Sometimes I entertain my kids by taking them to Best Buy. When they’re busy climbing inside refrigerators, I have a few moments to stare blankly at TVs while waving my hand through the blade-less Dyson fan hoping to open a Stargate. I’m there to survive, not to be awesome.
That’s why I was surprised when a 20-something Rihanna-esque employee looked at me coyly and said, “I like your style.” I only managed to squeak out a timid, “Thanks,” before briskly walking away as if the high school quarterback had told me he liked my Hello Kitty lunchbox. Continue…
I woke up this morning unable to turn my head to the right. With the exception of mandatory prostate exams, nothing says “Hey world, I’m 40!” more than turning your entire torso in situations where a simple neck twist would suffice.
If you’re a high school football player or young rodeo star who can’t move his neck, there’s a certain badge of courage there: you survived a tough hit, or were thrown from an ornery bronco. It’s not only youthful, it’s masculine. Continue…
My wife’s suspicion of technology has expanded to include GPS. It’s in her DNA; my mother in law recently emailed us an article about people getting dumber because of navigation systems. To paraphrase: maps are great and anything with a battery is full of demonic trickery aimed at turning humans against nature, truth, family, spirit and wholesomeness.
Their public skepticism of technology is a smokescreen used to distract family and friends from the indefensible reality that they trust themselves more than a computer. Continue…
Men patronize women by complimenting them on their ability to give birth. Give me a vagina and a uterus filled with a baby that’s ready to party, and I know I could push it out. It wouldn’t be pretty; I’d definitely cry, scream and call a nurse the c-word, but I’d pull it off.
Don’t get mad. I’m going somewhere with this.
What I could never do is be pregnant for more than a week. I know some women “love being pregnant,” but I’m pretty sure they’re full of shit. Continue…
I’m supposed to be a “play-oriented, calm, flowy and creative” parent, right? I’m trying, but I fear that battle is causing my kids to experience me as inconsistant and moody. Sometimes I’m capable of redirecting their behavior to something more positive:
“Hey kiddo pants! Instead of squirting all the lotion in the toilet, let’s do an experiment to see what happens to cheese when we leave it in the sun. Hurray! Project! Let’s put on our super duper lab coats and goggles!”
And sometimes I’m not. Continue…
