Driving Me Crazy

Yesterday my son and I made a 45-minute drive to attend a friend’s father’s 84th birthday. It was a beautiful day for a trip in the car—weather-wise, I mean. By the time we pulled into the destination’s driveway, I was reminded (once again) of how glad I am (and should be) that I work from home and do not have to commute to work each day (as I once did 55 minutes each way).

In short, people behind the wheel drive me crazy (pun intended). Share some of my insanity:

Why don’t drivers use their turn signals?—This astounds me. What’s so hard about that? Now I know the answer. Courtesy and consideration are at an all-time low. But frankly, now that drivers are supposed to be hands-free on their cell phones (see next entry), couldn’t they get back to signaling? I know, it means they would have to put down the lattes they’re holding, but c’mon. Not only does it improve safety on the roads, it’s the right thing to do.

Cell phones and driving—It’s the law in California; you need to have a Bluetooth device if you’re talking on your cell phone while driving. Yet still, there is not a time I’m out in that I don’t see a lawbreaker. Honestly, the worst offenders are moms in mommy vans and blue-collar types. I have found another handy-dandy application for my eight-year-old; if my cell phone rings while we’re in the car and I don’t have my Bluetooth on, I toss my phone in the backseat and have him answer it.

Britney Spears is an idiot—I guess I could reconcile my disgust for the fact that she drives around without wearing underwear, but the fact she drove with no seat belt on with her infant son in her lap is inexcusable.

Driving with your dog in your lap—I do not recall in my lifetime seeing so many “pocket pooches.” Now I’m a fan of real dogs, by that I mean ones that weigh at least 45 pounds. Any dog that my cats could maul is a waste of time to me. Plus, many little dogs tend to be nippy and shake uncontrollably because they’re cold all the time. But I digress. Let me get to the point: anyone who drives with their dog in their lap (especially if said canine) is hanging out the window is a flat-out moron. Not only is this dangerous, what if Fee-Fee or Foofy sees something and decides to exit stage left? How would you feel then? If you love your dog so much you can’t go anywhere without it, at least make the dog sit on the seat. So what if it can’t see out. Get a bigger dog if that’s a problem.

Geriatric driving—This is a tough one, but once you reach age 70, you should have to take a driver’s test to prove you are still roadworthy. I know this is a tough call. I recall when my dear grandmother finally had to admit she shouldn’t get behind the wheel anymore. It broke some of her spirit and really made her feel less independent than she really was. But at the very least, senior citizens should be aware that the freeways and highways may be too much for them once they hit the age where they want to drive for the 5:00 Senior Special at the local eatery.

Stay out of the left lane—In the World According to Me (which is the name of this blog), if you’re driving in the “fast” lane, you better be going faster than I am. And if you’re not, get the heck out of the way! I don’t care if it’s a 55 mph zone and you’re doing 56, move over. It’s my choice if I want to drive 70 and risk getting a ticket.

Between the lines—This is simple, when you park your car, there is a reason why those white lines are painted on the ground. You are supposed to park your car between them. I know some people drive vehicles bigger than Rhode Island; that's your problem, not everyone else's. So park at the back of the lot and walk. The exercise will do you good. Or trade in that worthless gas guzzler for something smaller.

That’s all. Hey, I feel a little bit better now, but I didn’t have to drive far today.

Desert Island Discs (Music to My Ears)

I think it was Rolling Stone that started the tradition of “desert island disks,” asking the question “if you were stranded on a desert island, which 10 albums (now CDs) would you want to have with you?”

Here’s my list:
Late for the Sky—Jackson Browne
Four-Way Street—Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
How Did You Find Me Here—David Wilcox
Karla Bonoff—Karla Bonoff
A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar—Dashboard Confessional
Songman—Jim Dawson
America—America
Acoustic—Everything but the Girl
Hear that Music!—Poco
Five Days in July—Blue Rodeo

These are not in any particular order after the first two. That’s just too hard. And I’m not counting Greatest Hits and other album compilations because that isn’t fair.
As you can see, I’m terribly outdated when it comes to my list. My wife is right (again); my musical taste is “so retro.” Of my 10 favs, only “A Mark…” is from the current decade (2003).

I guess you could say I enjoy many “CD of the month” favorites, but few truly stand the test of time. Bottom line for a DID: I would play any of them at any time. That’s the real measuring stick as opposed to the fact that I love Jimi Hendrix’s “Band of Gypsys,” but can’t say I always want to listen to it. Currently, I really like Colbie Caillat’s debut effort, “Coco,” and if I’m still listening to it in another year or two, it will have serious contention to bump off someone.

I looked for a place in the top 10 for “Room for Squares” (John Mayer), but it ends up in the next 10. I couldn’t decide which John Waite CD I liked best. Same with the Eagles. But as with any list, there are no wrongs or rights. It’s totally subjective and it’s my list, and to paraphrase Leslie Gore, I’ll choose what I want to. I would never say this needs to be somebody else’s.

In fact, I am curious to know; what’s on your DID list? But I don’t want to listen to any criticism of mine. As I said, here’s a case where there is no right or wrong. It’s all in the ear of the beholder.

Facebook & Twitter: The Twin Terrors of Time-Suck

I don’t know what possessed me (oh by the way, “possessed” is the proper term), but a couple of weeks ago I joined Facebook. What was I thinking? Since then I have been getting a steady stream of invitations from fellow Facebookers. People I went to high school with, people I used to work with (and that covers a lot of places) and even a 20-something woman who lives locally with whom I share the same last name. (Don’t get any crazy ideas; no she is not some long-lost daughter.)

OK, I joined because I was curious about all the hub-bub surrounding Facebook. In our business, we have been hearing a lot about “social networking” and how it is changing how companies do business and get the word out about what they do. So I’ve dipped my foot in Facebook’s pool, Geez, I may have even submerged past the ankles, but I’ve got to stop now.

Why? Because I have work to do. Work that pays the bills, work that keeps our house and lives running, work being the parent of an active elementary schooler. I’m convinced: Facebook and Twitter are the twin terrors of time-suck. There’s some truth in saying, “Hey, get to work and stop twittering your life away!” There’s a reason it’s called Twitter; it’s a take-off on the ol’ “why do you think they call it dope?” Yes, you are twittering your life away.

It’s bad enough that I am relatively obsessed with my iPhone, at least I use that for business that is beneficial. Writing on someone’s wall on Facebook or dropping my latest locale in 140 characters or less on Twitter seems so incredibly self-indulgent at a time in history when I can’t imagine that our society has ever been more self-indulgent. Quite frankly, I don’t care if you’ve just gone from Starbucks to the grocery store. I just read a few days ago about a professional basketball player who used Twitter while in the locker room at halftime to report to his followers that his coach was mad at the team’s first-half play. A look at the scoreboard could tell you that. Shouldn’t the player be focused internally—or listening to his coach—instead of being distracted with Twitter?

My commitment to myself is that I will not spend/waste time on Facebook during traditional business hours. I owe that to myself and our company. Frankly, most of what I read on Facebook is meaningless and highly trivial. Sure, I enjoy seeing some pictures of friends and hearing if they have been somewhere notable. I may even look with one eye if someone mentions a book they liked or a play or movie they saw. You know how people tend to say “too much information,” when people reveal more than they should? Well, when it comes to Facebook and Twitter, they really mean “too little information” and no one cares. C’mon, leave yourself with some mystique. Wouldn’t you be more productive doing something/anything else?

Right On for Tie-Dye!

I love tie-dye. It speaks to my Woodstock Generation roots. I love it today as much as I did as a teenager.

My mom was thought of as so “cool” by the other neighborhood kids because she let my sister and I make our own tie-dye T-shirts. She put three giant lobster pots on the ratio with different dyes and let us create our own shirts. She even let me tie-dye some old formerly white bed sheets. I recall later taking them off to college where they served me well adorning the cement block walls or covering our Goodwill-purchased couch.

When I was a sophomore in high school our entire class made tie-dye shirts to wear as our uniform for the annual Field Day competition between the four grades. While I don’t recall how we fared that day, I do remember getting into a giant water balloon brawl afterward and finding that the tie-dye from my shirt now tattooed by entire chest. Took three days for it to wear off so I could return to my usual pastiness.

Sue and I bought tie-dyed underwear for a select few buddies who attended our wedding. We went on to buy tie-dye for all the firstborns of friends, feeling it was like a rite of passage. “Be born, wear tie-dye.”

There used to be a hippy-dippy lady at the Seaside Bazaar in Encinitas who was our main connection. While we bought loads of goods from her for more than a decade, I guess there were not enough compatriots to keep her ahead of the tax man and others. So she is gone, but we still proudly wear her wears.

It comes down to a basic: Tie-dye makes me happy. And what’s wrong with that? It’s hard to be droopy when you’re wearing tie-dye. People react well to it too.

I typically adorn Ethan in tie-dye when we go to highly populated places, like baseball games, Legoland or Disneyland. Who wants to say, “Have you seen my kid, he was wearing a white t-shirt?” In tie-dye, he stands out.

The hippies were right; tie-dye rules. And 40 years later, it’s still spreading good cheer.

Littering is Never Acceptable

Living near a high school, we have clear evidence that teenagers, despite living in today’s “Inconvenient Truth” times, have not fully caught on to saving the planet by not littering it.

Every day after eating fast food in their BMWs and jacked up pick-ups, many of the teens cavalierly toss the remains under their vehicles or over our fence instead of disposing of it properly. It’s disheartening and disgusted. And how can this be considered acceptable?

I cannot think of one valid reason why littering is acceptable under any situation. Why every morning when I fetch our newspapers am I also disposing of flying Taco Bell wrappers and Jack-in-the-Box fries containers? I won’t even start on how I feel about our neighbors who let their dogs poop outside our fence!

So my best hopes for our planet rest with the next generation, that of my eight-year-old. He already seems to get it. He wanted to know why his mother used all those store-bought water bottles when she could refill one from the fridge? And why do we use all those plastic bags when we could carry all our groceries in a big canvas bag? Why can’t he take a thermos to school instead of those drink pouches? All good points. Now the inside of our cars may be stuffed with an assortment of snack and candy wrappers, juice boxes and discarded napkins, but I’m basically OK with that unless the contents alert my nose.

Every now and then when a see an army of orange vested people picking up trash on the roadside I think that all high schoolers should be remanded to perform this duty as part of community service. It does the world good. I also try to remember to bring an extra trash bag with us when we go to the beach just to pick up all the debris left by uncaring beachgoers. Hey, every little bit helps.

Sully is My Hero

If you asked my son who is hero is, he probably would say Carmelo Anthony. Not exactly George Washington or Thomas Jefferson, but then again neither of those guys could dunk a basketball or wore a cool uniform. And George’s wig is no match for ‘Melo’s cornrows.

Anyway, the problem here is on a bigger scale than an eight-year-old’s view of the heroism. When I was his age, I probably would have answered Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays. Same narrow focus. Why are these guys heroes? Because they can hit and catch a baseball like few others? That’s a prerequisite for being a hero?

Audie Murphy, the movie star, came to the Silver Screen because he first distinguished himself in battle in World War II. Now that’s heroic. But today, sadly, the men and women who serve their country on foreign soil, especially those who give their lives, are rarely considered heroes. Pat Tillman, the NFL player who gave up a lucrative career on the gridiron to serve and then ended up losing his life (shamefully, to friendly fire), now he should be considered a hero.

Heroes should be bigger than life. Despite Murphy’s puny status, he was—even if not always on the big screen. John Wayne and Harrison Ford have enjoyed distinguished careers portraying heroes.

Yet I still struggle to answer the question “Who is your hero?” I want to say John F. Kennedy. Oh, what could have been, what could have happened. Now we’ve all read and heard plenty about the flawed side of this great man. I’ve read some things about Mantle and Mays that lowered my esteem too. In fact, I met the Say Hey Kid once at a sports convention and he was outright nasty. (Yet he didn’t win the top honor that day; another of my childhood heroes, Cardinals pitcher Bob Gibson, did. I asked Gibby for an autograph and he pushed my ball-in-hand away like he used to brush away batters from the inside of the plate.)

Today, my heroes are more likely to reside in the boardroom than ballpark. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett are amazing. And the three Steves: Spielberg, Wozniak and Jobs deserve much consideration.

Yet nobody fascinated me in the ‘90s more than Michael Jordan. Despite his superhuman athletic abilities, it was his off-the-charts will to win that really impressed me. I wish I had that relentless drive; heck, I even threw a game or two of Candyland when Ethan was a pre-schooler just to avoid a tantrum. Mike wouldn’t do that.

But for today, I give my vote to Chesley B. “Sully” Sullenberger III, the miraculous pilot of US Air Flight 1549. Here was a man who has trained his entire professional life to be the best pilot he could be and on that fateful day—Jan. 15, 2009—when he was forced to figuratively step up to the plate and apply all his knowledge and skill under life-harrowing circumstances, he came through in brilliance. Hitting that game-winning home run characterizes some people as heroes, but here is a man who saved the lives of his entire flight, 155 people. We’ve seen since that this is not always the case.

And with all the subsequent adulation and publicity that came his way, he remained humbled, measured and completely under control—all the qualities that make him an exceptional pilot and human being. He actually seemed a little uncomfortable in the spotlight, which I really appreciated. I don’t think he’s going to move to Hollywood or start partying with Paris.

What he did that cold day in Manhattan was truly heroic. The lives he touched with his skill and bravery go far beyond the passengers and crew onboard that day. We should hope that the pilots we fly with are somewhere near as competent and composed as my hero Sully.

Introducing X-Golf

I have invented a new sport. I call it X-Golf. Now, it’s not new from the standpoint of its built around golf, but the environment gives the old game a new twist.

Why is it that fans have to be silent during tennis and golf matches while they can scream their brains out at most other sports? In X-Golf, the fans can hoop and holler all they want. Then we’ll see how well golfers can concentrate. After all, I have seen Tiger Woods repeatedly “check his swing,” as they would say in baseball, when there is the least disruption while he’s ready to hit. In X-Golf, you can heckle the players all you want.

Then there’s the course. The worst obstacles they face now are sand traps and waterholes. Let’s get some real challenges in there. Like having to drive it over a house or through a six-foot-wide hole in a wall. Then once you get to the putting green, why aren’t there obstacles before reaching the cup? Well, in X-Golf there are. We’ll steal a few favorites from the miniature golf links, like a windmill and having to put to one hole to have the ball roll out another nearer the cup.

X-Golf mixes traditional golf with X-Games spirit. The golfers could ride scooters or hopped-up all-terrain carts, depending on the conditions at each hole.

And the water hazards? They’d have alligators in them! Sprinklers could go off at anytime, along with explosions and fireworks. Stealing a scene from boxing, shapely ladies would be parading the course holding score signs. There would be no caddies, either.

Think of all the commotion and excitement that has been generated by the X-Games in the past years. Then think of how excited golf fans will be to be able to get out on the course and really cheer, instead of having to stand there in stone silence. This is bound to bring out even more fans and create a real TV-friendly environment. It’s waiting for some Hollywood producer to discover.

50 Questions

Questionnaires like the one below are always flying around the Internet. This one was sent to me by a friend from high school. Even though I have known her for almost 40 years now, I don’t know her as well as a wife and mom as I did as a teenager and good friend, so it was fun to see how she answered and then send along to her my responses to the same questions.

So try this out yourself and ask a few friends to do the same.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? No, hopefully not Mr. Pan.

2. THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Last week, but they were happy tears.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? One of my best features, hasn’t changed much since sixth grade.

4.WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Salami.

5. ANY TATOOS? No.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Maybe, depends on the moment.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? You must be kidding??? Seriously, now, far too much. It’s a habit I wish I could break.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes, amazingly. But I’d trade them for a full head of hair.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Yes, but have avoided the opportunity so far.

10. YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Trix (they’re not just for kids), but for healthier reasons, I’ll say oatmeal or Special K with blueberries.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR FOOTWEAR WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Yes, if they have laces.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Mentally or physically? Neither exceptionally.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? These days, mint chocolate chip. Check back next week.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Height.

15. FAVORITE COLOR? Red, unless I’m blue than it’s black.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Lack of hair (on the top of my head).

17. WHO IS THE PERSON YOU MISS THE MOST? My maternal grandfather.

18. BOXERS, BRIEFS, THONGS, COMMANDO? Briefs.

19. EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET? Yes, several, but luckily not lately.

20. HOW OLD WERE YOU ON YOUR FIRST DATE AND WHERE DID YOU GO? 14, the movies.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The birds outside my office window, but wish it was my iPod.

22. FIRST CONCERT? The (Young) Rascals, age 12.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Vanilla, rosemary.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My wife.

25. BELIEVE IN TRUE LOVE? At least sequentially.

26. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH IN PERSON? Basketball, but please give me a good seat.

27. EVER BEEN TO THE MOVIES BY YOURSELF? No.

28. OWN A GUN? No.

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Only when I want to see.

30. FAVORITE FOOD? Pizza or enchiladas, but not together.

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Every story should have a happy ending.

32. DO YOU OWN MORE THAN SIX BASEBALL HATS? Yes.

33. DO YOU EAT ASPARAGUS? No.

34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer—all year ‘round

35. HUGS OR KISSES? Both, if appropriate and heartfelt.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Ice cream or tiramisu.

37. HOW MANY SONGS ARE ON YOUR iPOD? 11,000 and counting.

38. iPHONE, YES OR NO? Yes, recently.

39. THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? Autobio of actor Robert Wagner.

40. THE LAST THING YOU LOST? My hair.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Two hours of anything on HGTV.

42. FAVORITE SOUND? My son laughing or a 911 Porsche engine.

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Fab4

44. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Japan or Hong Kong, I guess—or when I first when off to college.

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? Do a wicked cartwheel for an old guy.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? In a hospital.

47. BELIEVE IN REINCARNATION? Yes.

48. REMEMBER THE NAME OF YOUR SIXTH GRADE TEACHER? Yes, Miss Passor.

49. CAN YOU USE A STICK SHIFT/MANUAL TRANSMISSION? Yes, all six gears and reverse.

50. STEAK OR FISH? Red meat, make it medium rare.

That’s all folks.

30 Days with No Cheese

Did you see where the Vatican is suggesting that its gazillions of followers give up high technology gadgets for Lent?

http://www.ajc.com/services/content/news/stories/2009/03/05/lent_ipods_internet.html

I’m thankful I’m not Catholic because I don’t know how I could make it through the abstinence period while not receiving any text messages or iTunes suggestions from the Pope.

Thankfully, all I’m trying to give up for the five weeks leading up to Easter is cheese. It wasn’t even my idea. On the strong suggestion (i.e., order) of her personal trainer, Sue has decided to give up cheese for the entire month of March (hey wait a minute; isn’t that 31 days?). I knew for my own good on many levels I should make this sacrifice too.

As is her custom, she certainly aimed high. Cheese (especially extra sharp cheddar and Cotswold) could be my No. 1 vice, in front of chocolate chip cookies (especially my sister’s), pizza (cheese there too) and M&Ms or Mounds bars (double-threat of chocolate). It’s not uncommon for us to have six different types of cheese in our refrigerator.

Now I should mention she is also determined to give up chardonnay for the same time period. That’s easy for me, but very tough for her. We do have ulterior motives beyond Lent, I must admit, as we are not outwardly religious. We’re doing it for weight loss.

I have a pair of jeans that must be 30 years old. My mom has faithfully kept them in service all these years. They serve as my “scale” for when I need to step up my gym visits and cut down on the aforementioned tasty pleasures. I haven’t fit into them since after Thanksgiving. Currently, I need to drop at least five “el-bees,” pounds that is, to even get into them uncomfortably once again. Seven or more would be really nice.

Part of the problem with having been skinny until I went away to college was that there is no place to go but up. The fabled “Freshman 10” became the foundation for another 10 when I started being able to afford to eat at better restaurants. Beer has never been a problem, never really liked it, and haven’t had one since 1988.

If I want a treat, keep the Bud or booze, aim me at Mrs. Fields instead. But I know I can lay off the chips for 30 (or 31) days, no problem, I can do it. The cheese, however, is going to be a challenge. I must admit our favorite guilty pleasure when watching a movie at home is when I whip up a tray of nachos for our viewing pleasure. Slathered layers of extra sharp cheddar and Pepper Jack over chips with mushrooms, green onions and jalapenos baked to a perfect melt. Hold on while I whip the saliva from my lips.

But not this month. It’s only Day Six, but who’s counting? I am. Especially as I made a ham-and-cheese sandwich this morning for my son’s lunch. Or when I made him mac-and-cheese a couple of nights ago for dinner. But I can do this. We all need to eat healthier, drop a few pounds and show ourselves we have some self-discipline. I also want to support Sue in her cause. After all, if she can give up wine and cheese for March, I must march with her to her tune.

I was, just three or so years ago, a Mountain Dew addict. Could down two liters a day easy. No, the massive amount of caffeine didn’t affect my sleep, but the calories and sugar didn’t help. (Unfortunately, the diet variety tastes completely different and I have no interest.) Now I just socially do the Dew, whenever I’m lucky enough to be in a restaurant that serves it (and there are not a whole lot, unfortunately or luckily, depending on how I feel that day).

But back to the Roman Catholic bishops in Italy and their absurd request to ditch all your high-tech gizmos and gadgets for Lent. Did they forget that the Vatican launched its own YouTube channel in January? Quite frankly, while laying off the cheese is doable for us, we could not give up our new iPhones even for a day. I’ll wax on about that at a later time.

AARP is Calling (Curse the R-word)

It happened quite uneventfully a year before my 50th birthday: a letter from AARP, welcoming me to the club. I reacted as if it wasn’t even obtaining middle age status, it’s congratulations, you’re old! I was feeling old enough without AARP rubbing it in. My next thought was one of my favorite Woody Allen lines: I don’t want to be a member of any club that would have me as a member.

My biggest beef with AARP is what the letters stand for: American Association of Retired Persons. It’s that R-word that sticks in my craw. I guess it must have bothered officials there too as in 1999, the American Association of Retired Persons morphed into AARP, having outgrown the first “A” and the “R” in its moniker. It’s a transformation not unlike KFC, where everyone (at least of AARP age) knows the “F” is for “fried”—not such a great option in our health conscious society today. As it’s fashionable to go by initials or acronyms, AARP has become bad, phat or hip (you choose the terminology).

While my father and father-in-law were fortune enough to enter retirement before their 60th birthdays, the prospects for me are more than a million-to-one (like winning the lottery). When I hit six-oh we’ll still need every buck we can make to pay for Ethan’s fast approaching college education. If a year at a very good college today costs in excess of $50,000, wanna make a bet on the tab in 2018? (I think my father got off easy—even though he would disagree—as my entire higher education cost half that much.)

So here it is more than three years later, and I’m still a proud non-member of AARP. I’m not saying the day won’t come. I am old (and wise) enough to know I never say “never!” to too many things (besides never owning a minivan or taking up smoking).

But before I do, AARP, fix your tag line: The power to make it better. Shouldn’t it be the power to get into movies cheaper or to even have health insurance? What exactly is it? Am I still too old young to have learned the secret of “it”? I don’t have time to figure it out right now, I must get back to work.

What Do You Do for a Living? (And How Would Your Kid Explain It?)

When I was growing up, I hardly knew the occupations of the parents of many of my classmates. Unless, of course, they were policemen, nurses, teachers or housewives, I probably didn’t have a clue. In many cases I never knew, until I’m reading their obituaries now 40 years later.

Unlike when I was a kid, my son Ethan has a pretty good idea of what his mother and I do for a living because we both work from home and he gets to see us in “action.”

So I was particularly shocked one day when I picked him up at pre-school (this was five years ago) and one of the teachers was giving me the hairy eyeball. “We had a discussion with the kids today about what their parents do for a living,” she explained, with a lilting chuckle.
“Ah ha,” I said. “So what did he say?”

“My dad works on his computer—and does lots of laundry.” Well, that is accurate, I thought. Wait, it gets better…

“My mommy sits in her studio all day and makes money!” Well, neither one of those lines is blatantly incorrect (especially the part about me doing lots o’ laundry), but they don’t paint too accurate (or flattering) a picture. (No Sue is not a counterfeiter, by the way.)

But it did show us that while Ethan did get to see us in action, he didn’t really know what the action was about. Luckily, some of the other kids were just as offbase.

One said, “My daddy is a sailor.” In reality: this guy is a very accomplished electrical engineer who relieves his work stress by going sailing every Wednesday evening.

What does his mom do? “My mom goes to the gym.” No mention of shleping him and his younger sister everywhere, taking care of them, buying groceries, etc.

Ethan knows we do writing and public relations, while I’m sure sometimes he doesn’t have any better handle on the latter than I do.

So next time you’re feeling a bit breezy and whimsical, ask your kid(s) about your profession. You may be shocked by the answers, but better you than the highly amused teacher.

Too Much WWF in the NBA

Remember the old joke “I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out”? Well, I don’t get to watch as many NBA games as I used to, so I recently tuned into a Lakers-Celtics game. Immediately, it made me realize why I don’t watch that much pro basketball anymore. There was too little NBA as I like it and way too many WWF-like moments.

For example, Kevin Garnett dunks the ball after bursting through traffic. Quite impressive. But then he has to punctuate the moment by posing for the camera and assuming a loud-mouthed “check out these biceps” stance. Is he Pretty Boy George or George Mikan? Bill Walton, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Willis Reed or Wes Unseld (guys I watched when I watched lots of basketball) would never stoop to such attention-getting antics.

I always think of that coach’s comment (it’s been attributed to Vince Lombardi and Joe Paterno, among others) after a player scores a touchdown and starts dancing in the end zone like it was “Saturday Night Fever”: “Act like you’ve been there before.” I could see if Garnett’s feat was a game-winning play, but showboat dunks are commonplace these days.

The NBA is not alone in its image problems. Look over the latest steroid news from Major League Baseball or which NFL player is the latest to get pulled over for drunk driving or misbehave in a nightclub.

While I enjoy ex-NBA great Charles Barkley for his candor and cockiness, he shot an air ball a while back when he said he wasn’t a role model so he didn’t have to act like one. All of us are role models, if only in small, brief or seemingly insignificant ways. I put in a lot of volunteer time at my son’s elementary school. I love it, getting to know my sons’ classmates, working with them on their lessons, helping out in the class, watching them grow into the most recent hope for our country. So even in my small way, I know I need to set a good example. What would my example say if my behavior was not exemplary? For that same reason I don’t park in the “no parking zone” in front of the school like many of the “more important” parents. That isn’t acceptable anywhere else, so why at school? I say hello by name to as many of the kids as I can. I help them whether it’s spelling a word or retying their sneakers or reminding them not to forget their backpacks.

So what does it say to our youth when our sports heroes are tattooed like billboards and end up frequently at the police station? After all, who wouldn’t want to be a professional athlete? The worst player in the NBA, for which I could qualify for, makes millions. Geez, backup catchers in Major League Baseball can bring home $2 million a year.

The recent antics of NBAer Stephon Marbury come to mind. I used to admire this guy as he started a line of sneakers that, unlike the LeBron and Kobe models that cost more than $100, were really affordable. Then the guy goes to war against the Knicks front office and refuses to play—despite the fact he’s being paid $20 million a year. What kind of example is he setting? Needless to say, I will not buy my son another pair of his sneakers.

It is difficult to be a role model these days, especially for people in the public eye. You are always being watched in this YouTube era. My son’s favorite athlete is Carmelo Anthony. As luck would have it, right after we purchased ‘Melo’s first Nuggets jersey as a birthday gift for my son, he runs into trouble with the law. (Kobe jerseys have long been outlawed in our household, I don’t have to explain why.) When relying this incident to one of my friends, who’s also a dad, I received some wise advice: “We only root for teams, not individuals.” So my son has quite a few Denver Nuggets shirts and sweatshirts as a result of that sage wisdom.

But I’ve always filled his closet with merchandise of the old-time NBA players, like Walt Frazier and Julius Erving, guy I grew up idolizing. The Knicks of the ‘70s played basketball the way I love it best. No posturing screaming and “Clyde” had those killer sideburns and stylish threads. Can’t wait for that look to make a comeback.

Until then, care to place a friendly wager on when those shorty shorts will come back into the NBA closet?

Why Did I Wear a Mickey Mouse Watch?

There was a time when I wore a Mickey Mouse watch to work everyday. Granted, it might have been hidden under the cuff of a dress shirt, but I had it on. Why? Blame it on the most hateful boss I ever had. (I won’t give him the satisfaction of naming names.)

This guy used the Mouse’s name in vain every time he wasn’t happy with something—and that was mighty often. “This article on page three is Mickey Mouse,” he would growl. He would storm around our offices and if he saw something out of place or not to his liking he would shot, “This ain’t no Mickey Mouse operation!” (Yeah, great, a publisher with poor grammatical skills judging the editorial copy of a magazine.)

Well, to uphold Mickey’s good name—as well as to amuse the downtrodden troops I was in charge of—I purchased a MM watch while in Orlando attending a trade show. I wore it proudly, if not somewhat secretly, every day.

The inside joke among my staff became every time they heard Mickey’s name uttered, everyone would respond like Pavlov’s Dog by tapping their left wrists with the first two fingers on their right hands. It became comical and the more pounded upon we were, the more it became our emotional savior.

Isn’t that the role Mickey should play? Even though that watch died more than 15 years ago, I have continued to buy replacements to maintain the memory. Every now and then, I take that watch out of my bedside drawer, put it on and say perhaps the world would be a better place if just a few more things were "Mickey Mouse."