Snap Is the New Dude

Last night, my 11-year-old son had one of his friends over for a sleepover. While they were hanging out playing video games in what has become our rec room (formerly the living room), one word kept emanating from the room.

"Snap!"

If something good happens in the game, then a boy would yell "Snap!" If something bad happened, then it was a more hushed-toned "Snap..." Either way, "Snap" is the 11-year-old boys' primary form of communication right now.

This "dialogue" reminded me of college in the late 80s when the all-purpose word was "Dude." This is perhaps the most versatile word on the planet for men. Let me give you some examples:

Pronoun: "Dude, you can't wear a Cyndi Lauper shirt on your date!"

Expletive: "Dude! Not cool! That totally hurt when you threw that lawn dart at me. Dude!"


Compliment: Attractive woman walks by two men. One man turns to the other and says quietly, "Dude." The other replies, "Dude." Communication has just taken place.

Threat: Man hits another man in the face accidentally while playing Frisbee Golf. "Dude!" (Implied message: "Once is funny, but if it happens again, there's going to be trouble.")

Adjective/Adverb: "He hit that ball right out of the park. I mean it was going so fast that...Dude!"

Emphatic: "This isn't just a story. I mean, Dude, this may have been one of the best beers I've ever tasted." "Dude?" "...Duuuuude." "Wow." "Oh ya."

I guess we have the now-serious Sean Penn to thank for the "Dude" in the American dialect. Remember when he used to appear to be a fun person? What did Clint say to him to make him so darn somber all the time? I imagine he probably winces every time some one calls him Spicoli these days. I hope I never take myself that seriously. Because, if I do, well...Dude!

Good Toys and Bad Toys

I was reading the paper this morning trying to get motivated to go into work on the day before Thanksgiving (really, can we just skip ahead to the turkey and football part?) when my son came down to watch television.

This is a special father/son bonding time for us. I wish him a good morning and he ignores me and stares at the television and, really, I have to admit that the Simpsons rerun he had Tivo'd was definitely more entertaining than me at 7 a.m.

I glanced up to see a commercial come on screen for Doggie Doo. If you haven't seen it, then you'll be impressed where ingenuity has brought our great nation. This is a toy dog that poops. And, when it poops, the children in the ad go wild with delight. Once again, and I know I say this too often, I'm not making this up. You can order your very own pooping toy by clicking right here.

This is when I glanced down at Roscoe, our mostly ignored dog who provides his own Doggy Doo sensation in our back yard on a daily basis. Could I be sitting on a Doggie Doo Disneyland franchise and not even know it? Could my back yard be the source of joy for thousands of children that want to see an actual dog poop complete with smellivision? If they can get $19.95 for a toy pooping dog, then Rosoe must be worth a fortune.

I have this great mental image of children lined up outside the gate to my back yard. Each one hands me a $20 bill and then I hand them our Pooper Scooper. They happily skip (Oh yes, skip!) into our back yard to pick up real live poop. I stand there with my stack of $20s and I admire my clean back yard. Maybe some of these visiting kids would actually like to play with our dog. How cool would that be?

Last night I saw some toys that actually made me excited. I went to the International Auto Show in San Francisco. I like to see what's coming to our highways next year. Usually, it's something similar to what's already on the highways. Not this year! There's a whole raft of new cars with new approaches coming. There were several plug-in electric and hybrid cars there and their body styling is downright exciting. I'm sorry, but if you own a Prius, your car is about to go from cool to ugly in a matter of months.

It used to be that people would drive their Priuseses (what is the plural of Prius, anyhow?) in the Novato 4th of July Parade to show how cutting edge and environmentally aware they were. It was sort of bizarre seeing this group of Priuseses go by before the veterans riding on tanks. Based on what I saw last night, the Prius is a dinosaur. New cars like the Nissan Leaf are going to demonstrate that cars can be both efficient and, yes, fun and stylish.

Now, if I had to pick a toy for myself this holiday season, it would have to be the Fisker Karma. This is a hybrid that has two electric motors on board that generate more than 400 horsepower. It also gets 100 miles to the gallon should you need the motor to kick in and extend your range. And it looks like a Bond car! Really, I would be surprised if the next James Bond movie does not have a Fisker in it. Oh, by the way, it costs $109,000 and I'm not sure if that includes the floor mats. And, hey, it's four doors so this is the perfect car for our middle school carpool. It's not like I'd be buying this car for myself. It's for the kids!

So, I guess today's message is sometimes you don't know when you have a toy that's in demand ("Keep up the good work, Roscoe!") and sometimes the toy you want is just a little out of your reach.

Mile High Club for One?

Having been on four flights in the span of three days last week, I was particularly concerned to read today's announcement by European discount carrier Ryanair.

Ryanair's CEO Michael O'Leary wants to offer in-flight adult movies. No really, I'm not making this up. You can read about it on the official MSN Money site here.

In an effort to alleviate any concerns about this new approach to flying, O'Leary manages to make an awkward situation sound even worse. "I'm not talking about having it on screens on the back of seats for everyone to see," said O'Leary. "It would be on handheld devices."

Handheld devices?!?!?! I think that's exactly the kind of thing we want to avoid while watching naughty movies at 38,000 feet. No handholding devices! Stop that!

Flying is already intimate enough. There's already that guy who is a little too big for the airline seat that decides to tuck away the armrest between his seat and yours so you can be in full contact the entire flight. And, there's that guy who decided that bringing on board an order of fajitas to eat in flight next to you was a really great idea. Do I want these guys also having "handheld devices" connected to in-flight porn? I don't think so...especially since Ryanair is also installing pay toilets on its planes. What if my seatmate is too cheap to use the pay restroom when he "needs a moment" after (or during) watching the in-flight entertainment? No. No. No. No.

This is where I draw a line. I already take off my shoes, belt and jacket and have my hands swabbed after standing in line just to get to the plane that's then been delayed. When I get on the plane, I just want to read my book and not have to worry about just how much the guy next to me is enjoying his flight.

So, to all you guys getting ready to book your tickets on Ryanair, I have just one bit of information for you. Your "Mile High Club" should have more than one member.

Offending Santa

It's time to think of the strategy for decorating the front yard for Christmas and I think I've come up with a winner...something that will truly make a statement. But, is my neighborhood ready for it?

Occupy North Pole

It's a simple concept. I'll build a protest site on the front yard with "Occupy North Pole" signs with little tents for the elves. The idea is that the elves have finally rose up against North Pole's CEO, Santa. They've had enough and instead of making toys they are occupying the Pole with a little tent city with a variety of signs talking about "The Man," who is indeed Santa.

I can already see the signs:

Sleigh Destroying Ozone Layer
...Santa Doesn't Care!

No Toys for Slave Wages!

Deers Eat Better Than Elves Here!

We Are the 32%...at least measured by height!

Okay, admittedly I'm not sure if I'm ready for this. One of my neighbors is far to the left of left in his views and my guess is he would be very offended by an Occupy Parody in the neighborhood. This is the neighbor that has regaled us with a variety of interesting bumper stickers over the years. This is the neighbor who hangs his American flag upside down when he's displeased with election results. So, my guess is he might actually set up his own tent to Occupy my Occupy North Pole.

And then what do you do? I mean is he considered a guest if he pops up a tent in the front yard? Do I have to bring him tea in the morning and wine at night? And then there's the sanitation issue. I mean what would I say when the planter by the front door starts looking a little unhealthy? And there would be that awkward moment in the mornings when I'm leaving for work in my suit and he'd pop his head out of his tent and spit in my general direction. 

Well, I guess I'll have to give this some more thought. If you think i should go ahead with Occupy North Pole or that it would be horribly offensive, then please feel free to post a comment. The neighborhood you save from disgrace may be your own. 

Time for Men to Man Up?

Is it time for American men to man up?

This seems to be a reoccurring theme this week. Just yesterday, I saw a commercial from the folks at Dove showing that they now have a new soap just for men, because normal Dove is just too hard on their skin. Seriously? Isn't normal Dove the soap that used to be advertised by them forming a bar of soap out of hand lotion and now it's just too harsh for us sensitive guys? 

Last night, I was one of the bartenders at our county's annual Veteran's Day dinner. It's where we honor hundreds of veterans and some active duty service men. The bar is the place to be. This may come as a shock to you, but veterans can drink. What struck me was the way they order. First of all, there's the eye contact. They look you square in the eye and ask you how you are doing. Then, there's the order. It's either "What kind of beer to you have?" or it's "Red wine" or "White wine." There's nothing complicated and no questions about where the wine came from or anything like that. This is unusual for the area I live in.

You see, in Marin, being so close to the wine country, we talk a lot about wine. We don't drink "White wine." We drink "Viognier mixed with Chenin Blanc" or we drink "Pinot with Grenache." And how we describe the wine to each other at social events is as elaborate as it is embarrassing. "I'm getting a hint of cherry with an oak finish, yet there's an earthy quality to it...wait, perhaps some burnt cedar as well." And, we like to pare wine. "This Merlot would really shine with a wild mushroom risotto with a little white truffle oil." Now, I'm as guilty as any of my friends of this. But really, sometimes we just need to shut up and drink.

So, it's pretty darn refreshing to be around a group of veterans that wants "Red wine" without the elaborate description of the varietal and the bathing habits of the winemaker who crafted the wine. Just make eye contact, smile, pour it and save your review of the wine for your hairdresser.

Many years ago, my wife and I were biking through the wine country (pre-kids, of course) and being new to the whole California Wine Country experience, we went to a winery where the man doing the tasting was in his denim overalls. He seemed approachable, though he turned out to be the winery's owner, Vincent Arroyo. We asked our approachable denim-clad host our novice question, "How do you pick out a good wine? What should we look for?" He replied simply, "A good wine is a wine you like." It's not about price, brand or an earthy turnip quality. If you like a wine, then that makes it a "good wine."

So, inspired by Vincent Arroyo and all those veterans last night, this Veteran's Day I will attempt to man up. Today, I will push the testosterone envelope by:

• Not shaving (okay, admittedly, that was already in the plan for today)
• Doing laundry without using the fabric softener sheet in the dryer. Go ahead, bring on the static cling. I am man and I am ready.
• Using shampoo that does not contain tea tree oil and forgoing the conditioner completely.
• Driving our car without activating the heated seats (Don't laugh. It's supposed to get down into the lower 50s today. True Grit!)
• Watch television this evening without using the Tivo to skip through the beer and Cialis commercials (Four hours? Really? I'm not sure if that's cause for concern or applause.)

So, there you have it: Five small steps to manhood. Bring on the applause.

Costco Book Tour

Have you noticed the ads in the Marin IJ advertising the authors who will be on hand to sign his or her book at Costco over the weekend? They format them like a theater performance, so it looks like we are ever so lucky to have the author come to such a prestigious location. They even say, "Members only." Only the 67% of Marin that are Costco members get to meet the author. That way they keep the riff raff out.

What must that be like for the author?

The author has toiled for years to produce a work of art, a view into his or her deepest thoughts. All along, the author is watching other authors appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, who either actually reads books written by his guests or has a writer on loan from Cliff's Notes to give him a great briefing about the book.

Jon: "What inspired you to use Yasser Arafat as a metaphor for the struggle of school children fighting oppression throughout the Middle East?"

Author: "It came to me when I was demonstrating against Global Warming outside of a styrofoam cup manufacturing plant in Darfur that Arafat's struggle to be understood as a leader typecast him in the same way that children can be."

So, our author finally finishes her book and and is ready to chat it up with Jon and the publisher calls with news of the first big book tour. "Someone wants you to tour the country to promote your book!" Virgin Megastore? No. Borders? Out of Business. Barnes & Noble? Nope. It's Costco, and that tour will take you from Fresno to Novato. This has to be a blow to the author. I mean the Costco in Kona is at least a bright spot during the tour, but it's still Costco that you are touring to promote your book.

Imagine what the experience is like for the author inside of each Costco.

Shopper: "Is this where they are handing out samples of chicken apple sausage?"

Author: "No, I wrote this book as a deep expression of my soul and I'm here to talk about it and sign it."

Shopper: "Oh. Do you know where they are handing out samples of chicken apple sausage? This is my lunch."

Author: "Go past the guy demonstrating the juicer and turn right when you see the display of Ensure."

And, what does the author say to the other authors when they get together for pipe-smoke-filled, brandy-sipping social engagements? The other authors are popping off about traveling to New York, Venice and Paris to promote their books and your publisher has you booked to spend the weekend at the Vacaville Costco. How do you spin that to make it sound like you've finally made it as a writer?

So, dear Costco Book Tour Author, keep in mind that things could be worse. It could be Walmart calling.

Halloween: Dads Gone Wild

What does it say when a trick-or-treating dad is way more dressed up than his kid?

I guess there's really two ways one could look at this. In the "glass half full" world view, you could say that these dads are the most fun fathers on the planet and everyday in their homes is like being in a Disney Lindsay Lohan movie before she grew up and became a whole lot less fun. I'm talking about Parent Trap/Herbie the Love Bug Lindsay, not judge-mandated rehab Lindsay. You could make the point that if a dad dresses up that big time for Halloween, then he's probably a blast at home.

Or, you could look at it from the view of a middle schooler dealing with middle school peer issues. "Hey Ryan, I saw you out trick-or-treating with your Pirate Father last night. Arrrrrrrgh, matie!" "Hey Sinclaire, was your mother trying to dress like Lady Gaga's Grandma last night or what?"

Last night we had not one, but two pirate dads come by...and no, they were not together. These guys fully-committed. I'm talking frilly shirts with ruffly sleaves and hats with feathers. I couldn't quite tell if their kids were thrilled to be with such fun-loving parents or terrified that they might run into someone from school who would wait until lunch the next day to ask them in front of their friends, "How's Capt. Sparrow doing?"

My favorite costumes last night were on two twins that came to the door in jeans and t-shirts. Since they seemed to be lacking costumes, my wife asked them what they were. They pointed at each other said simply, "I'm him." Classic!

As a parent of a teen and a nearly teen, I learned something new about Halloween last night. I'm not invited. It wasn't even dark and both kids were out of the house and out with their friends trick-or-treating in other neighborhoods. Gone are the days where I'd walk along with other dads and moms chatting while the kids ran from door to door. Gone are the days of being invited up to a neighbor's porch to accept the occassional glass of wine. Gone is the visit to the house on the street below us that had a garage haunted house and a "cauldron" of Bloody Marys for visiting parents. At their tweeny, teeny age, my kids still want to be out amongst them on Halloween, but God forbid a parent be in tow. Parents should be no closer than a text message away.

Still, my kids came home telling tales that reminded me of my childhood. There's the "Healthy House" that attempts to debunk the tradition of handing out cavity inducing treats by handing out fruit or carrot sticks. Coincidentally, that's also the house where the owners find a pile of fruit and carrot sticks in their bushes by the front stoop about a week later. Then, there's the house that hands out some sort of toy instead of candy. This year it turned out to be a deck of cards, so kids are now able to play solitaire with quivering fingers as they ride the sugar rush from eating the candy that fills the rest of their bags. And lastly, there's the most special house of all. It's the one that kids, even before texting, find ways to notify each other about right in the middle of trick-or-treating. It's the house that gives away the full-sized candy...not the mini candy bars or the packs with three Hot Tamales. They give out the real deal and kids going through their loot later that evening hold up the bar and talk in hushed reverence about the house that gave away the full-sized Hershey.

So, to my kids, I say "You're Welcome." Daddy was not a pirate this year and you can go to school today without fear. I can't make any promises about next year, though.