Fighting Smoke with Smoke

I admit it. I smoke.

Picture taken in Fairfax last Tuesday. Yes, really.

Now, living in Marin County, I could be forgiven, even applauded for smoking weed. ("Hello, Fairfax!") I could be tolerated, though still get unfriendly glares, for smoking tobacco. Thankfully, I don't do either of those things, except for an annual cigar, usually with my father-in-law. What I do is much worse, much less forgivable in the San Francisco Bay Area. I burn wood in my fireplace.

On those rare nights when my cellphone does not have a message from the Bay Area Air Quality Management District telling me what not to do, I heat just the room my family is in with a fire in the fireplace, rather than heating an entire two-story house with the gas furnace. I realize this may be painful for many Marinites to read. ("He seemed like such a nice guy until I found out he was poisoning the air. Well,...actually, now that I think of it, he was really more sarcastic and snarky than a nice guy, but still...")

So, you can imagine how relieved I was to read in today's paper that the MENSA club over at the Bay Area Air Quality Management District has people out in Priuses patrolling looking for fires. That's right, folks. They are out in cars driving through neighborhoods looking for smoke.

Al Gore: "BAAQMD is a key driver of climate change."

Now, I realize that many people believe Priuses are hybrid vehicles that run on electricity and love, but they actually run on a gas-fueled, carbon-emitting engine that is used to charge up batteries and run the car. If you have driven in a hybrid around Marin with its hills and winding roads, then you know that the gas motor is usually running when the car has to navigate our hilly terrain here.

That means the BAAQMD is actually out polluting while they are out trying to prevent pollution. And, we are paying people to go out and pollute while pretty much every local, state and federal government organization is saying they don't have enough money to provide basic services anymore. Does this make sense to you?

Light'em if you've got'em!

Steve Young, Jerry Rice and the Tramp Stamp

Sometimes it takes a fake tattoo to really express your love of the sport.

Monday, I went with three other dads to see the 49ers play the Steelers. Since the game started at 5:30 p.m., we did the prudent thing and caught the 11:10 a.m. ferry into the city. I mean you don't want to be late! Now, I don't know about your ferries, but here in the SF Bay area our ferries have bars. Since the four or us hadn't had a guys' day out since Clinton, we headed straight for the bar.

Dads one through three ordered a Black Butte Porter. This is a microbrew gift from Oregon and we appreciate it. ("Thank you bearded, hemp-wearing, beer-making Oregonians!") Dad #4 wondered about the wine list. The ferry bartender, who at this point was thinking "What's the deal with the grey hairs in football jerseys having beer for breakfast?", could offer no wine list for the morning rush so Dad #4 ended up having a Pacifico and manning up and we were proud of him for doing so.

You have to wonder if the bartender on the ferry originally took the job picturing the lovable Isaac on The Love Boat. He'd board the ferry everyday and help aging celebrities find romance while Captain Stubing would navigate the bay. "Hey, look. It's Charo!...again." Unfortunately, being a bartender on a SF Ferry is a little more like being a bartender on a bus with better dressed passengers. So, I'm sure "Dads Gone Wild" really made his day.

At the other end of the ferry is the Ferry Building (yes, you probably could have figured that one out on your own) and there resides the Hog Island Oyster Company. This is where history was to be made. As an aside, those of us that live up in Marin know that the real Hog Island is over in Marshall. It's a place where you either bring a cooler (to bring a bag of 50 home) or a bottle of Tabasco and a bag of charcoal (to grill up your 50 right there on Tomales Bay.) At the Ferry Building, it's more of a restaurant with a large horseshoe oyster bar.

The manager was very cool and found us a spot next to some other football goers starting their own pub crawl as well. We ordered two dozen assorted and started chatting with some Pittsburgh fans next to us that had flown in just to see the game. One of the dads with our group is a huge Steelers fan and he had the jersey to prove it. The rest of us were in SF jerseys or t-shirt so I guess you could say our little group was sports integrated...sprintegrated.

It was then and there, at the full oyster bar, at the full Ferry Building, that our Steelers Dad had something to share. It turns out his wife had given him an official Pittsburgh Steelers "Tramp Stamp" tattoo for the day. Now really, how does that conversation go with the wife? "Hey, let's go upstairs with this temporary tattoo kit and..." So, after all of us had had beer 3, our Steelers Dad displayed his tramp stamp right there in the middle of the Hog Island Oyster Bar. I have to say it was well received.

Not Our Actual Steelers Dad

Now, if you don't know what a "tramp stamp" is, then let's explain. It's a tattoo that starts above the butt and then points south. In the case of our Steelers Dad, it meant "I'm open! I'm open! Throw me the ball...or whatever!"

After some great stops that we promised restaurants we wouldn't mention (but seriously, the sardines on kimchee at Waterbar are out of this world), we found our way to Candlestick. It turns out one of our dads' wives has a friend who runs security on the field. He called his wife's friend and the next thing we know a guy with a suit and an earpiece is handing us special badges and walking us onto the field. Many of the players are out there and they are setting up for the ESPN pregame show.

We walked around the field until we found a spot where we stepped into the 80s, at least that's what it felt like. Right in front of us, about five yards out onto the field, stood Steve Young in a suit without the jacket and he was throwing the ball, playing catch, with Jerry Rice. They were tossing around the ball like two buds from college who were killing a few minutes while the rest of the world was working. The ESPN guys were setting up the stage, getting microphones and lights ready, and next to them was Steve and Jerry just tossing the ball and making comments to each other, waiting until it was time to host the pregame show.

After "The Toss," Steve Young came to the sideline so close to me, I could have grabbed his shoulder and said, "Nice toss." Now, everyone I've told this story to has had the same reaction. "Why didn't you get his autograph?" they always say. It really wasn't that kind of moment. It would have ruined it. I wasn't thinking about selling my signed shirt on eBay the next day. I was just glad to be standing there briefly in the 80s and I think Steve Young and Jerry Rice were as well. It was a moment to respect and take in, not one to interrupt.

So, all I can tell you is that the next time you go out and it doesn't involve a temporary tattoo in your nether regions, then you haven't fully committed. You haven't embraced Guys Night Out or Girls Night Out. What's in store for the next Guys Day Out? Well, all I can tell you is that we haven't ruled out piercing.

Offending Santa: Part Deux: Public Statements of Merriness

"Merry Christmas."

Yup, that's what we did. The company I work for posted a message on our website announcing that the Monday after Christmas we will be closed and, oh, by the way, "Merry Christmas." That's when the complaint calls started coming in. How dare we put the word "Christmas" on our website?!

Now, I know this has been turned into some sort of pseudo political issue and the Republicans are supposedly the great defenders of Christmas and the Democrats are supposedly the group attacking Christmas with their evil "Happy Holidays" message, but really don't we have more pressing issues to focus on? The government is about to shut down due to a lack of an approved operating budget and today marks the official end of the war in Iraq and we are all stirred up about Christmas?

To be candid, we were not attempting to take a stand by posting our "Merry Christmas" message. We were simply saying that we will be closed in observance of Christmas and that "we too will be celebrating with our families." But now, it has become a thing. Our "Christmas e-mail message to customers" has become "Happy Holidays," so we don't get any additional complaint calls.

In my point of view, Christmas is about pausing once a year to do something nice for people. For friends and family, it's an opportuniity to say how much they mean to you and give them a little something that shows it. For customers, it's time to say, "Hey, thanks for your business." For those closest to you, it's an opportunity to break bread, have a little wine and reflect on the past year and state your hopes for the upcoming year.

And, for the kids, it's a time for magic, even when they get a little older and realize that Santa may have been assembling that bike in the garage with a martini instead of bringing it down the chimney. (My daughter, wisely sent us an e-mail for Santa this year with her request and then asked us to forward it to Santa, because she didn't have his e-mail address and thought that we might. Now that's thinking on your feet!) Even my Jewish friend down the street has Christmas lights on his house and he definitely qualifies as jolly. He has managed to have a Christmas tree and a menorah in his house at the same time for years without it spontaneously combusting or drawing any protesters out front.

So, when I say Merry Christmas, what I mean is "Be happy. Enjoy the season. Do something nice for your family and your friends." It's not meant as a recruiting drive for any particular religion. It's not meant to say "Go Newt! Go Rick!" It's not meant to say, "Wow, Glenn Beck really is right!" So please, lighten up, everyone. I am not trying to offend you or pigeon hole your religious or political beliefs when I wish you a Merry Christmas. Just be happy and enjoy the season.

So, whether this time of year involves a tree, a dradle, a Kwanzaa cake or a dim sum brunch on Christmas Day for you, I wish you the best. Be happy, be thankful and reflect on what's most important in your life. Other than that, don't stress on the details and don't get caught up on language. What you take as offensive might be someone just wishing you the best for this time of year.

Excuse Me, May I Please Have My Drone Back?

President Obama needs to watch some Bond movies.

You don't have your super-secret-state-of-the-art spy drone crash in Iraq and then say, "Hey, excuse me. A funny thing happened yesterday. Um, we crashed the drone we were using to spy on you guys and we noticed that you've been, like, putting it on television and we were wondering if we could have it back. It's really expensive and we'd rather you not put it on television for the Chinese to take a look at, because we have a few flying over them as well."

Here's how it is supposed to work, according to the world of Bond. The drone crashes in Iraq and president Aquavelvajad wheels it into his presidential crazy hanger and puts on his fake medals for "capturing" the drone. He poses standing in front of the drone for the television cameras. At that point, the drone goes "beep" and then about 10 pounds of C4 goes off and blows up the drone, president Ahmedinajad and his crazy hanger. "Beep"...BOOM! That's how it is supposed to go.

Really? Has no one in the CIA watched a Bond movie? This is pretty basic stuff. If you send a spy drone into another country, it needs to have some sort of a self destruct feature that goes off if the drone doesn't receive the magic code from headquarters every 12 hours. Sean Connery had this down in the 1960s and here we are in 2011 and all we can do is politely ask the crazy Iranian president if we can pretty please have our drone back.

Maybe this is a result of our video game culture. The pilot who was remotely flying the drone probably thought to himself when he crashed it, "No problem. I've still got two more drone lives before game over."

So, President Obama, Joint Chiefs, SecDef, please watch some Bond movies and remember, Next time a drone goes down..."Beep"...BOOM!

Frosty Has a Lei

I know you thought I was going to go with the "Frosty Got Lei-ed" headline, but I didn't want my 5th grade humor to be that predictable for you readers. There's a deeper, more complex side to my humor. Okay, maybe not. My son summed up my humor last night when he described a friend of his as having humor "like Dad's. You know, he tells jokes that most people don't think are funny." And...everyone in my family agreed! Talk about a tough room...

But seriously, Frosty does have a lei. Let me explain. As part of our "collage" of Christmas decorations outside (translation for "collage:" many years of accumulated decorations that do not match), we have a snowman. Now, being that we live in California, our snowman isn't made of ice, but of many toxic fabrics and stuffing assembled in some factory in China. Frosty spends most of the year up on a shelf in the garage and once a year we dust him off and perch him in front of our house.

This morning, I went outside to get the paper to find our Frosty sporting a lei, not a fake 10-cent party store lei, but an actual flower lei made with actual flowers. Obviously, Frosty had a much more exciting Sunday night than I did. I looked around to see if Frosty also had an empty martini glass and a half-smoked cigar, but the lei was the only evidence that Frosty got his groove on last night.

Now, I'm sure that the Hawaiin-themed holiday party (Mele Kalikimaka) held over at our local market, Paradise Foods, had absolutely nothing to do with my snowman ending up with an authentic Hawaiin lei. No, I'm sure it's unrelated.

Everyone should have a market like Paradise Foods, by the way. It's my Cheers. It's a local market where I live where many people in there actually know my name and I know their names. It turns a shopping trip into a visit with friends. I'm not sure what it says that my "Cheers" is a grocery store, instead of an actual bar. I guess it doesn't sound hugely manly.

By the way, if I'm forfeiting my manliness, I'll might as well share a recipe. I made a good batch of short ribs last night and so can you. Here's what you'll need:

• 2 tbls olive oil
• 4lbs short ribs (have your butcher saw them into thirds)
• 1 sweet onion chopped
• 2 leeks sliced (the white parts only)
• 6 carrots (sliced, but not peeled)
• 4 cloves garlic peeled and smashed
• 1 can San Marzano diced tomatoes (14 oz or bigger)
• 2 oz dried porcini mushrooms
• 1 cup freshly brewed coffee
• 3/4 bottle of Zinfandel wine  

And here's what you do: Preheat an oven to 300 degrees. Pour the olive oil into a dutch oven or other type of heavy pot with a lid. On your stove, brown the meatside of the ribs. Don't worry about the bone side. This will take about 3-4 minutes at high heat. Set the ribs aside. In the same oil, add the onion and leeks and cook until they get translucent, about 4-5 minutes. Turn off the stove. Add all of the remaining ingredients and then nestle the short ribs in the mixture so they are nearly submerged. Make sure all of the porcini mushrooms are submerged. Put the lid on, set it in the oven for about 5-8 hours (you can't overcook this dish at 300 degrees, so don't worry) and then serve over polenta or mashed potatoes.

So Frosty, all I can say is that the next time you go to the Hawaiin party at Cheers,...take me!

Who We Gonna Take to the New Planet?

NASA's Kepler space probe has found Kepler-22b. While not the most sexy brand name for a planet, Kepler-22b does have the advantage of being able to support life. In my mind, this raises two questions:

1. Why is NASA looking for a "back-up planet" and does that mean they are taking this climate change thing more seriously than Sean Hannity?

2. Who we gonna take?

Think about it. If we are moving to a new planet, then this is an excellent time to weed out some of the less than stellar members of our society. Obviously, if NASA has a probe out there looking for another life-supporting planet, then they must also have a secret shuttle ready to take select members to "KP-B" (the planet's rap name).

Okay, let's break this down by category, so we make sure we have everything we need.

Entertainment:

Spielberg, all aboard! Your in! Your movies continue to explore new ground and goodness knows we'll need the entertainment to put up with the 600-light-year trip to KP-B. Lucas, sorry, you are staying here. We'll just have to wait for the reviews to hear how Star Wars 14: Revenge of the Thong turns out.

Glee cast, sorry, but not everything in life is worth a song and your constant singing and dancing would get a little much by the time we were passing Mars. Piers and Simon, to answer your question, Yes, America does have talent and neither of you are American, so do the math. KP-B does not have "celebrity judges" nor fake puffed-up journalists.

Government:

Sorry, but you all have to stay on Earth and continue to do the "great job" you are doing running things. Okay, maybe the Prime Minister of Canada can come along and lend a hand. They seem to have a pretty stable economy and mostly friendly people up there. But, Boehner and Pelosi, you guys get to stay and do press interviews about each other. As far as the U.S. Presidential Race, do we really look that interested? Just send us an email and let us know how it all turns out.

Food:

Sorry Cinnabon, but we are trying to keep the average weight on KP-B under 200 lbs. In & Out, all aboard! You're in! There's always room for a good burger. I mean we aren't vegans or anything high maintenance like that on KP-B. And you Vietnamese folks, come on down. We need the Pho!

Guidance:



Craig Ferguson, The Oprah of Our New Planet

 Sorry, Oprah, but until you put someone else's picture on the cover of your magazine just once, you don't get to come to KP-B. We don't need the new planet crowded with 499 billboards with your face on it. KP-B is a NOprah Zone, though I hear the catch phrase "WWOD" ("What would Oprah Do?") is starting to catch on there. Craig Ferguson, welcome aboard. You are the Oprah of KP-B. Show us how to take ourselves less seriously in our new digs.

Industry:

Energy industry, are you really asking? I mean NASA did have to find a whole new planet for us. That sort of makes your resume read like "Destroyed first planet, but really feeling good about career prospects on KP-B!" Apple? Well, it's really not our decision since they've already trademarked "iPlanet."

Well, I guess that about does it. I'm headed home to start packing. I want to be ready when NASA calls. I mean they are calling right? I'm on the list right?

"Who is Bob Hope?"

There's probably no better illustration of the generation gap between myself and my son than The Muppets.

I took my son to a guy's night out last night to see The Muppets and then have appropriately manly (translation: unhealthy as possible) food at our local microbrewery while my wife and daughter were caroling in the city. So, I thought to myself, why not introduce my son to the Muppets. He's been spending a lot of time watching Bond movies on Netflix, so I thought it might be good to shift his attention from Pussy Galore (yes, real Bond girl name from Goldfinger) to Miss Piggy.

Well, it turns out The Muppets is kind of sad for those of us that actually watched The Muppet Show when it was on television. They spend the majority of the movie explaining how The Muppets just aren't relevant anymore. There's even a moment when Kermit pulls out his Rolodex to call for some help and attempts to reach "President Carter."

Has it really been that long since we watched the Swedish Chef prepare Chicken in a Basket?

There came a point in the movie where they play sound clips from old Muppet episodes and they make a reference to Bob Hope hosting. At this point, my son asks me, "Who is Bob Hope?"

Who is Bob Hope?

He knows who Justin Bieber is and who Kim Kardashian is and he doesn't know who Bob Hope is? He knows What Not to Wear and has seen Dwarf Farmers on the Discovery Channel and doesn't know who Bob Hope is? This can't be right. As a dad, how could I have gone 11 years and not mentioned who Bob Hope is. Let's not even get started about Dean Martin. What's Amore? That's Amore!

Here I thought we were just going to have a simple guys night out when right there in front of me is the thing I hadn't considered yet. The Generation Gap was right there between us in all of its Muppet glory. Geoffrey Moore, this chasm might not be able to be crossed! So, I tried to explain who Bob Hope was and who Jim Henson was and the history behind the Muppets and I realized I was getting a little sentimental about the whole thing. I found myself missing a time when we really had creative geniuses like Jim Henson breaking new ground.

Could there be a day when my son has to explain to his son with great reverence who Lady Gaga was? Let's hope not.

P.S. Kudos to Chris Cooper for shaking off his intense dramatic actor image and having fun as the rapping evil oil man on The Muppets.

P.S.S. A pretty amazing compilation of Bob Hope's Christmas visits to the troops can be found by clicking here.