Michelle Obama's Not My Momma!

A few weeks ago, my mom casually tossed out that she thought she should get bangs.

"My hair just needs a bit of something; I think that something is bangs."

I should have, at that moment, pushed her face onto a cutting board, whipped out a cleaver and with one solid chop, gave the woman bangs.  It would have alleviated today's phone call...

"SHE STOLE MY BANGS! I can NOT believe it,  SHE STOLE...MY BANGS! I WAS GOING TO GET BANGS! I can't have no Democrat Bangs! Now everyone's dying over her Bangs and THOSE ARE MY BANGS! Now what am I going to do, that woman and her Stop-Feeding-Fat-Kids bangs, she looks ridiculous.  Oh, there they are in a close up, WE SEE THEM, WE GOT IT! THE FRONT PART IS NOW SHORTER THAN THE REST! Oh here we go, the President LOVES her bangs, I am sure, I am SURE he does. I thought he hated 'bangs'!  Get it? Gun Control?! Well now what?! What am I supposed to do with this mess!  I hate my hair, it's all long and parted to one side, I was growing it out so I could cut BANGS and now I'll just look like one of her minions, scalping themselves in adoration...you know, her arms have gotten fat, have you seen them? Did you notice?  I mean, the first inauguration  her arms were amazing, I'll give her that, but this go 'round, wheew, it was like a flying squirrel trying to get your attention. THAT'S why she got bangs, 'Look at my head, not my arms!' She probably walked into the Oval Office with a sleeveless shirt and Joe Biden was like, Woah, she's gonna need some bangs.' Well, I don't care. Everyone knows I was gonna get my bangs and that was way before all this "O-bang-a" garbage went down. My friend Georgia told me they would frame my face...NOW LOOK AT MY FACE! FRAMELESS! Who knows what I've got going on up there?! All this time I've been walking around smiling at people and they were thinking, "What was that?! Was that a face? Was that a painting?  Either way, that thing needs a frame!" I HATE THE DEMOCRATS! They are so selfish. Thoughtless.  You don't see Ann Romney stealing my bangs, NO! She swoops! Like any dignified woman in the public eye should. SWOOP MICHELLE, SWOOP! It's like that little girl from 'The New Girl' is running the country  It's fine for a dumb TV show but you are the Queen of America, SWOOP! I tell ya what, I am not gonna do it.  I can't. Not now. It's all too much.  What would they say at Church? Connie's gone commie, that's what they'd say. They'd all think I'd lost it. I'd be exiled. But my face would have a frame...maybe it's worth it, I mean, I can't let her win, those two have won enough, if you ask me.  Now they win the BANG race? NO ONE'S RACING YOU!  Oh would you look at that, they are showing her from the back, they are talking about her bangs and showing me the back of her head. COME ON C-N-N!  I gonna have to change over to Fox News, see what they have to say about her bangs, that'll cut her down to size...HA, CUT HER RIGHT DOWN...good heavens they are taking a poll.  FOX NEWS IS TAKING A BANG POLL!  Do I like the First Ladies new bangs? NO-I-DO-NOT!  AND IF I WASN'T ON THE PHONE WITH YOU, sweetie,  I WOULD CALL AND LET THEM KNOW!  

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER FOX NEWS! 

I'm going back to CNN, the least I can hope for is reasonably unbiased coverage of her bangs.  Oh, now the president is talking... Of course, of course she did, I should have gone yesterday, I had the appointment, I should have gone to the appointment but the roads were covered with ice, I wasn't gonna kill myself to get OH MY GOSH I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF, SHE'S BACK! She is photo bombing the inauguration! Either that or the camera man is getting sick of this hippy propaganda the President is schlepping and cropping her into the frame. What do you need bangs for, honey, you got CNN framing your face for you!

That's it, I can't take it any more. Good thing I Tivo'd 'Days of Our Lives'...Holy crap Sami's got bangs."

Now, I wasn't recording or anything, and I would hate to paint my mother in any other light other then a beautiful, gracious, forgiving, bangless light, but I'm pretty sure that's how it went down...word for word...no matter what she says in the comments.  

*How long did it take me to find a picture of the President kissing his wife's bangs? Two seconds.  

Non-Incriminating Evidence

Katie and I when we were dating. 

Sometimes when I really want to freak out the youth at church I tell them about when Sister Craig and I were dating, back in 1995. I weave tales about how I would sometimes, unannounced, just pop in at her apartment. And how sometimes…she wouldn't be there! AND I WOULD HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE WAS OR WHEN SHE WAS COMING BACK! So I would have to do something crazy like LEAVE A HANDWRITTEN NOTE, TELLING HER TO CALL ME LATER!  And then sometime, later that day, she’d hopefully get that note and call me. And MAYBE I would be at my apartment to answer my land-line phone, and MAYBE I WOULDN'T! Maybe I’d be out, and I actually wouldn't have any communication with her that entire afternoon or even that day! No communication! Like we were animals! And can you even stand the suspense of when we would see each other again?! I know!

Seriously, I sound ancient to these youth when I tell stories of living before every soul had a cell phone with texting or Find a Friend capabilities. And you know what? I totally feel archaic, too! I find my own self sitting there in a daze wondering how we lived so crippled by our lack of technology. I swear in 1995 it was like we had evolved one measly step from chimps playing with sticks. “And then to show Sister Craig I was interested in her romantically, I thumped my chest and handed her a branch that was on fire. She prayed about it, and we got married.”

Doesn't it feel as if society has so quickly adapted to all of us being absolutely accessible at all times, we can’t fathom a time when it wasn't that way? You may even find yourself thinking back on moments when you would have saved time, resources, and emotional anguish if we were all using Smart Phones and texting and apps. I've done that.

But the upside is this, my ancient friend, you also lived out your pubescent years at a time when the entire world didn't have video camera/phones on their person 24 hours a day; and then a medium to immediately distribute that video to the public. How can I know how awesome anything I did was if it wasn't immediately broadcasted and validated by the public! I know, we were animals!

But for those of us who are products from the 70s, 80s, or 90s…I think we are actually grateful for that. I know I am. My family bought a home video camera in 1984. I was 13. THIRTEEN! The only wise decision I ever made in my adolescent awkwardness (besides keeping my crush on Olivia Newton-John a secret) was to completely avoid being on camera. Sure, it was a fascinating new technology, but I knew better. In fact, the only two documented video sightings of me as a teenager is one of me yelling at my cousin to stop videotaping me, and  the other  is of me at age 16, at a ward Roadshow practice. And people, believe me, it is obnoxious! Probably because I was obnoxious at 16! I am on stage chewing a piece of gum like I’m doing it a favor and supplying more eye rolls than is legally allowed by the FCC.

Think on your own teen years, but imagine being surrounded by friends who are constantly prepared to video whatever foolishness you are prone to! Here’s a list of what you and I were spared by me being a teen of the 80s and as a result, no rogue video floating around:

*I played water polo. Nobody needs to see what that looked like. (This was before the “hip,” less-offensive Speedos you see in the Summer Olympics now.)

*Once during my sophomore year of high school I had to go up to the board to diagram a sentence in my English class. My pants caught on a broken part of a desk as I walked to the front and ripped a hole on the area of my jeans covering my bum. Not cool.  It was a YouTube moment waiting to happen…but mercifully, there was no YouTube!

*My first kiss was at a Youth Conference, on a bus, in front of millions of people. Whew, dodged a bullet there.

*My freshman year I played the clarinet. In the marching band. At football games. Nobody beat me up or gave me a wedgie. But they should have. And that would have been on Facebook for sure. (There wasn't the anti-bullying movement that you see nowadays. I guess it was an era when people figured if you were in the marching band then you had it coming. And it’s hard to argue with that logic.)

What about you? What bullets did you dodge by not having adolescent moments caught on video and distributed to the world? COMMENT! 

fashionista-sista

On the eve of Season 11 of Lifetime's Project Runway premiere I had the exciting privilege of speaking with contestant Amanda Valentine, who also happens to be my sister-in-law. And who happens to be awesome! And also happens to be very forthcoming, as this interview reveals.

Amanda was under a strict gag order from Lifetime not reveal any spoilers or plot points from the upcoming season, but it's pretty clear that I got right through that fashion firewall with my probing questions! I told Amanda that if she was uncomfortable with any of my questions, or if they were too revealing, she could use our interview safe word: "auf wiedersehen." Are you surprised to hear she never used it? Yes? Well, that's just how good I am. I am the Martin Bashir of Lifetime programming (Look out, Dance Moms!)

Anyway, in this hard hitting interview Amanda gives us the secrets of layering, alerts us to how many hot chicks are on the show, and reveals a surprising marriage!

Topher: Who is nicer: Tim Gunn or that grouchy lady from Marie Claire magazine?

Amanda: Um, Tim Gunn. But here's the thing. Surprise! I love Nina. She's so much nicer than she comes across on the show. I fell in love with her very quickly. (Note: Amanda is married to a man and so she doesn't really mean she "fell in love." It's just an expression in the fashion biz.)

Topher: So, what are some fashion trends for 40 year old men?

Amanda: Let me think about this. Seersucker everything! That's not true. I'm lying to you. I'm trying to make you look foolish. You know what I love? I love....um...(super long pause) I love layering. Layer hoodies under blazers! (She gave me a litany of things you could layer, but I can't type that fast.) Don't be afraid to layer! It looks smart.

Topher: Do you hate it when people on awards shows talk about "Old Hollywood Glamour?"

Amanda: Well, now that you mention it. It's not really Old Hollywood Glamour because they still do it. I mean, when a celebrity doesn't have a visual statement to make it's just easy to fall back on slicked back hair, red lips, and a slinky gown.

 (At this point in the interview we have to take a short break because Amanda claims that a "cat is molesting" her.)

Topher: Glad that's over. Next question. Did you watch Project Runway All-stars?

Amanda: You know? I didn't.

Topher: Maybe it's pointless to ask this. But do you think it's in Georgina Chapman's contract that she's introduced to the designers every week as "the beautiful Georgina Chapman?"

Amanda: Completely. Let it be known that her husband owns Lifetime television.

Topher: Ababababa-what?

Amanda: Harvey Weinstein!

Topher: vomit vomit vomit terror face vomit

Amanda: That's for real!

Topher: Ok. Moving on. Who do you hate on the show? Who should we love and hate?

Amanda: You will love Joe. You're going to hate Richard. I'm gonna say it.

Topher: Let's get personal. Do you remember how we met?

(Amanda clearly doesn't remember. She throws a few half hearted memories out, but I see right through it. I know a hawk from a handsaw! I'm no dummy. I remind her that we met when she was fourteen and I was visiting Lincoln, Nebraska. She had made me a poster.) 

Amanda: Did I draw a picture of Nebraska?

Topher: Yes! It said "Welcome to the Heartland."

Amanda: I'm sure I did. That's very me.

Topher: So we can prepare for it, what is the ugliest thing you will be making on the show?

Amanda: OK, let  me think. The ugliest thing I make is a frilly patterned dress. That's all I can say because I can't describe the challenge. It's so ugly.

Topher: How do you propose getting more straight men to watch Project Runway?

Amanda: There's some serious babes on this season. There's Brooklyn hipster babes, Brazilian sultry babes, Portland edgy babes....and there's me! And Heidi Klum wears very tight and sheer clothes.

Topher: Hm. Super sexist.

Amanda: Yep!

Topher: Can you wear white after Labor Day if it’s just underpants?

Amanda: No. You can’t wear underpants after Labor Day.

Topher: Whenever someone Skypes with a friend from home on Project Runway, it’s a huge clue that that person is going home that week. We all know it. Do the producers think we’re stupid?

Amanda: Well, see, that's hard for us to notice because they're filming everything. They're filming us from 6:30 in the morning to midnight. It's all how it's edited. Even now we don't know how it's going to be edited.

Topher: That's scary. How do you deal with the stress of that?

Amanda: I'm not dealing with it. Mostly I don't sleep. It's actually a little nerve-wracking. I'm trying to quickly develop a very thick skin. I've already cried three times about what strangers said about me on the internet. I will never trash talk the Kardashians again because I know how they feel.

(At this point we have to take another break because my kids are fighting super loud about "who took all the hot water.")

Topher: Sorry. Domestic drama. Do you ever run around Mood Fabrics all out of breath and exasperated because you can’t find the zippers and you’re running out of time? And maybe you don’t have enough money for all the yards of fabric you need? What does that feel like?

Amanda: One time I was at the register and time was up and I ran out of money. I had to borrow a bunch from other designers.

Topher: So that's a real thing?

Amanda: Yes! Tim said on Season Ten that nobody shared with each other. None of the designers shared. He loved us much more. We're all nice and buddies still, even thought there's going to be lots of trash talking on the show, I'm sure. (Amanda goes on to talk about how she's part of a clique of hot, mean girls. That story is way better in person. I'm not that great of a interviewer, you guys. All this typing and listening! No thanks.)

Topher: On a scale from 1-10, how interested would you be in seeing me do a lip-sync of Frank Ocean's "Thinkin' Bout You?"

Amanda: You know what? 8.5.

Topher: Thanks, Pandy! I'm already way ahead of you. So, any last words for our readers?

Amanda: I do it for you guys. I really do. I'm thinkin' bout you.

(at the conclusion of the interview, let the record show that my fourteen year old son Miles asked me "what's the name of your blog again?")

15 Books For Your 15 Year Old Boy

I've always been a big reader. In fact, my first job was at the Provo Public Library. I was a page (really!) that meant that I was the guy that pushed the cart around and re-shelved the books. I loved it, and I worked there until I left on my LDS mission. I was upstairs in the adult department for about a year and then moved downstairs to the children's library. We would frequently get frantic mothers coming in saying "My son will ONLY read Goosebump books. How do I get him to read something better?" And our answer was always the same, "Leave your son alone. He's reading. Just let him read."

And I firmly believe that. If you kid only wants to read books about weather (we went through that phase) or graphic novels or Goosebumps (Ermagerd!!) then leave him alone and just let him read! Reading is the key. And if he gets to read what he wants, then he enjoys it. And then he reads more. And then he reads new and different kinds of books. But if you try and force him to read "something else" (i.e. the books you like) then reading becomes a chore, and he doesn't want to do it and then he stops reading.

I get it. My son Jonah reads a lot but will get obsessed with series and read those and only those (He's 8 and right now is really into Andrew Lost.) For Christmas I gave him The BFG, Big Red and Danny the Champion of the World which were three of my favorite books when I was a kid. And he has completely ignored them. Every once in a while I ask about them casually, but I don't push. He's reading. Leave him alone and just let him read.

But if you have a tween/teen boy who is looking for something to read, here are 15 of my favorites that would be good for boys (or girls!) who are 13-17. Let me know if the comments what I missed.




(Disclaimer: while I would feel comfortable letting my kdis read these books when they are old enough, some of them have grown up themes about sex, violence, mean people, monsters, etc. If you are sensitve to those things, do your research before letting your kids read and decide what's right for you and your family. i.e. Don't send me angry emails if you or your kids are offended.)

The Sight of the Hind

So I'm at lunch with a friend and we are sort of newish friends, like 3 years in September, and we get to talking about our lives and even about when we were younger and she hits me up with this doozy of a tale.  It's wild and funny and heartbreaking and dramatic and terrifying...okay, I'll just tell you, but like a quick version cause I've got stuff to do...or at least I should.

Picture it 1993, Terry Hatcher was Louis Lane and the Proclaimers were walking 500 miles and my friend...let's call her, Tea Cup was fresh out of high school.  Her high school boy friend was serving an LDS Mission somewhere far away and somehow, quite by accident, she fell in love with his younger brother, then after a few months, and severely by accident, she found herself in the family way.  So that's all fine, but before she finds out the big news she goes to the doctor and it's 1993 and things are still done with sticks and guessing, and so they send her and her mother, who's not super happy to be there, but is waiting to find out the results before she settles on a level of fury, off with the prognosis, "Not Pregnant...but we will run one more test, it's this new thing with your blood, sometimes it knows."

So, Tea Cup is off somewhere, making out with her still-in-high-school boyfriend (oh, yeah, he's just starting his senior year) and back at home...the phone rings.  It's 1993, so phones were attached to walls with spirally chords.

"Hello?"

"Yes, may I speak to Tea Cup please?"

"She's not home right now. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, this is Shasta from Dr. Picture Frame's office, would you let her know that her pregnancy test came back and it was positive."

Silence.

"I'm sorry could you say that again."

That's right, in 1993 Doctors offices could leave test results with any 'Chip Clip' that picks up a phone...in this case, Tea Cup's Father.

So the whole thing blows apart, right.  Mom's crying, Dad is screaming and throwing fur covered ottomans, while over at the new Senior's house, there's also crying and holy water being splashed on the demon.  Every single person's world has just flipped upside down:
The mother of that boy.
The father of Tea Cup.
Tea Cup.
The Senior.
The mother of Tea Cup.
The Father of the Senior.
Not to mention the missionary one year into his two year mission, he's got a bit of a surprise waiting for him back at home...hint...it's not his girlfriend. It's his new sister-in-law.

It really does blow everyone wide open. It's really is a defining moment for all of them, and they push and shove and dig their way through it as best they can (not one of them does it perfect but they do all try) because underneath this whole mess that two teenagers made, is two families love.  Love for a daughter.  Love for a father and a son.  For a mother and the other mother.  All of them expecting one thing and getting another.  All of them going through carefully planed lives and one day, one night, one phone call changed every single thing. But you can't say it was devastating, because, eventually it all became about a different love, a little girl. And then a new mother's love, and a young (young) fathers love, and then the powerful, fierce love of a grandparent. All of them, reluctantly at first, but then effortlessly, brought back together.

And now it's 2013, and that baby is 20. And Tea Cup and the Senior are two unremarkably married suburbanites, with two other kids, with far less tremulous births.  They have a Mini Van and a savings account and are funny and nice and once gave me a washing machine, cause they are the kind of people who find out you don't have a washing machine so they give you the one they have in their garage.  And 1993 did not define them and also it did. Because then they were parents and husband and wife (not in that order...well, not technically in that order) and they started out a new less planed life, and only after 20 years of soccer practice and cake walks can you see that one major earth shattering moment is ever only that.

One moment.




*All the names have been changed to things on my desk.
 

My Audition for Juror #1

So, please don’t be jealous, but just recently my county needed me, and – that’s right – I answered the call. Recognizing I was highly sought after, and quick to respond to the cry of justice, I carefully tore along the calculated, perforated lines of my jury duty summons. 

No sooner had I read through the form letter when I noticed that this letter contained both blue AND red ink! Clearly, this was of utmost importance. I called Katie over and sat her down on the couch. I wasn't entirely sure of how I was going to explain this to her. I mean, after 17 years of marriage, I’m sure she thought she knew everything there was to know about me. But how could she know that my sense of justice and mercy was so acute, that our nation’s court system (well, our county’s court system, but I digress) was not only hanging by a thread – but a thread that I held in the palm of my hand?

Thankfully, she was supportive. In fact, she almost acted like it wasn't a big deal. She kind of brushed it off and went back to making dinner. SO BRAVE, my little Katie.

As you can imagine, I had a lot of preparing to do. I quickly went to Barnes & Noble and bought all the Grisham they had. (I was going to just go to the county library for the books, but – call me a conspiracy theorist – county library, county court? I’m sure they are in cahoots. Just seemed better to avoid the situation. That is exactly how they trip you up.)

I also rented the critically acclaimed Pauley Shore film, Jury Duty, and studied the process, so as to not miss a single nuance. I couldn't follow it initially; but after the third viewing, I began piecing it together. Brilliant.

I then decided to make an iPod mix of court room music. But all I could think of was the theme music from Law & Order. So I just looped it and carry it with me wherever I go. I walk with more purpose, now. But not necessarily a quicker walk, because then my iPod earpiece keeps falling out.

And finally, I began using lines from courtroom dramas, and other such trash talk. And this has really helped. For example, when I drive up to the ATM and it says it’s “Out of Order,” I scream, “No, YOU’RE out of order! This whole BANK is out of order!” And sometimes, at my day job, somebody will ask, “Is this the best you can do, honestly?” And I have to answer, “You can’t HANDLE my honesty!” And then, just for good measure, when my kids promise me good behavior so that I will do some favor for them, I say, “Your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash!”

And, well, thanks to all my preparation, I have actually been invited to “call backs” (courtroom/theater speak) for this very high profile case. I wish I could tell you about it; but my ability to keep secrets is probably another reason my county sought me out as they did. And I can’t turn my back on them now. They need me. Plus this may be my only opportunity to ever do my Samuel L. Jackson’s, “Yes they deserve to die, and I hope they burn in he@#!” 

The Eyes Don't Have It

This means you're old.

That's it. I knew it was coming. I just didn't know it would hurt this much.

I'm old.

I'm so old that, when I visit pages about trifocals, my AdChoices are about the AARP, hard tack candy, and funeral homes.

I'm so old that, when I come to a heavy door, young women open it for me.

I'm so old that, when I hear loud rock music coming from a car, I wonder how long it's been since the driver has smoked pot.

I'm so old that my co-workers thought a picture of my dad from 1957 was a picture of me when I was younger.

I'm so old that band from my 20s, like Smashing Pumpkins, are considered classic rock. And I didn't even flinch writing that last sentence.

My eyes have stopped working, is my point. The prescription I wear is only 9 months old and it's not working any more. When I have them on, I can see far away great. When I take them off, I see up close great. The problem is, on or off, I can't see well from 1-3 feet from my face. I spend much of my day doing this:

Property of NBC

So thanks to Ben Franklin, I won't have to live the rest of my life blind. Just embarrassed. My pride has taken a significant hit. I still listen to current, lesser-known bands. I still wear current, lesser-known brands. I still splice current, lesser-known strands ... sorry.

I don't feel my age most of the time but I guess my body has decided to take its first steps into my twilight years.

I can fight it to a degree. So I will. I'll continue to stay up on certain trends. I'll keep eating better than I used to, and moving more than I want to. I'll probably buy a Dodge Challenger. (It can't all be healthy.)

The future is really bright, I know. It's just that, sometimes, I can't see it very well.

How about you? What are your plans for fighting Father Time?

My Hair Experience

My son at Stag. Wood panelling! Old leather chairs!

Back when I was young, I used to have awesome hair. I grew up with 7 brothers and sisters and so for economic reasons, my mom would always cut our hair. And she did a great job (I even had some awesome spikes down my part in 1987. Those were the days.) And she continued to cut my hair through high school and into college. Sure, I would occasionally go to a barber shop or something, but getting my hair cut was purely utilitarian.

Then when I was in college a friend suggested I go to her stylist, Heidi. I remember the haircut was $18 which seemed so extravagant to me, but I was young and dumb and liked to pay for things with credit cards, so I decided to go. Heidi was amazing. The salon was hip and cool. She brought me a Diet Coke to drink. We chatted about funny and interesting things. And when I left I remember feeling like I was walking on air. I looked in my cars rear view mirror at my new $18 haircut and thought Dang! Heidi is the goddess of scissors! I look good! I loved Heidi. And sent many of my friends to her. And we called her Heidi Let Her Light So Shine. As in "Do you have an appointment with Heidi Let Her Light So Shine today?" And while Heidi was an amazing stylist, I think what I was really in love with was the experience. I loved that she had a can of soda waiting for me. I loved that we talked about interesting things. I loved all the other fabulous people at the salon getting fabulous cuts.

Time went on and my hair got thinner and I continued to find stylists where I could have awesome experiences. Just before I got married I was going to Shep Studios in Provo, which I loved. Shep even met me early and cut my hair on my wedding day. He didn't charge me and cut it a little longer so I didn't look like some rube he had just gotten his hair cut that day. That's classy, folks.

But then I had a wife. And a budget. And big credit card bills that suddenly seemed important to pay off. And while the price that I was paying for a cut had gradually gotten higher and higher, my hair I had had gotten thinner and thinner. And it just didn't seem practical. So I started going to those cheap places. Like Amazing Sam's and Magic cuts! (Names have been changed.) And I would pay my $15 and get my hair buzzed and listen to the kids screaming in the background and the stylist would chew gum and stare off into space while she pushed the clippers around. I'd lost the experience. And it made me sad. In fact I blogged about my sad, stylist free life almost a year ago.

But I am happy to report, the experience is back. It's called Stag Barbershop and it only costs $10 for a haircut. You get your haircut by Jim, who is an old fashioned barber. He'll talk if you want to talk and is super friendly, but if you just want to sit and try to ignore the Fox News that is always blaring in the background, you can do that too. All the other clientele are at least 50. After your hair cut ends you get a straight razor neck shave with hot lather. And they finish it off with some aftershave lotion that smells like triumph and leather and your grandpa being rubbed into your neck where it burns oh so good.

It's one of those places that if it was owned by 27 year olds with moustaches and deep-vee neck t-shirts and scarves, they would charge $40 a hair cut but leave everything else the same (except maybe the Fox News.) It's not ironically retro. It's just straight up retro. And I don't get a free diet coke. And I have to sometimes listen to Hannity talk about how Obama is after our guns. But it's an experience. And I'll pay for that.

finally - answers!

You know how, every once in a while, something comes along that completely inspires you? And it comes from the least likely of places? Something so immense and internal and soul shaking that you almost take it as a sign? A special message from the Heavens? Something you were meant to hear at just that time and just that moment? And it answers all your hardest questions? That happened to me on Saturday.

Like many of you, I am trying to lose weight. I have about 10 pounds to go, but I seem to have hit a wall. I could never put a finger on why I can't make it past this last 10 lb obstacle. Until Saturday morning, when I was watching TV and an infomercial came on for something called The Food Lovers Diet Plan. They were interviewing these people and one by one they presented their testimonials. And every word rang true, you guys. It was like they were speaking for me. These people can't lose weight because they really really love food!

I'm sorry, but you guys don't know how it is. I LOVE FOOD. You don't know. I love the way food tastes, and I like crunching it and feeling it go into my stomach. I like it when it's salty (hello, pizza!) and I like it when it's sweet (chocolate mousse, anyone?) and I like it always and whenever. And these people were talking about how they love food too, and I just realized I'm part of an exclusive and special little community of people who love to eat.

None of you would fall into this category. You guys just don't love food like me and my friends on the commercial. COUNT YOURSELVES LUCKY! You probably won't have to struggle with weight the way we do. We love food! We are food lovers. We are stricken with this malady of gluttonous desire that we may never shake. You guys merely put food-like substances in your mouths, swallow it down, and get on with your day. You don't even think about what food looks or tastes like because you don't care. Oh, man, I wish that were me! I actually love, love food.

I am the sort of person who has to eat, like, three times a day. And it better fill me up...or look out! I sometimes even like to snack in between those meals. Can you even imagine? Probably not. It's a vicious cycle for me and my Food Lovers Diet Plan friends - we eat, and then a few short hours again....we're hungry! We have to have more and more. Because food tastes so good to us. We're not like the rest of civilization, who basically eat air and chew small morsels of ice chips.

I just want to let everyone involved with the Food Lovers Diet Plan know that they have reached someone who thought he was beyond help. Someone who never thought he would meet another human being who loved chewing, and tasting, and masticating as much as he did. But now I know I'm not alone. I'm special! I love to taste food! Look at me! Look how special I am with my special needs!

Quit Washing Your Dishes

Here's the deal, I just loaded my whole dishwasher and did not turn on my sink.  Blam-O.  And you know what? My dishes will be fresh and clean in the morning. For reals.  I don't know why you do it?  What makes you... (I'll say "Rinse" but I mean "Fully Wash") your dishes before you put them into the machine whose entire purpose in life is to...wash...your...dishes.

Do you do this with your clothes? "Hang on sweetie, let me just fill this tub with water and soap and crack out the wash board and just prep these clothes for the Washer. Oh, and then I'll line dry them for a few days before I pop them into the Dryer."  COME ON!

Do you do it with your Lawn Mower?  "Oh, give me a sec, babe, I just need to grab some scissors and get on my hands and knees and give the grass a quick trim before I start the mower."  HONESTLY!

 Do you do it with your Blow Dryer?  "Sorry, kids, Mommy just needs to jump in the car and get to the freeway so she can stick her head out the open window and get my hair dry before I dry my hair."  YOU'RE KILLING ME!  (actually, letting your hair air dry will do wonders for it health wise, and if you must blow dry, you should not run a brush through it while your hair is wet, it tangles and pulls out much easier at this point.  You should aim the dryer downward and hold above your head, letting gravity and the warm air straighten your hair, then when the hair is 95% dry, you can lightly brush out (starting from the ends first then work your way to the scalp) and finally smooth and polish with a round brush, preferably one with a ceramic shaft to heat the hair from the inside out, that way you can use the blow dryer to give it cool shot right at the end for maximum effect.) I mean, I don't think you even give your dishwasher a chance.

I bet when you were young, and your mom made you do the dishes, she had you spit polishing every glass that went into that 1960's, avocado green with feux wood paneling, free standing box your grandma passed down when she sold the house you summered in all your young life and moved to a home that would, eventually, gobble up the last of your inheritance.  Well, tootsie, them days is done.  Your dishwasher can do it!  Just listen to the fine people at the CBS Early Show.  I am not making this crap up!  "Your machine needs the dirt and grime to work properly."  That's what the lady says!

So the next time your dumb husband is caught just throwing all the dishes in without rinsing, instead of correcting him and making a fool of yourself, you should think, "I married myself a freaking genius! Now if only he would blog about his energy, water, time, and money saving ideas..."

Way ahead of you, babe.