Father Christmas

In a previous post I discussed the different perspective that Fatherhood has delivered. Going through the Holiday Season has got me thinking a lot about my own Father, and how my Christmas has largely been shaped by him. My most vivid recollections of these merry mornings mostly have to do with him.

Kenneth D. Ireland is a man of Christmas. As much as he likes to tease about his admiration for Scrooge and the Grinch, his heart is very much of the Christmas spirit. He may not have rosy red cheeks, a belly like a bowl full of jelly, or a twinkle in his eye, but to me he is the full embodiment of St. Nick.

My parents didn’t make a lot of money, but they made enough to take good care of us. They’ve always been more generous than they’ve needed to be come Christmas morning. Even with their boys all grown up and well past 30, they still desire to fill our stockings full of joy.

The comfort of our Christmas was always in the consistency of it, the celebration of which remains largely unchanged to this day.

Weeks before Christmas, we’d go down to the corner lot to bring home our tree. No matter how closely Dad would assess these trees, he would always manage to bring home a crooked one. It became such a part of our holiday that when they finally bought an artificial tree, we were disappointed in how straight it was. The one thing I always wanted to do was put the star atop the tree. Every year Dad would patiently try to hold me up as I would stretch over as far as I could. I don’t know if I ever got it on fully, but that was never the point.

The excitable chatter of what we wanted for Christmas was always met with gentle taunting. Threats of Santa passing us over for better-behaved children, or coal-filled stockings were all too common. He would always do it with his same Wicked Witch of the West impersonation. He has, in fact, never stopped doing it.

Christmas morning would begin at the top of the stairs as we waited for Dad to blind us with his Super 8 camera lamp. This thing burned hotter and brighter than the Star of Bethlehem. He would film us coming down the stairs and around the corner to capture our reaction to the first glimpse of the gifts below the tree. Of course, all ever captured was us desperately shielding our eyes from his light assault.

The family would spread out over the living room, and claim a spot to do their unwrapping business. Dad would spend most of the morning distributing gifts, making little piles in front of each person. Eventually, Mom would tell him to sit down and let people catch up. He’d try to capture the best moments on his camera. His Christmas films were always his finest cinematic efforts. Eventually he’d hand the camera over to someone to film him opening a gift. When watching these films later, during his appearance he always exclaimed, “And now, the STAR of the film!”

After the gifts are opened and the living room is a mess of boxes and discarded wrapping paper, the “bag” makes its first appearance. It is at this point you have to account for all your swag, otherwise it may get swept up in Dad’s attempts to clear the living room. In later years Dad became a target of wadded up balls of paper that we were “trying” to toss into the bag.

After the first bag sweep, Dad would then park himself just outside the living room in the front hall to attend to the items where some assembly was required. With his boys surrounding him he would employ every ounce of his admittedly limited mechanical skill to get everything in working order. I think this has to be my favorite memory. Dad never needed to know how to play with our toys with us, but in these moments we could share and bond over them.

As selfish little brats, we never really understood or appreciated the efforts my Mom and Dad made to get us what we wanted. Luckily, my parents never got too caught up in any toy craze from the 80s. Dad never had to chase after a Cabbage Patch Kid, but I know that he would have tried if he had to. If we wanted something (within reason) we usually got it. Much like the Old Man in A Christmas Story, Dad would come through for us. I used to think it was funny to give him grief about the one gift I never got. I had a Star Wars AT-AT on my list for more than a few years. I’m actually not quite sure why I never got it, but I really wasn’t that put out by it. I’m angry with myself now, because I really think that stuck with him.

For over 65 years, my Dad was never separated from his own Father on Christmas. That first Christmas without Grandpa was strange for all of us because it was so quiet. The two of them would start a conversation inside the door that didn’t seem to end until one went out the door. This of course will be the first Christmas morning I will spend away from my Father. Our streak is broken at 38. Sure, this makes me sad, but that is still an incredible run. Living life the right way only increases the amount of loved ones that need to share Christmas. I have so much of my Father’s own spirit to share with my extended family.

In his example, I am now Santa Claus. Or at least that is the job I will take on for as long as my baby girl chooses to believe. If I do it right though, she will never stop believing, as I’ve never stopped believing in my Father.

Merry Christmas Dad.

In Defense of My Christmas Tree

Nothing seems to generate stronger opinions than that of how to celebrate Christmas correctly. Some think people put up decorations too early, others get their shopping done in September, some want more Christ in Christmas, and there are those who don’t want anything to do with it at all. ‘Tis the season of “to each his own” I guess. One of my favorite symbols of my celebration is one that always seems to illicit opinion from folks… my Christmas tree.

Now forget the fact that I’d keep the thing up year round if I could. Never mind that it is usually up from mid-November to mid-January. Don’t let it bother you that it is not a real tree. These aren’t the issues.

The problems people have with my tree seem to stem from the choice of decoration. I’ll be the first to admit that the greater half of the tree has nothing to do with the common adornments of the season. For example, my ex-wife hated my ornaments so much that she made me hang them on the back of the tree facing the wall. She’d be practically apologetic to people that viewed our tree, fearful of their judgment. Actually this is an analogy for our entire marriage.

Actually, the first impression you have of my tree should be positive. If I do say so, it is strikingly beautiful. Centered in our great room, it is visible from all angles of the house. The silver and bronze metallic balls and trim add extra shine to the glowing white lights. Bronze dusted branches extend from the top forming a sparkling crown around the top of the tree.

Once you approach the tree, however, you start to pick out things that may be out of place. Is that Billy Dee Williams? Why is there an Ecto-1? Does one really need two different Christmas Story Leg Lamps? Shouldn’t Princess Leia have some clothes on? There is no star atop the tree, but there seems to be a Death Star. Is the Grinch holding meat? How many of these ornaments are armed? It is indeed and odd assortment of motley pop culture characters. I know the wise men did not bring gifts of lightsabers, Bumbles, and Roast Beast, but these are featured icons nonetheless. Santa shouts out the ornaments calling them by name: “Now Darth Vader! Now Tigger! Now Swedish Chef and Captain Jack Sparrow; On Greedo! On Ralphie! On Harry Potter and Hermey!

I’ve gone ahead and informally worked out some percentages of the various groupings of ornaments represented. I’m actually a little surprised, as I thought the Star Wars percentage would be higher.

Star Wars: 43%
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: 12%
Anne-Marie (birds, cats, and photo ornaments): 12%
Santas and Snowmen: 6%
Muppets: 5%
Disney: 5%
A Christmas Story: 5%
Ohio State Football: 4%
Indiana Jones: 3%
Other Various Pop Culture: 5%


What people fail to realize is that this tree is every bit of what Christmas is to me. Every trinket tells a tale. They are reminders of the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Give or take a few years, there hasn’t been a Christmas where something branded Star Wars hasn’t been gifted. I remember distinctly the one Christmas Eve I couldn’t sleep because I was too charged up with excitement to get a Jabba the Hutt playset. I can’t imagine a Christmas spent without watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I’ve always found that herky-jerky bit of animation magical. I’ve had many beloved Muppet gifts other the years, including my first Animal puppet when I was 8 or 9 years old. A Christmas Story was a family favorite from the time it hit the theaters. It has a special place in the hearts of Cleveland residents because parts of the film where shot there. It is always on our television for some part of the annual 24-hour marathon on TBS. The day after Christmas was always a day to wear our new Ohio State apparel to my Mother’s family. College football was always a dominant conversion among my cousins and uncles.

I should really own stock in Hallmark, because they always manage to entice me to spread much of my holiday cheer (er… cash) their way every year. Whoever thought to add ornaments to their list of wares should be filthy rich and retired in some very non-seasonal island paradise.

Now that I’ve spent this entire story calling it my tree, I should mention it is every inch my family’s tree. The tree that stands in our living room is actually one of the first purchases my wife and I made together after only dating for a few weeks. She has come to adore what the tree means to me, and has fully embraced this as our single favorite house decoration. The ornaments I buy for her now aren’t necessarily because I think she’ll absolutely love them, rather they are things that remind me of her, and all the things we’ve shared together. It should also be noted that the first gift she ever bought me was an ornament. It was a small but meaningful gesture early in our relationship. That is exactly what my tree is, a display of meaningful pieces of life that illuminates my house for a few short weeks every year. Let your tree be unique to you.

Oh and the ornament Anne-Marie bought me was an Anakin Skywalker Starfighter from Star Wars Episode III – Revenge of the Sith. Of course.

Thankful 2010

I’ve spent years noting the holiday with a list of various reasons to be thankful. This year will be no different, but I’m approaching things from a different perspective this year. There, I just said it – perspective. This year I am thankful for being able to be on the other side of things. 2010 brought perspective in the form of my bubbly bouncy ball of baby girl.

The universal parental taunt is “You just wait until you have kids.” Something in our heads always told us we were going to do things better, but inevitably we all suffer that moment when we realize we are handling everything just like our parents did.

Obviously I knew life was going to change, and I’m thankful that I’m in a good place to welcome this change. I couldn’t have done this 5 or 10 years ago, and any earlier I might have raised a serial killer.

I’ve experienced many people around me become parents in the last twenty or so years that I’ve been piecing my life together. I can’t say one way or the other if these people were succeeding, failing, or just doing what little they were capable of. I was half expecting some sort of slight madness wash over me. Would I become the military precision parent who runs drills on a strict time schedule? Would I be the parent who can’t structure a single sentence without mentioning their child? Would I have to shut out the entire world because I can only process one thing at a time? Would my child become a universal excuse? Would I be ignorant enough to think that the rest of the world will be delighted enough with my child to let them run amok wherever? You might consider me one or all of these parents, but I’m a thankful witness to those who've bravely gone before me.

I wasn’t prepared for the perspective. I just wasn’t. The maturity that increases with each passing year may bring to light what a tool one may have been previously. Nothing can prepare you, however, for the installation of operating system Parenthood 1.0. Gazing into the eyes of my child for the first 10 minutes of her life was like starting my own life over. Call it an out of body experience if you will. Years of family photos, movies, stories, and memories cannot place you in the moment of how your own father felt when he held you for the first time. I’m now reviewing my entire life again as if I was re-watching a Criterion DVD box set with commentary from the director. I’d love to describe this in detail, but I can’t, it is just something you can’t share unless you live it for yourself. I have so much more respect for my parents, because I didn’t know of all these beautiful small moments and frightening big fears. I understand so many things now, and I am thankful for this clarity.

I’m of course thankful for my wife and the sacrifices she made to bring us our Mia. I give thanks to our families who continue to exuberantly embrace our addition.

I give thanks to you the reader, for your (hopeful) continued interest.

An open letter to the students of Mentor High School

I was greatly affected by the news of yet another Mentor High School teen taking their own life due to excessive and insufferable bullying. I graduated from Mentor in 1990, and I’ve been angry for days at an administration that continues to allow students to be victimized. I could have spent time writing about my own struggles coming up through the Mentor School System, but I’ve decided to open letter that speaks directly to the students of MHS.

Dear Students

One would hope that a national mention of your school might be for something positive: a state sports championship, academic merits, or excellence in community service. But your school is now known nationally as a place where four teens have decided that death was a better option than to continue to suffer relentless bullying from their peers.

Of the many articles I’ve read, it seems like many of you have done your best to distance yourselves from the situation. Some claim to have not known this girl. Others have said they weren’t aware of a problem. Many claimed that they don’t want to be judged for the actions of a few.

Let me ask a question. What if one of your fellow students pulled out a gun and shot someone in the middle of the cafeteria, and then ran off? What would you do? Would you report the crime? Would you turn a blind eye and pretend nothing happened? Would you be afraid to identify the student out of fear of being unpopular? Would you laugh at the victim? You wouldn’t think twice about. You would tell every teacher, school official, policeman, parent, reporter, and bystander anything and everything you saw. You witnessed a crime and therefore it is your civic duty to report it as such.

The simple fact is that you did see a student get killed. It may not have happened in front of you, but you were witness to what caused it. You turned a blind eye to it, and continued about your day. You said noting to anyone, and maintained whatever social status you cling to. You may have even laughed about the victim. You most likely see a crime being committed every day, perhaps multiple times a day. You continue to do nothing.

You are not innocent, and don’t pretend to be. Bullying is not a silent act. You are well aware of who the bullies are, and you are also aware of who the victims are. You are more than likely a victim yourself. Four students are dead. How many more need to die before you are brave enough to act?

Don’t kid yourself. This is going to follow you for a long time. Are you proud to list Mentor High School on your college admissions? Imagine listing it on a job application. How many years do you think it will be before people stop mentioning it? “Oh, you’re from that school where all the kids killed themselves.” Every time you open your yearbook, every reunion you attend, every story of the good old days you tell will have the cloud of this tragedy hanging over it.

Do something about it.

Stop being a coward. Take a chance and do something heroic next time you have the opportunity. If you see a student being victimized by others then you need to step in. It may one of the most difficult things you ever do, but I promise you the rewards will benefit you for a lifetime. You might be surprised who stands up next to you. The best defense against any negative force is strength in numbers. Be a community. Be remembered for something better than what history has written for you.

And finally, if you are actually one of those who is guilty of bullying, then I can say that I hope nothing but the worst for you in life. I hope the small amounts of empowerment you gained were worth the empty and shallow existence you have. You are and forever will be a criminal, and your future will treat you as such.

Naked Guy

I hadn’t been in a YMCA locker room for many years, but I’m here to report that some things never change. Upon entering the locker room, right there by the door, is always Naked Guy. Not “I’m slipping out of my towel and jumping into my shorts” Naked Guy. I’m talking about “I’ve been standing here letting it all hang out from every angle as I consider organizing my bag” Naked Guy. No matter what locker room you enter, this guy is there, and usually front and center for everyone to enjoy.

Naked Guy comes in all shapes, sizes, ages, and races. I can’t be as judgmental to suggest that there is something unsavory about this particular man. One shouldn’t assume that his intentions are anything beyond just the freedom of being naked.

Guys are just funny this way. Some guys can get naked together at the drop of a hat… or pants for that matter. My college rugby team was famous for their desire to drop trou with each other. Yet any suggestion of homosexuality would cause a surge of ugly testosterone to prove otherwise. I think there is actually a large percentage of guys who would be perfectly fine with an installation of a sports bar in the locker room. Picture a bunch of naked guys sitting about eating wings and watching the game. Get too messy with the wing sauce, just walk over to the shower and rinse off.

I dated a girl who lived in a newly renovated downtown loft apartment in Cincinnati. Right across the way was this very old school private executive men’s club. Wouldn’t call it a fitness center, because there wasn’t really any exercise going on. Just a bunch of old white men, sitting around in steam rooms. Their casual nudity and lack of window dressings were common issues raised at the resident meetings.

I just don’t have this level of comfort, and I never have. When I’m forced in to sharing changing space with others, I mind my own Ps and Qs. My eyes are on what I’m doing, and I can only expect that everyone else is doing the same. I have what most would consider an appropriate level of self-consciousness, and have no desire to put myself on display.

There are many activities where nudity is acceptable and very much encouraged. However, most of these are considered socially unacceptable in public. Seinfeld had a whole episode about “ugly naked.” There is many a position that need not be gazed upon. Any pre or post stretching routines can all be accomplished with the comfort of briefs. Sure, you might need to hike that leg up on the bench to dry off, but it completely unnecessary as a stance to help drive conversation.

As a general rule, I feel that if your junk is exposed in a public situation, there should be no conversation. This goes for changing rooms and urinals. The only exception to this rule may be at the doctor, and he is telling you to turn your head and cough. I mean, what do you even have to talk about when naked? “Say – how’s your penis?”

As one might assume, I’ve never been in the Ladies Locker room, so I don’t know how relatable this story is to my copious amount female readers. Our feeble male minds have our own ideas, but I’m going to guess there is Naked Woman in there that is in no way matching our Cinemax-inspired fantasy. However feel free to comment, share descriptions or photos if necessary.

Funny Part 2 – Ups Man

Every neighborhood has one I suppose. That one cool kid that everyone looks up to, and longs to be friends with. Our neighborhood had Tim Kraus.

For years I was told by my parents to avoid this particular person. Other neighbors had warned my parents that he was an unsavory fellow, prone to the kind of things that could get an impressionable young man like myself into trouble. As to be expected, that just made him all the more fascinating to me. He lived at the opposite end of the street, and our paths never crossed that much. I heard of him much like we hear of infamous superstars in the tabloids, and therefore many of his exploits were legendary.

Oddly enough, I don’t remember when I started hanging around him. Being so drawn to him for years, I guess I eventually just gravitated to him. Around the age of Junior High, I started to spend nearly every day with him. He wasn’t nearly as bad an egg as he was made out to be. There was indeed something about him that made him a beloved character to us all. He was funny.

Granted, what is funny to a bunch of goofy kids playing in the street isn’t widely regarded as classical comedy. Whatever you want to brand this humor, Tim was by far a master craftsman of it. Nobody could work a crowd of giggling sophomoric misfits like he could. His eyes were shifty with creative delight. His laugh crackled with obnoxious joy. He was often imitated, but nobody could ever come close to his unique brand of delivery. His spoke of body parts and physical acts that we wouldn’t become familiar with for years. His use of obscenities was only used for greater impact. There was truly nothing sacred, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone or any subject.

He had many targets of his humor, but he was honestly never really mean to anyone. The guys on the other end of his jokes became characters larger than themselves. He’d crack heavily on you and you would love him for it. Dale Setzer was perhaps his favorite victim. Tim’s imitation of Dale always started with a “Dah!” Tim made up many hapless adventures involving Dale and his assorted bodily functions and fluids. I’m not sure if Dale ever really knew of his star status, and our collective fascination of him.

I’m sure that we never really knew what we were laughing at. Perhaps Tim didn’t even fully understand why something was funny. One of his random catchphrases was “Lacrosse is a faggot college sport… Dale plays with his dick.” My apologies for the insensitivity of the remark, but keep in mind – we were a bunch of dumb kids. We didn’t understand half of the comment, but his delivery of it kept us in stitches each time he said it.

Everything he did was comical: the slack way he carried himself, his low-rider bike peddling, his crooked middle finger delivery. He took delight in his surroundings, and he introduced me to the subtle absurdities of our every day existence. The UPS man was always the “Ups” man, and later the “U-Piss” man. Various people in the neighborhood had similar nicknames based on his random observations.

His appearance was somewhat odd in style. In the blazing heat of the summer he wore a tropical button down shirt with a battered white t-shirt, dark jeans, and high-top sneakers. All of these items were usually one size too big. He would never wear shorts. Despite this, he was always considered the most attractive of our merry band.

What started out as me basically just being a hanger-oner evolved into one of the most valued friendships I’ve ever had. Like most great comic minds, Tim was covering up a great deal of emotional pain. It’s not my place to go into his troubles, but suffice to say that Tim’s path in life was not a smooth road. It was an important life lesson to learn what kind of masks people wear for protection.

Tim remained a loyal friend through the difficult transition to adolescence. Years later my Dad commented that he was wrong about Tim, and how impressed he was with him in the end. I’ll always envy Tim, and I’ll continue to long for the same kind of adoration he commanded.

I’ll also never be able to not call the UPS driver the “Ups” man ever again.

The Worst Job I've Ever Had

Whenever I reflect on the difficult job market out there, I continue to count the blessings of my employment. I have never been out of work since leaving college, and even better, I've always worked inside my intended career. However, things didn't start out so well. My first year out of school was trial by fire that I have never really been able to let go. Like many of the things I obsess over, I keep this experience with me every day.

As a character flaw, I'm quick to point out that I was never on the fast track to personal growth. With each passing year I reflect on how little I knew prior, and how I wish things could have been clearer for me. The only class I excelled in grade school was art, and it was the obvious path I should take. What exactly I should do in art was the trouble I had. I wasn't cracked enough in the head to be a fine artist, and I wasn't interested enough to teach. The only viable path was commercial art, and my high school teacher recommended the Graphic Design/Illustration program at Kent State University. I spent many years expecting that I would eventually just be an illustrator, and generally struggled with the graphic design portion of my degree. Eventually though, I began to have more confidence in my design, and it became clearer that this was going to be a more marketable skill once I left school. After being selected to be an intern at American Greetings, my confidence spiked, and I soared through a successful final year of college with the highest marks I had ever achieved.

When the job posting for a Graphic Designer at Cedar Point Amusement Park came to my attention, I thought that I had hit the jackpot. This was by far one of my favorite places to visit, and I knew my skill set would be perfect for them. I was over the moon when I got an interview, and accepted the job with no reservation. I had no idea the worst year of my life was about to begin.

The root problem of this job leads back the man that hired me and was to be my boss. Please let me start by clarifying that this is not a cliche "I hate my boss - stick it to the man" bunch of hooey. I've no desire to perpetuate commonality. His name was Paul. He was a gray man. There was no color to his skin. He was probably only in his 40s, but he looked 20 years older. His breath stank of cigarettes, his teeth stained with coffee. His eyes sagged in deep dark sockets. He carried himself like there were weights hung from his appendages. A living Jacob Marley who has already been assigned the eternal chains of damnation. As loathsome creature as you ever saw. It became clear right away that he was hated and feared by everyone. He was the abusive father to the suffering family that had no other choice to live with him and bear it. I was told he was a recovering alcoholic, which didn't as much help to explain his situation as it was to help further define his low level of humanity. I can't find a single solitary decent thing to say about the man. He was a failure as a human being. He sat in his cave of an office, spewing obscenities, making racist remarks, barking into the phone, and dressing down any unfortunate soul who crossed his path. Many managers in other departments refused to deal with him, some outright refused to speak to him. The ones that had to would seemingly lost days of their lives stressing over it. There was one woman who had pushed to the brink of severe mental illness. His negative energy hung over our dank office like the thousands of Seagulls who circled the parking lots. It took only one conversation for me to be completely rattled by him. He thrived with the thrill that he had such an effect on people.

I'm not going to I'm not going to continue on without making it clear that I am not without fault. I was as green as could be entering the job world. I have this ability to make all the mistakes you are usually told to avoid. Paul reminded me many times in my interview that I didn't know anything. I never felt that I proclaimed that I had, but he wanted to make sure that it was understood that I knew nothing. I was actually fine with that. I was ready to learn as much from this man as I could. The problem is, Paul didn't want to teach anything either. It's as if he never really wanted me to know anything. It was much easier for him to ridicule me and berate me if I had no knowledge. He had this uncanny ability to make me give him the wrong answer. He'd bait me into second guessing everything I knew to be correct. It was almost a game for him.

The other designer in the department was a small mouse of a woman. She was married to a park manager, some schlub who was being groomed for bigger and better things by being forced work non-stop from March to November. She had three children, none of whom she ever spoke warmly about. She was plain, neither attractive nor unattractive. She was an unfulfilled woman. The single joy of her week came on Friday afternoon when she would phone the guy who I replaced. The guy that I am told suffered through close to 7 years of Paul at his worst. I'm going to be so bold to suggest that these two had something on the side. It may have just been that survivor syndrome that forms a unbreakable bond between people after experiencing a traumatic event. I thought at first that I could confide in her, seeing that we were now in the same unfortunate situation under Paul. I was blind-sided by the fact that she wasn't as harmless as I perceived. When given the opportunity, she would lash out at me like a pit bull. A beaten and abused dog that was still loyal to its master. I guess I made her situation bearable by taking all focus off of her, and allowing her and Paul to have a common enemy.

One major issue was that I couldn't make two moves without having to ask one of them a question. The guy before did practically everything, and therefore they knew nothing. This guy didn't leave any directions either. I'm rather sure that the bristled responses I got were because they didn't want to own up to not knowing. Mouse lady spent most of her time on the phone for Tech support for Adobe Illustrator, mainly because she just didn't know how to use it. Paul caused a great deal of damage to his own machine because of his short fuse. So anytime I needed to know where a file was, or who to call for certain jobs, the chain of command, or be privy to one of the thousand park processes - I had to ask them. I started collecting my questions, because if I was going to get yelled at, I might as well get it all over with in bunches. I eventually got yelled at for doing that.

There was one particularly ugly day when they cornered me in a conference room and told me everything they didn't like about me. She screamed at me that I didn't listen, despite the fact that she never had any direction for me. They actually told me to lose my attitude, as if I was somehow doing something to wrong them. I'm reminded of the scene in Animal House where the one fraternity was paddling recruits, and they had to yell out with each swat "Thank you sir may I have another!" I can't describe how upsetting this was. Never have I been brought so close to tears in my professional life. I have never since encountered a situation where someone was belittled to a near breaking point, and I honestly can't imagine being near or a part of such thing now. I hate them both for that.

Having the coworkers closest to you making life hard is one thing, but then having the entire office location start in on you is another. I am embarrassed now to have not recognized sooner just how united the entire organization was against me. All the clues were there, I guess I wanted to think so much more of these people. The office admin would come in and regularly ask me If I liked what I was doing. She was hoping for any bit of negativity she could take back to the Office Manager, who would report directly to Paul. One of the the Paint Shop guys would just plainly ask me daily if I had gotten another job yet. I was particularly troubled by him, as I didn't remotely work with him. He got so disgusted with the concept of me he couldn't even eat in the break room with me. Even the park architect and his drafting assistant would be baited into being criticizing me, coming in with random comments about my work. I picture them now huddling in one of the front offices, plotting out new and innovative ways to make life difficult for me.

It was by far the lowest point I had ever reached. I felt like I couldn't just quit. All through college they warned you of tarnishing your resume with short stints. I had nothing else to compare the situation to, so I could only imagine it was like that everywhere. I also didn't want to fail, especially since this was my first job. My self esteem couldn't have been lower. I had to learn how to fight it, or I'd never get anywhere. I was becoming one of them. One of the lost souls who hated everything about their miserable existence. If I was such a terrible designer, why wasn't I ever fired? Why was I never asked to leave? It was because these zombies of the graveyard that is Sandusky, Ohio fed on the life that I had. I would have eventually lost every positive thing about my being. I set a mark of at least one year, and once I hit it - I looked for another job. Oddly enough, I was hired by the first place I interviewed at. Strange, since I was so inept and all.

I left with every shred of dignity I could muster, because If anything, I could at least be a better person about it. I gave my two weeks notice, and intended to give them every single hour of work up to that point - despite the fact the the new job needed me right away. I did everything by the book. The mouse woman asked me on my last day if I would remember them, perhaps expressing a slight pang of guilt. I gave some polite non-answer at the time, but if could answer her right now I would say this: "Yes - you've stayed with me every day of my career. I learned who I didn't want to be, and that was the only valuable thing you taught me."

Wrestlemania Predictions

The WWE presents their Super Bowl of Wrestling today, and as usual I am sucked in by the promise of spectacle. I really should be more cautious with my anticipation as the WWE has not been delivering a quality product worth the $65 pay-per-view price as of late. Last year’s 25^th anniversary should have been a classic to celebrate a quarter of century of Wrestlemania moments. Instead it was a lazy and predictable show with only one major highlight match.

Let’s start off with that match. Two of the WWE’s greatest performers met at Wrestlemania for the first time. Shawn Michaels and the Undertaker each have highlight reels full of notable and perhaps infamous moments. Both are reaching retirement age, but still managed to outshine every one else. The WWE was so happy with this match they decided to do it again. I guess my question is why? In my view, there is no good way for this to end. If Shawn Michaels wins, the hallowed WM winning streak of the Undertaker is over. If the Undertaker wins, then the Shawn Michaels legacy is perhaps damaged by not being able to achieve this goal. Does Michaels deserve the honor of ending the streak? I’m indifferent to it, because part of me feels he isn’t, but on the other hand he is the only one in the current locker room that deserves the honor. I’m not sure why the WWE has decided to paint itself into a corner with this one. I fear a trick ending that will not leave us feeling satisfied.

The one gimmick match that WWE needs to retire is the Money in the Bank Ladder Match – AKA “the full of wrestlers we don’t know what to do with but can’t leave them off the card” match. This match started years ago with only 6 performers, and it is now bloated to 10. This match has featured some incredible spots and bumps over the years, but one can only jump off the top of ladder so many different ways. Shelton Benjamin, Kane, Fat (Matt) Hardy, and MVP are all past their prime or push, and could all have been left off the card. Christian and Kofi Kingston deserve better matches. Let’s hope that the deserving young superstars making their first appearances can make this match memorable. Who wins? I still say Christian should win, and then challenge Edge at the end of his title match later in the evening. The WWE just isn’t brave enough for this bold of a move.

Edge came out of nowhere at the Royal Rumble, and that is possibly the best thing for this event. He takes on the current World Champion and WWE Most Valuable Player Chris Jericho. I have high hopes for these guys, and I hope they are given enough time to truly make an epic match. These two are in the prime of their careers, and this match could easily vault them into wrestling immortality. Edge will and should win.

The other title match could be John Cena’s first solid attempt at a decent WM moment. I’m not a big fan of Cena, and neither are a lot of older fans. We dislike him so much because we can’t seem to piece together why he is the most popular and recognizable star. For once though, he has a decent story going into the event against Batista. The WWE is picking up a storyline that is nearly 2 years old, which in today’s short-term memory booking is eons. Both Cena and Batista have never had a classic WM match, despite being in the main events on multiple occasions. They have a chance now to do something, but I certainly wouldn’t trust them to close the show. Cena will win to please the kids.

Every single past WM has had a special guest spot that is used to generate some press headlines. This year that person is Bret Hart. Hell froze over recently when Bret made a special appearance as the guest host of RAW. You have to hand it to Vince McMahon, he’ll bend over backwards for any angle to generate some attention for cash. These two old guys are slated to have a no-holds-barred match, but seeing as though they are both old men now, I’m guessing there is only going to be a lot of holding. Headlocks, punches, a few kicks to the gut, and a sharp shooter to end it all. This might actually be painful to watch. At least Bret gets one last strut down the ramp, which will make this whole match worth it.

I have to say I’m both shocked and maybe a little impressed that Triple H is not in the main event… AGAIN. Just before the Royal Rumble – it certainly seemed like we were headed down that road… AGAIN. Let’s just be honest – Triple H is a classic WWE performer, but he is no Hulk Hogan, Rick Flair, or even Shawn Michaels for that matter. He is a man who has played his political cards better than anyone, heck he even married the boss’s daughter. Is he a great wrestler? Yes? Does he deserve a spot on the card? Yes. He is exactly where he should be this year. Helping put over one of the WWE’s most impressive new products – Sheamus. HHH will win it - let’s just hope he has the generosity to elevate the Celtic Warrior some.

The rest of the matches are just filler. The Tag Team Title match features 4 guys with different speeds and styles – it may be uneven. CM Punk and Rey Mysterio are rehashing and old Rey/Eddie Guerro storyline. Randy Orton taking on Legacy is also a take on a classic “wrestling stable breaks apart” angle. The Divas may or may not be on the card to add a little jiggle to the event.

I expect to be surprised, so I am hoping that there is many a plan to swerve us well-informed fans. So please amaze us WWE. We know you have it in you.

How do you teach a baby to smile?

How do you teach a baby to smile? You are born with this incredible power to make another human being. You spend the greater percentage of your life looking to mate. Some have an easier time procreating, while others must spend a great deal of time and money. You go through this tremendous mental preparation similar to that one Creed song. You turn your world upside down for 9 months, and then completely flip it over 3 or 4 more times after birth. You are charged with nurturing this child to enhance development. You read books, read web sites, and get opinions from everyone from family to the grocery checkout lady. You make countless trips to the store, and you buy only the best things you can afford. You clean and feed this child day in and day out. You do what you can, even if you aren’t going to ever win parent of the year. You commit yourself to sharing with them everything you know about life. You promise to not let them make the same mistakes. You hope to shield them from the evils of the world, but give them enough space to find their place in it. You pray that you’ll do it right.

So how do you teach a baby to smile? You can’t, and that is just the way it is.

The single most pure thing a human being can do is just inherent in our structure. You look at them one day and they just beam at you. You can only encourage them to do it again. You turn into a lunatic with goofy faces, voices, and songs just to have it happen again. This baby knows no fear, angst, or hardship. Sure they cry, but that is a somewhat involuntary reaction to their needs. They don’t have to smile, they just do. Your world becomes so small when this happens. Everything in your small bubble makes sense.

You can’t teach a baby to smile, but you can learn a lot from theirs.

Nicknames

I had a good laugh recently from two messages from former colleagues that are addressed to me with a nickname. I think at some point everyone wants a good nickname. There is a whole Seinfeld episode around George’s decision to be called “T-bone.” As it happened in the episode, a nicknames is not usually not decided by you, it is assigned to you by others. Good or bad, a nickname can stick to you forever.

Having the most popular name in my generation, I was often assigned nicknames because there are always too many Mike’s around. I never like being called Ireland, and I guess it never catches on due to my indifference to it. My pal Melissa is the only person I allow to call me Ireland, and it is only because of the acerbic way she says it.

Naming conventions all began with my father. In addition to the legal name given to me, I was also dubbed the M.E. Kid, and the Monkey Man. Dad had names for everyone. David was Big-D, Chris was the Welpish One, and the cat was affectionately referred to as The Beast. We’re also ranked in order when introducing us, which makes me #2. Yeah. Ew. Dad even titled himself, though none of us have ever actually called him Pap.

My earliest memory of a nicknames not handed out by my Father was this kid at Summer Camp called Moose. I remember everyone really enjoyed calling him Moose, and he was quite popular for it. Like most nicknames, I have no idea what his real name was. I envied him for this alternative title. Desiring any and all positive attention, I had hoped that someone would give me a great nickname someday.

That first real nickname that I longed for turned out to be not so great. My clever classmates decided that I was to be called Booger-nose 1 or 2. The 1 or 2 varied by the day, since they also decided this name was perfect for Brian Bosley, and I don’t think there was ever a consistent clarification. I’m near positive there was more equally disparaging names, but for whatever reason this one sticks with me.

My track record did not improve while in Middle School. I was not an athlete, but I did play softball. It wasn’t unusual for kids to wear their team jerseys to school, and since this was the only sport I participated in, I wanted to wear mine. The problem was, my jersey was powder blue and the corporate sponsored team name was A.D.S. – which I’m not sure I ever knew what that stood for. I should have known better I guess. These two knuckleheads in one class decided that stood for AIDS. I can’t remember any of the names of some of the few supportive teachers and friends from middle school, but I will always remember Desi Mathis and Mike Ruckel. I can’t express to you how much I hate that fact, and I only wish them the very worst in their lives.

Having spent much of my life being victimized for my sensitivity and lack of developed social skills, I grew very protective of any information that might lead to any and all teasing. When the members of my Boy Scout troop asked what my middle initial E stood for, I would not tell them. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always hated Edward as my middle name. It never sounded right to me, and I hated my parents for giving me this dumb middle name. My plan held up until they decided to guess my name…which turned up Eugene. I couldn’t comprehend how an E name could get worse, but it did. I spent the greater part of three years as Eugene. Our Troop was rich in nicknames, and other guys were known as The Monk, Reverend Tyron, Shag-Bag and Ewok among a variety of other socially unacceptable names.

I was finally given a positive, but mostly puzzling, nickname while working my part-time job in high school. Chris Krueger started calling me Jerusalum, for no other reason than he just like saying it. It stuck for quite awhile, and it became more of chant later on when they would see me perform on stage. By then I was at least brash enough to hand out my own nicknames to others. My favorites were The Schmoo and Heavy D.

My favorite nickname of all time belongs to one of my oldest friends, and I was there when it was given to him. Like Mike – Dan was a popular name – and we had three Dan’s working set crew for our Drama Club in High School. Dan Chin informed us that his given Chinese name was actually Bokman (pronounced Bok-mun). The elder Dan of the group then suggested we call Mr. Chin “Mun”, and the rest is history. He actually goes by this name today, I hardly think anyone even knows his name is Dan anymore.

I always loved how the guys in Animal House had nicknames assigned to them, so when I got to college I took it upon myself to start naming random people. Spaz and Scooter seemed to stick, but Meatball didn’t catch on. As usual, there was another Mike, and his last name was O’Brien. He was a guy who didn’t have much to say, and what he did say was in monotone. I can’t take credit for it, but we started calling “O.” Best. Nickname. Ever.

In the last ten years or so I’ve had one great nickname that only two people share with me. Two interns that worked with me at Starta-G call me Mikatron. This name is as awesome as the laser canon mounted on the forearm of the evil Decepticon Megatron who inspires this name. The great thing about talking to either of these two is that we have no use for first names. I barely remember that their real names are Chris and Cathy, as they have been called Krig, Kriggity, Loops, Cheese, Meredith, Baby, and Money.

I haven’t come up with a good nickname for my daughter Mia yet. I guess I should honor my Father and present her with some sort of “handle” (that is cool CB talk for the uniformed). Maybe I’ll just let him suggest one.

And the Oscar goes to…

It has been ten years since I’ve gotten together to watch Oscar night, and compete with my good pals Chad and Melissa. Award shows, especially the Oscars, rank right up there with my guilty pleasures of Pro Wrestling, “Large animals eating people” movies, and 80s newspaper comic strips.

I like to think of myself as a fan of film, but year and year out I am lucky actually see maybe two or three nominated films at the Academy Awards. This year was no different, I saw Avatar, Up, Julie & Julia… and ah, Transformers 2, GI Joe… OK I’m ashamed with myself. I really would like to see most of the films nominated, eventually…

Still, without seeing any of these films, I developed an uncanny ability to predict the winners in all categories. I should make my formula a future blog, but then I wouldn’t want my competition to gain any more ground on me. I did miss 5 categories this year, which is actually a good year. I’ve never gotten them all right… yet.

Here is a random selection of thoughts from the broadcast:

Neil Patrick Harris is going to be the host next year. He has this new second career as the hip go-to awards show guy.

Was George Clooney in on the joke? It was either too well played, or he really did hate being joked with.

I like Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin, and I think they did an OK job. Not classic, better than Martin’s singular efforts from year’s past. However, their timing is a little off with their well-crafted characters they portray themselves as. Still the Paranormal Activity and Snuggie bits were funny.

I still wouldn’t mind if they dusted off Billy Crystal and brought him back.

What is with some of these gowns? I have zero fashion sense, but even I can pick out the poor ladies that are going to end up on the worst dressed lists. On the plus side, you could house earthquake victims in the poof of some of these skirts… was that insensitive? Why do they bother grading the men? How hard is it to but a tux together? Oh wait, I see that Sean Penn still has trouble dressing himself.

Remember when Cameron Diaz was supposed to be this comedic revelation? I don’t either. Steve Carell is still not funny.

Why is Jude Law the butt of so many Oscar jokes?

Ben Stiller is still not funny.

Hooray, Robert Downey Jr. is funny! Tina Fey should be appointed the head comedy writer of the world.

If you aren’t prepared to make a speech, and are uncomfortable doing so, why not let your fellow winner say something instead of wasting 45 seconds to stammer through a barely cohesive thank you.

Where was Jack Nicholson? Was there a Laker game last night?

Like most folks, I think the John Hughes tribute was fantastic. It is unfortunate that he was too many years away from the obligatory Honorary Oscar that they give to influential filmmakers who aren’t recognized enough in their time because their films don’t meet the snobby award-worthy standard, His films might have been considered larks at the time, but they ended up being powerful statements of a generation of youth.

Seating James Cameron behind his ex-wife and eventual winner Kathryn Bigelow was a stroke of genius. That arrangement right there told you how the evening was going to end in favor of the Hurt Locker.

Does Kristen Stewart have even an ounce of personality? How has this bland, bored, and sullen chick become a noted actress in Hollywood.

Did the producers of that excessively long dance number celebrating the best score winners even see the nominated films. I mean, what was going on? Why was a guy doing the robot for Up? Um, that was Wall-E, and that was last year.

When I first saw Jeff Bridges in the Big Lebowski, I thought – wow, this is quite a stretch for this guy. I mean, he always seemed to play these strong, clean cut, have-it-all-together types. But man, I can see that he isn’t at all far removed form the Dude, man. Man! Also kudos for rocking the General Custer facial hair on the most notable night of your career, man.

Helen Miren is HOT.

Every year, the Oscars must have a Belle of the Ball, and this year it was Sandra Bullock’s turn. Was she the most deserving actress to win? No. But she is a movie star, and movie stars should have Oscars. She was by far one of the more gracious winners of the award season. She even showed up to win Worst Actress at the annual Razzies the night before. I have to tell you, that’s all class.

All this effort to shorten the broadcast, and yet it stills slugs on past midnight.

And the winner for blink-and-you-miss-it major award announcement goes to Tom Hanks. Maybe he had to rush home to pay the sitter.

I have no idea if Hurt Locker was better than Avatar or even the 8 other nominees. I will say that Avatar was a beautifully crafted film and a marvel of technology, but the story was pedestrian at best for James Cameron. All the themes, situations, and characters have appeared before in much better films. For a Best Picture winner, I expect a fully realized effort, not just a pretty one.

Pixar Top 10

Let me start off by saying that this is a somewhat unnecessary exercise. I am in love with all the films that Pixar has produced, and ranking them is like choosing your favorite child. You still know your favorite… you just don’t ever say it out loud. After a recent purchase of a CD collection of music from the Pixar movies, I’ve spent a lot of time assessing the profound wonder of each of them. How can one fathom the sustained level of quality that this “little production company that could” continues to achieve. It is the equivalent of pitching a perfect game in ten innings. So after a little soul searching, I’ve gone ahead and made some tough decisions.

10. A Bug’s Life

I already feel bad for having to rank this happy little film last. Pixar’s sophomore effort had the unenviable task of following the breakthrough success of Toy Story. It also suffered from the unfortunate timing of a similar insect themed movie “Antz” from upstart rival Dreamworks. With all the challenges it faced, it is still a crisp and colorful lark. If Toy Story laid the foundation for all to follow, it was A Bug’s Life that solidified the structure.

9. Ratatouille

Can you just imagine the pitch for this movie? Would any studio in their right mind even consider the concept? The main character is a rat… who lives in France… and oh - he loves to cook. This is the best example of Pixar showing no fear, and that a quality story is the best marketable value. This film also reinforces the fact that Pixar movies are for everyone to enjoy at any age, and not to just pander to children.

8. Cars

A love letter to a slice of Americana – celebrating our fascination with automobiles, the love of the open road, and the pockets of community that make up the pit stops along the way. Not the most groundbreaking story to come out of the Pixar canon, but it chock full of the heart and themes of friendship and responsibility that is the hallmark of this studio.

7. Monsters Inc.

This is a film of textures, many that we hadn’t seen before in a computer animated film. The big blue monster Sully was a breakthrough at the time with his thick coat of flowing fur. This was also the first completely made up setting for Pixar, with everything from the citizens to the architecture of the monster world cleverly envisioned. There is almost too much to take in some cases. Quite a task for sure, but yet infused with a great deal of fun. Everything from the character banter, to the soundtrack, to the whimsical opening credits keeps you grinning the whole way through.

6. The Incredibles

To date this is Pixar’s only foray into the action movie realm. Let’s be quite plain about this – there is nothing in this film that we haven’t seen before. We’ve seen this type of family dysfunction, the James Bond villain type island fortress, and even the super powers the characters have are lifted from existing comic heroes. What made this film fresh was the combination of these elements and then making them work better. We can relate to each character through their super powers: the Mom who is stretched too thin, the teen daughter who’d rather disappear in her insecurity, the rambunctious youthful energy of the son. Balance this with a great deal of kick-butt action, and you have one heck of a roller coaster ride.

5. Finding Nemo

This feature film is as vast and deep as the ocean itself. More than the rest, this film feels truly alive, with the waves and currents keeping every screen element in motion. This is the best of Pixar’s environments, and it is a wonderful place to visit.

4. Wall-E

Somewhere in the middle of this environmental statement a delightful little love story happened. Not exactly love in the romantic sense, but love of all the things we take for granted. A man-made object not programmed to do anything but stack garbage finds a way to fall in love with everything around him. We can be so pampered and attended to with all the innovations and corporate distractions that rule our existence. We don’t spend enough time embracing the love of clean air, warm sunshine, the comfort of physical contact, and what it is like to just be smitten with someone.

2 & 3 (tie) Toy Story 1 & 2

The argument on which of these movies is superior to other is like trying to justify if the Empire Strikes Back is better than Star Wars: A New Hope. Toy Story 2 is clearly more polished at every level, but it hard to overcome the magic of the very first computer animated film. Friendship is a strong theme in all the Pixar films, but it is on no better display in this tale of play things left unattended. The matching of familiar voices to iconic toys was inspired, and these have become some of the most beloved characters on film. A movie about talking toys could have easily been… plastic. The triumph of these films is perspective: from a toy’s eye view of the world around us, and from how our movie viewing experience has changed forever.

1. Up

This is a beautiful film. The first ten minutes alone takes you on an emotional journey through the life of a sweet married couple. No words – just shared moments of joy and pain that will make your heart ache. It is hard to call this a high concept film, since it is actually so wonderfully simple. This film is a portrait of expression. You can add all the whiz-bang 3D effects that you want, but the true technological marvel is in the fluid emotions on display. The emotions subtly crafted on both mature and young faces – even the blank expression of Dug the guard dog is a stroke of artistic genius. This film is only the second movie to be nominated for the Best Picture Oscar. Some might note that its inclusion was due to the list of nominees being expanded to ten films, though I would argue it would have still been nominated with only five.

Funny Part 1 – the Grade School Years.

I’ve always wanted to be funny. Even before I ever understood why some people were funny, I always greatly admired anyone who could make people laugh. These were people that folks gravitated towards, and demanded the best kind of attention. I longed for that kind of attention.

Robin Williams was somebody I was fascinated with when I was a youth. Here was this man who was so wonderfully odd, so manic, and so much different than other adults. I was so impressed with this guy who made a fool of himself and was allowed to be on TV because of it. It was difficult for me to translate his craft of obnoxiousness into my own life. I just came across as… well obnoxious.

I always wanted to tell a good joke. There were kids in my class who always had good jokes to tell. Many of them were just plain vile, or at least as vile as we understood them at the time. Others were just clever word plays, or punchlines. I suffered from a mix of attention deficit and just plain being dense, so I could never commit these jokes to memory. If I did manage to latch on to a joke or two, I imagine they were butchered beyond the intended humor.

A better comedic outlet for me became puppet shows that I would perform for anyone patient enough to allow me to do it. My family was a huge fan of the Muppet Show. It was one of the few shows we would sit down and equally enjoy. Not enough people really appreciate the genius that is Jim Henson, and how his show simple enough for children to love yet sophisticated enough for adults to embrace. My puppet shows weren’t as well crafted. They had no scripts, no real direction, and very little story. Just a lot of blather until one puppet hit another, and that would trigger the laughter I so desired. This really became my “thing” while in grade school, and outside of my other artistic endeavors, it was one of the few things I was recognized for.

As much as I wanted to throw out the zingers, I could never actually take them myself. I was so very sensitive to people picking on me. This is what led to one of my greatest embarrassments. Our Cub Scout Pack was going to have a Gong Show event. The group of us kids would get up there with our respective talents and be judged by a panel of notable nobodies. “You’re probably going to do a stupid puppet show aren’t you Ireland” taunted one of my fellow Weeblos. I had to of course counter back with the standard defense, “NO.” Truth be told, I really would have rather done a puppet show, but I felt I could do my own thing. I was going to get up in front of these people and do my own act. It would be hilarious. I had this great idea that I would call some notable nobody up from the audience and I would prod them with various questions. Based on their response I would make some sort of sarcastic remark and let the hilarity pour forth. I might even hold up a sign to the side with some sarcastic remark like Bugs Bunny would do when fooling with Elmer Fudd. It was a fantastic idea. So right before I am to go on, I try to explain to the Emcee this high concept that I’m about to do. “So you’re trying to be a Comedian?” he asks. Yes. Yes indeed. I like that. I was going to be a Comedian. I was announced as such, and I went out in front of an auditorium full of families. I asked the Scoutmaster to come forward as my first victim. Our dialogue over the next few minutes included the annoying back and forth Hello, Hello, Hello (always a grade school crowd-pleaser), my trying to make a joke out of the fact that he was a carpenter (Do you lay carpets? Clever), and of course my sign (probably too small for anyone to read). Needless to sang the gong rang after that. Out of 10 or 12 acts, I was the only one that got gonged.

I would say that was the first time I really understood embarrassment. I felt that since my heart was into it, that I could just be naturally funny. I remember my father dispensing wisdom on the subject. He went on about how even the best comedians like Jack Parr (Who?) would have been better prepared with material. I remember asking my Mom sincerely if I could stay home the next day. She said “no.”

Oddly enough, I didn’t let it get it to me for too many years. After getting a ventriloquist dummy one Christmas, I entered myself into a talent show. This time I prepared myself with collected material. I fashioned a darn good little act, and performed it for the whole school. The following is my best joke from the act:

Dummy: I think I see my teacher out there
Me: Really? Where is she?
Dummy: You see that really pretty woman in the back row with the blue eyes, blond hair, and beautiful smile?
Me: Yeah! Wow, is that your teacher?
Dummy: NO – it’s the ugly woman sitting next to her.

It took minutes for the crowd to calm down. Minutes. It made me feel funny… in a good way of course.

It always sounds like a good idea

A conversation reminded me a few things in the limited male mind that always sound like a good idea, but aren’t in reality. I’m not one to perpetuate clichés here, as I’m very much against this new sitcom perception that now defines the American male. We will stick with what is fact, however, and the following are unfortunate truths.

Hot tubs are severely over-rated in my mind, yet there is always this Pavlovian reaction of excitement about them. They play the commercials for local establishments during sports events, and we sit and think, “That would be awesome to have in my backyard.” It is like the first step to transforming our homes into the Playboy mansion. Install this tub and your house will be busting out at the seams with buxom babes ready to boil in your hot tub brew. “That’s right ladies, swimsuits are optional.” The reality is that it a big steaming waste of money as it sits unused by you and your pasty white friends who are too uncomfortable to bathe with you.

You’re heading out for brews and food with the guys, and what better place to celebrate manhood than Hooters. We think it is OK, because it is like the gentleman’s club we allowed to go because it right across the street from Applebees. We fall time and time again for what is perhaps the greatest marketing gimmick ever created. Charge ridiculous amounts of money for watered down beer and food that rivals junk you can make in the microwave, but have it delivered to your table by girls in tight t-shirts and hot pants. Your waitress ends up being a sullen gal whose insanely overprotective boyfriend is sitting at the bar making sure nobody even glances at his woman. Your base instinct is eventually overtaken by empathy, as you think, “This poor gal is only trying to make ends meet. She might be working her way through school. Maybe she has a little one at home.” You leave with a pang of guilt in your gut… or perhaps it was just the onion rings.

Deep inside every man there is a desire to be the Captain his own vessel. Whether we envision ourselves as a Viking or Pirate, we have this desire to conquer the open water. When financial stability allows it, we think we want a boat. Fresh air, cool water, warm sun… bikinis. For the guys fortunate to actually live on the water, this isn’t such a bad thing, but us land-lovers who populate the Midwest have a bit more trouble getting to the water. It is my understanding that by the time you store the boat, maintenance the boat, clean the boat, tow the boat, launch the boat - you only have a few precious hours to really enjoy before you repeat the entire process. Money floats apparently, as you have to keep applying it in order to keep everything above water.

Now that is look at this, with each of these ideas comes the somewhat unfulfilled promise of scantly clad women. Yes, that is answer. I blame boobs.

Why society fails – Panera Bread

This is the first in a hopefully reoccurring theme that discusses the end of the world as it is happing around us. People are too heavily focused on the bigger picture things like global warming, terrorism, or cable reality shows. I challenge you to look no further than the “pick up your order” counter at your local Panera Bread.

I marvel at the complete social breakdown that happens in the short wait for fancy “not plain white” bread sandwiches and lukewarm bowls of soup. Like the caustic elements that are brought together to ignite a terrorist’s tightie whities, people are forced to huddle around and wait together as the food is prepared. This is not a new concept mind you – this happens at every corner sandwich shop all over the world. You order at end of the shop, and you have a short walk to the other side of the counter to pick up the food you ordered. Simple, right?

No. This is where we fail. Time and time again we fail as a society, because we are not able to function as one. The flaws of humanity are more exposed here than the underwear of your average coed (Foul – two undie jokes in as many paragraphs). The huddled mass, too selfish to care about the person beside them, too focused to see the ills around them.

There will always be those who are either ignorant to technology too fearful to embrace it. Many are held back without the opportunity to advance themselves and are either taken over or pushed aside. This is represented by the person who can never quite seem to make the drink machine work for them.

History has produced many a fearful tyrant. A person who takes what they want, because they feel it is rightfully theirs. Attila the Hun, Hitler, the Romans… all despicable humans who have turned a blind eye to their soul, and made miserable the unfortunates in their destructive path. I see this evil in every nudnik that walk right up to the counter and assumes that the first plate they see belongs to them. They encounter the folks too polite to confront them, and the fiercest who want to protect the food coming to them. This is where war begins, and in the end it is never a pretty site. The collateral damage is great, the tears many, and the resolution questionable. The folks at the counter lose track of orders, people get the wrong side items, and some idiot wanders off and wonders why his roast beef tastes like chicken.

And then there is sometimes not enough to go around. Whether it is the gluttony of others, or a failure of planning to provide. Inevitably there is a shortage of the bread used to make my beloved Sierra Turkey sandwich. Since this happens so often, one might imagine they make more… but that would be a solution. We know that solutions don’t come easy, and they often times come with a price. Like most people, I don’t understand politics or economics, so I choose to suffer with a lesser quality bread. I will gripe about it, but I will never take the time to write my congressman.

When is it enough?

I’m old enough to remember when our TV had 5 channels that we could crank the old knob around to find: 3 major networks, an independent station, and PBS. I knew them well as the first 7 or 8 years of my life, I was actually the remote control. I remember the landmark day that the Ireland household got cable. We were that one family who always got everything after everyone else had it for years. Our line-up increased to an unimaginable 20+ channels. Even at that age, there was just too much television to watch, and yet nothing was on. Flash forward 30 years and I have something in the neighborhood of 500+ channels. Yeah, you know where I’m going – all this TV and yet nothing is on. Let me arrive at my point.

I’m happy to say that we don’t watch a lot of TV in the Ireland household. We have a few programs we watch, and there are only a handful of channels we frequent. Fact is, we DVR most of the television we watch. Yet with this somewhat limited exposure, we are somehow bombarded over and over with the same garbage messaging.

Commercials have always been the zits of television. They pop up at all the wrong times, they are annoying, and all we can do is ignore them until they go away. That fact has never changed. The problem I have now is that there seem to be only 10 commercials playing at every break on all 500 channels and 7 of them are for Geico. My beef is how can any company afford that much commercial time in this bad economy? I do not have Geico, and I’m proud to say I never will. If I did, I would only wonder how much of my insurance premiums were going into the latest wacky adventure of the computer animated lizard and his doofus boss. Is there such a thing as reverse messaging? Can too much exposure begin to be a bad thing? In this case I’m going to say yes.

The other issue is up to the minute news crawls and updates. This just happened with the Tiger Woods scandal and now over the weekend with the Mike Leach/Texas Tech debacle. BREAKING NEWS…! The news media has been overdoing it for years, so that is nothing new. The big problem now is the little black news crawl across the bottom of some channels. In the span of one football game we were reminded of the Mike Leach situation once every couple of seconds, despite the fact it happened 3 days ago, and that they had nothing new to report. After the crawl ticked by 20 times, they would break in with a live studio update of the situation, which was just reading the same text crawl, and showing the same piece of stock Mike Leach footage… again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

We get it. I promise you we get it. Those that don’t have had their brains turned to mush from overexposure and are too far-gone to get it. Enough!

Father Fears

In no particular order, here is a running list of fears that I have in regards to fathering my first child.

She is a girl (well 90% chance). I have no clue how to raise a girl.
Tea Parties.
She'll look like my brother Dave.
I'll bring the wrong girl home from the hospital.
That first greasy looking goofy bastard who comes over for her first date.
Pink.
Hannah Montana... though I'm sure Miley will have made her first sex tape by then.
I'm going to be a push over.
I'm going to become an embarrassment even faster than most Dads.
What if she is an emotional basketcase? she'll get that from her Father.
She might be smarter than me by second grade.
Questions about male anatomy.
What if is she thinks that Kermit the Frog is stupid?
She'll want a pony.
She'll want her own phone by 7.
She'll go to Mommy to fix things. She should.
She'll tell her friends that Daddy is in charge of the vacuum cleaner. He is.
The cost of college in 20 years.
The cost of a wedding in 20 years.
I might be better at painting toenails than Mommy.
She'll take up smoking at some point.
That she'll have her heart broken some day.
That she'll only want to eat chicken nuggets all the time.
Fruit candy will be her favorite.
That she won't be able to relate to Daddy at all.
She might be kinda dull.
She'll get a tattoo.
When will it be appropriate to allow her to wear eye shadow?
Girlie pop music.
The terrible twos.
The terrible threes.
The terrible teens.
She might like Barney.
Will she ever cry on Christmas morning?
Will she ever cry at Disney World?
Will she prefer Reality TV?
The cat might bite her.
She might bite the cats.
She'll resent me for her bushy eyebrows.
She will only eat cheese pizza.
She might be scared of a lot of things, but she won't fear Sasquatch.
She won't laugh enough.
She might forget to mention me when she wins an Oscar.
She might not smell what the Rock is cookin.
Boys.
That my kisses won't fix all boo-boos
She'll be more Disney Princess than Princess Leia.
She might be obnoxious.
I'll have to wear pants around the house more.
She won't like school.
Bullies.
She makes the right decisions.
She has the patience to truly wait for love to find her.
That she won't like being tickled.
Trust is never broken.
That I won't have the patience.
That I won't fill her memories with enough love and joy.
That she'll be brave enough to tackle the world.

Decade of Michael

“It is so strange to hear someone call you Mike,” my wife says to me the other day. She is in fact correct – I find it jarring now as well. That is so ten years ago! Wait a minute… has it been that long? I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around the beginning of a new decade, as I really don’t feel like Y2K was that long ago. In reflection I have discovered that this was a defining decade for me. It started out a little rough, but it has ended on such an emotional high.

A few ticks past midnight on 1/1/2000, I was embraced by a woman whose name I barely remember at a stranger’s house with people who I will never cross paths with again. How I got there was all part of the plan to get my life on track. I had only recently uprooted my (lack of) life and moved to Cincinnati from Cleveland to start anew. There is no bigger way to change one’s life than to pick up everything and move. The biggest change, however, happened with just one common question asked by every new person I met: “Do you prefer Mike or Michael?” The first time this was asked of me, my knee jerk reaction was Michael. Why not? It was something different. Mike had his chance for nearly 30 years, it was Michael’s turn to take the reins. The new me had a lot of pieces to put together, and dating continued to be a struggle. So to circle back to where I started this paragraph, I had met this woman on an Internet dating site. So there I stood at a party filled with mostly P&G employees, trying (too) hard to make a good impression. Let’s just say Michael still had some work to do, as this dating situation didn’t last many days longer.

2000 continued along with many growing pains, many that can fill other posts someday. The best thing that happened came through another woman whose name I barely remember that I had met on an Internet dating site (get used to this, it will indeed come up again). I followed some gal to an audition for Community Theater. It was on this night, that I introduced myself again as Michael, and it was cemented indefinitely as so with this vast group of creative folks. I now have ten years of success and personal fulfillment as an actor. I marvel at large my world has become, and I cherish the relationships I have formed. The new Michael had a solid foundation from which to build upon.

The decade’s biggest regret was a 4-year long learning process that was unfortunate but necessary. I had it in my head that I was lonely, and I was still clinging to the Internet dating as a crutch. Then 9/11 happened, and I don’t need to tell anyone how the world changed. Anxiety over my future or lack thereof was clouding my understanding of what it truly meant to be in a relationship. Out of frustration, I decided to take one last date on-line, and that would have to work. So I met this woman. There was nothing wrong with her. She was nice. She was stable. She had a really great cat. All perfect reasons to keep dating… right? Let us make a long story short and leave it at that. Our relationship began on a lie (She was too ashamed to admit to anyone that we met on-line), and ended on a lie (She had moved on to someone else). The important lesson I learned from this is that you can work on a relationship all you want, but working hard is not working smart. I was blind to the fact that this other person was just going along with everything because she was too polite to have her own opinion. I wasn’t being honest with myself, which blinded me to what my situation was. I wasn’t being embraced as the Michael I wanted to be. Sure, I’m bitter about the whole thing, but in the end it was a valuable experience that led my to the most important chapter of my life.

Anne-Marie wasn’t supposed to happen. After my 1-year old marriage fell apart, I was ready for a dramatic and pathetic personal downward spiral. I was miserable in the dating pool for so long, and I dreaded having to enter it again. I prepared myself for the worst. Then Anne-Marie happened. How could she have faith in a man whose every red flag was flying. It was a blessing that she had to trust me immediately, and that I was ready to listen to my soul. All these years I was searching for her, and all I had to do was let her find me. She has shared and improved every aspect of my life. Her delight with this character Michael has made it easier for me to be who I’ve wanted to be. I can’t really say she completed the transformation to Michael, she just unearthed what was always there.

The new decade will bring about another change immediately. My name won’t be affected this time – I’ll just be awarded a new title: Daddy. What a ride this will be. I can’t even begin to imagine what message I will have in 2020. It will probably be a very outdated Hugh Downs joke.

Happy Teens.