You want the country to embrace you? Start thinking big! • From polls I’ve read, these are some of the most unpopular candidates in a very long time. Their favorability ratings are so low — on both sides — that we all have to wonder, “Do their mommas even like them?” Which is […]
A newswoman in the family
“You’re going to be a newscaster!” I blurted out, beaming with pride. I had just been told something that will warm the heart of any former journalist: My daughter had earned a spot on her elementary school’s crack morning news crew. She gave me the kind of 10-year-old look that screams: “Why do I tell you ANYTHING?” But I just can’t help it. It’s so exciting! I’ve never actually seen the show. I think it comes on for morning announcements and is broadcasted to TV sets in the classrooms throughout her school. There’s an anchor and a camerakid and cue cards and the whole lot. I picture a “60 Minutes” format with exposés on why the hand-dryers in the bathroom don’t dry your hands quicker. Or maybe tough interviews with the physical ed teacher about why Medieval torture techniques like sit-ups are still being inflicted on children. “Now, in our research, we found a child in Nebraska who snapped in half while doing these archaic exercises. How do you respond to this?”
Full-on vacation planning … like the old days
When I was little, my father, brother and I used to trek off to the Rockies for long, extended vacations during the summer. We spent most of our time camping, hiking, eating questionable stuff out of tin cans, listening to questionable comedians on cassette tapes, chasing chipmunks and generally being awed by the monstrous beauty of a range of mountains that had erupted from the earth. As Florida boys — where elevation was measured by how high your front porch was — it was a dizzying sight to behold. Behemoths topping out at 13,000 feet, or more. In Durango, we two little kids and our bearded father would board the narrow-gauge Durango & Silverton Railroad with nothing but hiking packs and a couple of hiking sticks. We would sit amongst the sightseers as smoke-stack ashes rained down on us and the train crept deeper and deeper into the mountains. At some point it would come to an abrupt stop in the middle of a lonely gorge. Off we would hop, grabbing our packs and sticks from the freight car as puzzled tourists hung out the windows watching us, saying things to each other like, “Look Martha, that strange man is leading his two children off to be eaten by bears. We’re going to read about this in the newspaper!” Then we would disappear up the pass as the sounds of the huffing train echoed through mountains and slowly chugged away. We would camp near a beaver den and spend the next few […]
Ballad of a spring break sad dad
“Dad, I’ve got to show you this video,” said the child to her poor, worn-out father who had just returned from work. He collapsed in a heap upon the couch and was pounced upon immediately by the 10-year-old. She shoved an iPhone in his face and hit play. “Another spring break video?” he questioned. “Don’t you realize I’m a working stiff and the sight of so much unbridled fun could cause your poor father’s heart to squeeze itself to death?” “I’ll chance it,” she said, “because you’ve got to see THIS!” “This” involved two kids twirling each other in a chair while a classic song from the 80s played in the background. Oh, and there was a pillow with a smiley face. (It had something to do with the plot.) “Child,” this father said, “this is nothing more than two kids twirling each other in a chair.”
Eighteen years of marriage, and still going
Eighteen years! How did I pull that one off? There are profound questions we often ask the universe: Why are pickle jars so hard to open? How come the pollen falls the worst right after you wash your cars? Why would a relatively normal looking cat run into the street like it was going to attack me? Pro-FOUND questions. Earth-shaking questions. Like this one: How did I convince such a wonderful woman to marry me? And how did I get her to stick around for 18 years? (Maybe it’s my smile! I brush at least twice a day.) My wife and I celebrated our 18th anniversary this past weekend. We went out to dinner. We had cocktails on the bayfront. We ate a decadent piece of flour-less chocolate torte. (Torte stands for “so damn good you can keep your flour!”) We stayed out well past our bedtime. It was a fantastic night, and a microcosm of our time together — incredibly enjoyable and something you hope will never end.
Lessons you learn while traveling
I have just returned from New York City, fresh from a College Media Convention. I helped administer an awards contest for college journalists. I slept in a room not much larger than a concrete block. I drank enough coffee to reclassify my genetic makeup. I ate enough black and white cookies to reclassify my genetic makeup. And along the way, I learned several practical, personal and spiritual lessons about traveling — the kind that only a city like The Big Apple can teach you. • When you’re in a hotel, and you’ve waited A LONG TIME for an elevator, don’t just assume when the doors open you’re on the right floor. Take the time to look at the number BEFORE you hop off screaming, “FINALLY!” Because it may only be the 20th floor … and you’re on the 43rd! Also, remember that when you’re embarrassed, hot and now really frustrated, you’re likely to repeat it all over again when it stops on the 35th floor. And at that rate, you’ll never get back to your room. • If you repeat the former lesson more than three times, go back to bed! • If a friend tells you it will only take 20 minutes and an easy subway transfer to get from Midtown to Brooklyn for dinner, know that your friend is a liar and immediately report him to authorities. He’s also probably running an illegal gambling racket. “Oh yeah, it will take no time,” he said. Only the E train wasn’t running, and I […]
How to break up with politics
Ah, election season. Every time it comes around I tell myself, “Don’t get too involved. Don’t get pulled in. Take it slow this time. Only fools rush in.” But I’m fascinated by election seasons, and in particular this one. All the twists and turns. The complete absence of issues or anything that could actually make American lives better. The insults. The strategies. The lack of strategies. How the things coming out of politicians’ mouths sound like textbook cases of oxygen deprivation. And how, thanks to the Internet, you can spend your entire life reading story after story that tells you nothing new, even though it says, “Breaking news.” “Breaking News: Trump declares chicken really did come before the egg. Will voters agree? Take the latest poll.” Oh, I’m clicking on that story! And that’s when you know you have an election problem. If you’ve ever found yourself sneaking peaks at returns from Iowa while at the dinner table or tip-toeing off in the middle of the night to see who won delegates in American Samoa (What IS American Samoa? I thought that was a kind of cookie!), you might be suffering from an election addiction. So this week I thought I would dispense a little advice: How to “break-up” with politics. Or at least slow it down.
Return of the pollen mobile
I couldn’t believe it when I walked out of work and into the parking lot. Sitting next to my car was this stunning black vehicle, freshly waxed and glistening in the sun. It had the shimmer of unrefined oil — spotless, smooth, nearly perfect. It was like staring into a cosmos devoid of stars. “WOW!” I remarked, and then turned to my car. Pollen and dirt and filth (even dog hair!) emanated from it like Pigpen in “Peanuts.” A little pollen tornado raced up the windshield. And there on the hood, it seemed a drunken gang of birds figured it would be hysterical to “let loose” on my sad vehicle. Maybe they were trying to spell: “Hey buddy, wash your car!” What a disgrace. (I thought about sprinkling a pinch of dirt on the other car’s side view mirror, but couldn’t bring myself to destroy perfection.) “How?!?” I wondered to myself. I don’t care if that car sleeps in the garage. I don’t care if its owner just washed and waxed it that morning. I don’t care if it was sprayed with some top secret, military-grade repellant that is used for warding off missiles. It’s March in Florida and a car can’t sit for 5 minutes without being covered in a 2-inch thick crust of pollen. That’s the rule!
Spring, and the house project misfires
Oops. Minor slip-up. Minor scheduling delay. Misread the calendar. Or the month. Or the year. Could be I stepped into some kind of time warp. Launched me forward into the future. That would explain it. Nothing else will. How it’s suddenly March and the task list from December (which is really from September) is still sitting on my desk. Ooops. March!?! Wait a minute, say that again. That’s virtually spring. The pollen is already out. And for that matter, it’s practically summer, when the heat kicks in. And if I’m not careful, it’s fall. It’s practically fall, people!