Taking Back Sunday

Most you know that I am an ardent Bengal fan. You can insert any joke here that you want about their current record (win/loss or prison), coaching (or lack thereof) or players (or the pack of Girl Scouts impersonating real NFL players) , or ownership(I really cannot comment further...I'm too tired) . I have heard it all before, and repeated most of it...yet for some reason, I am a season ticket holder.

Going to the games in a year like this is horrible, but since you pay months in advance, you kind of resign yourself to it. You show up late, you leave earlier, you divest yourself emotionally and you hope for better next year. You play the Barge Game or the Escalator Game to pass the time. (The Barge Game is where you bet which direction a barge will pass, in what quarter, and what type. I.e.: 1st quarter, heading east, a coal barge. Whereas the Escalator Game is where players take bets on when the escalators will turn from up...to down. Start of 4th quarter is always a good bet, but the bold can sometimes reach for late in the 3rd quarter)

The real bummer is Away Games, where you have this beautiful HD TV set up. All summer long you look forward to and make plans to drink beer and eat nachos and watch football. But when they're this bad, you don't want to. If you do, 4:00 comes around and you realize you've wasted your day. You're pissed. You thought today might be the day. They have to win sooner or later..... recent seasons have shown us you might sit through 10, 11 horrible games to get that one win. People...it's not worth it!!!

This season, rather than watch on TV, I decided to do something positive. As a symbol of what life could be like, if we didn't invest ourselves every year into this terrible team. Something I could look at for years and say, "All this....because I took back my Sunday." And we can. We can all take back our Sunday. We can lift ourselves up from the wretchedness that is our existence as fans, and look forward to Sunday once again.

Here is how. Pick a project...any project. Put the game on the radio if you must, but come kick-off, abandon the TV and start working. Maybe it's painting a room, mowing the yard, staining a deck. Something physical that says, "I didn't waste my time."

Maybe they'll be better next year, maybe they'll be worth the investment of time. But not this year. My project is the dining room. My wife and I laid a tile floor on Sundays. Call it... Fan Therapy. The first step is always admitting you have a problem.

Here goes, I'm a little nervous.

Hi! My name's Chris, and I am a Bengal's fan. I have been in recovery for 9 weeks. This is my project.

Shopping...Because I'm a Black Tie Kinda Guy.

This weekend I get the rare opportunity to wear a tuxedo. I have wore a tuxedo exactly 4 times in my life, all of them were when I was under the age of 21. My wife's firm is having a big black tie/formal wear gala. This event forced Jill to look for the perfect gown and me to go shopping for a rented tux.

First of all, why isn't there places that let you rent designer gowns? Aside from fit issues, I believe a large part of it is stigma. A woman wouldn't be caught dead in a rented outfit, yet most men wouldn't dare purchase a tuxedo. But I say...James Bond doesn't rent shit. He either buys it, steals it, or fucks you until you give it to him for free. But...I'm not 007, so I'm renting. But I digress.

I want to talk about how different the process was for Jill and myself as we prepared for the Gala.

For Jill's dress, we looked at fabrics, hemlines, backs, fit and finish. It had to be long and slinky....but not too slinky. Her firm had sent out full color, multipage guidelines for his and her outfits. No little black dresses, nothing too short, these colors were in, these colors were out. There was lots of selection and lots of guidance, plenty of helpful sales associates.

At the local men's store, I looked at a laminated 9 page catalogue, half of the tuxedos were suitable for rap videos and maybe Junior Prom. The Clerk couldn't have been less knowledgeable or less interested in helping me to avoid looking like I was going to Junior Prom. While I didn't read the emails regarding men's wear from her firm, I can assume white tux with matching bowler hats and canes are not the look they want. But....peak lapels or no peaks? 1...2....3 button? What about the pants? Actually seeing or trying on a given tux would be nice, after all they only have nine styles....but no. He couldn't even bring himself to get up to measure me, he had some girl do it.

My whole experience lasted 15 minutes, and I have to say I feel cheated. Jill on the other hand, spent hours.

My wife went to no less than 6 different places and travelled well over 50 miles searching for the perfect dress. I went to one place, and took what they gave me.

Now I know what you're thinking, "You're a man, what's the problem?"

Here's the problem. If I look like a douchebag in a rented tux Saturday night, it's going to take more than a few free Manhattan's and several eye fulls of 65 year old cleavage to make me feel better. Jill had the opportunity to try on several dresses, go to several different retailers and ultimately pick a dress. Now she may have picked out of exhaustion, or despair but it was her choice. I feel like I was herded into a narrowing shoot and then assigned a tux.

Maybe that's fine....maybe it's better...but if I run the risk of looking like a dolt, I want more control. I want complete responsibility.

I pick the tux up tomorrow. Maybe I'll post pictures for some feedback.

The Fart Rule

Being a parent is much more involved than I imagined it ever could be. There is no such thing as autopilot, or taking plays off. You cannot assume that kids will just grasp what seems to you like simple concepts, or that their senses are attuned to the subtle differences between two things.

Take my son for example. We have been having a really rough time with sporadic accidents. Disturbingly, these accidents had been increasing as of late. And they weren't of the urine-variety. Let's just say, I've been going through a lot of Shout on laundry day. Clearly he is too old for this behavior.

Initially I assumed it was laziness or distraction. Maybe he was too busy playing. He always tells me he just didn't make it in time. We tried to shame him and warn him that other kids might make fun of him. I was beginning to worry he had some sort of colonic issue, but then I began to think like a little boy.

Question: What's really funny to a 5 year old boy?

The Answer: Farts.

What might happen if you're trying to force out a fart to impress other 5 year olds?

The Answer: A Shart

Shart(verb) def. To accidentally crap one's pants in the process of farting.
Sentence example: We have to leave now....I think I just sharted.

I tested this theory with a bed side chat, man to man with my son. I have to be honest, this wasn't the 1st serious farther-son conversation I envisioned having. Be that as it may, we discussed the chronology of his accidents in detail and my shart theory seemed to resonate.

In response, we devised The Fart Rule. The Fart Rule eliminates confusion that exists between where a fart ends and a crap begins. A border that my son apparently has issues perceiving.

The Fart Rule: (i) Henceforth it is mandated that when the urge to fart is felt, we are to immediately and without hesitation head to the nearest restroom. (ii) There is no be no penalty for false alarms. (iii) Failure to follow said rule, may result in the unfortunate label of Mr. Poopey Pants following offender well into Junior High.

Its been several days now, and I have seen marked improvement. That is to say, his underwear has been relatively unmarked. He came home today all excited. "No accidents today Dad, it was a close one, but I followed the Fart Rule"

Its not a family moment Norman Rockwell would have painted, but it was a moment.

Compassion is for Pussies

I have a cat named Gary. No...I didn't name him after Sponge Bob's snail. I had a dickhead neighbor when I was kid named Gary. Since then, I've never met another Gary that I liked. In fact, the name Gary is a stand in for anyone you're kind of stuck with but don't have much affection for. Gary is somebody you don't want around. I don't want this cat. I cannot get rid of him. He is Gary.

Gary doesn't use the litter box 100% of the time. Let's be honest, Gary only uses the litterbox when he damn well feels like it. I've got 3 litter boxes, which are cleaned regularly. I feed him special food from the vet. He has no underlying medical reason for his behavior, my vet gave me some bullshit explanation of "seasonal urinary disorder." Apparently he sees a lot of this type of behavior in October. I said, "Cool. Then what the fuck's wrong with him in September, August, June.....oh there was March, and July....." Then he tried to sell me even more expensive food. It doesn't mean anything, there's no reason. Gary don't care. He'll piss on your floor and then hack up a hairball on your table. That's how he rolls.

I'm in the process of laying a new tile floor to replace a carpet which he utterly and completely destroyed. He pissed on my new subfloor within hours of having it laid. And then took a crap in the center for good measure. That's his way of saying, "Whatever, I own this motherfuckin' joint."

Such provocation. So much justifiable cause. I want so desperately to be rid of him. But getting rid of cat that has litterbox issues is impossible. My parent's won't even take him as an outside cat! He's Gary. And so the moral delima rages. I could scoop him up and take him to the pound right now. I wouldn't have to throttle the life out of him with my bare hands, they would kill him for me after a few days. I could comfort my children with the notion that some happy family picked him up. It's perfect. Yet I hesitate.

I squirm at the thought of being directly responsible for the death of an animal. I don't want the look of reproach and disappointment from my wife, or the clerks at the SPCA. Hey, I'm not a bad pet owner! I have 2 rescue dogs and 3 cats. I just want to give back one. I've done my part. I saved my share. You cannot save them all. Gary is clearly beyond redemption. I haven't known one Gary to ever change. This one won't either. But I cannot bring myself to pull the trigger.