Of Minivans and Men

NOTE: The legendary Minivan of Manliness -- as of this past December -- 'tis no more. Fifteen years and nearly 170,000 miles -- all in good service. Well, mostly good. Things got a little hairy those last few years. Various battery/electrical issues, wonky doors and a strange penchant for developing flat tires on long journeys: college trip to Baltimore, the night we moved -- seriously, drove three hours in the pouring rain and next day, flat as my singing voice; and, lastly, on the interstate the day I was driving to the dealer to test drive a new car. It's nice one of us knew when our time was up.

Here's a piece I wrote about the ol' girl back in 2008 for DadCentric.

Of Minivans and Men

Whrrrrrr -- CHUNK. Whrr -- CHUNK-CHUNK.

Hmmmm, I mused. The garage door track could have shaken loose from the ceiling again. Let's punch in that remote code two, neigh, three more times to be sure.

Whrrrrrr -- CHUNK. Whrr -- CHUNK-CHUNK.

Frickity-frick on a frickin' stick.

I had left the minivan tailgate open while it was inside the closed garage. Now the arm extending from the roller chain to the door was welded into the gate. 

Morning Has Broken and So Has My Chair

I’ve been laying low early in this New Year as seems to be my tradition just as is fixing everything that falls apart around our house over the holidays.

Fluttering fluorescents in the basement. Toilets not flushing. Shower drains not draining.

Let’s not forget the gap in the garage door that provided entry to the winter winds. And, apparently, a family of field mice. They made themselves at home in a basket of winter hats and gloves then noshed on salt-and-pepper pistachios from the pantry shelves. They even had a mobile home, a fact I learned the first time I put on my ski boots and found pistachios … among other, um, stuff.

Then there is my so-called “work life.”

My laptop, after five-plus years of loyal service, is on life support. In the past few months the power cord has developed a habit of randomly not providing current, the battery had to be replaced and the screen frame  cracked. Worse, of late its performance has all the consistency of Axl Rose when he’s off his meds.

In less technologically challenging news, two days ago this happened:

At least, for once, I know my eggnog-enhanced hindquarters were not responsible for this casualty.

So while I wait for the Staples delivery man to bring me Temper-Pedic pleasure for my posterior and drive myself insane by over-researching new laptops, you may chew on this:

Please click over to DadCentric and read a piece I wrote about a North Texas father who pretended to be a gunman to expose security flaws at his child’s elementary school.

Then give me a recommendation on a non-Apple laptop. I could use a few more opinions to overwhelm and confuse me.

Vaccines We Really Need

A successful school year for your child starts with his or her good health, and that sure beats it starting with you cleaning up Lucky Charms vomit off the Turkish rug.

While there are many tricks to raising a healthy scholar, tricking children into what's good for them is frowned upon these days. Blame those self-appointed "experts" who subscribe to the child-rearing theory known as the Sanctimonious Helicopter Attachment Drone of Uptight Parenting, or just SHAD-UP.

So what can you do as aside from giving junior daily baths in free-range, grass-feed hand sanitizer?

Poke the kid silly with syringes! Preferably ones loaded with bacteria and viruses!

Vaccines have proved to be highly effective at warding off many childhood diseases, so make sure your little one is up-to-date on all required shots before the school year starts.

But wait – there's more!

Scientists who actually got out of the lab enough to meet members of the opposite sex and spawn a child or two, sometimes on purpose, are developing some super new vaccines. The following are currently under review by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (now a fully owned subsidiary of ConAgra Foods, a division of Google and a Spike Lee Joint):

Continue reading on DadCentric.com > >

My Doppelganger

Folklorists and the writers of the sitcom How I Meet Your Mother would have us believe that everyone has a doppelganger, a twin of some sort -- most likely of the evil or Bizarro Superman variety.

I, dear friends, found mine. And of this I’m pretty certain: I’m the bizarro one.

Let’s climb into the WayBack Machine to when I started this monument to my lack of employment four years ago. After I came up with my blog’s name, I Googled the word “uncool” for shots and gargles (that would be gin and Listerine to hide smell of said gin). A link came up to this book:

The Day I Turned Uncool: Confessions of a Reluctant Grown-Up
by Dan Zevin

I bought it and packed it between my boxer briefs and allergy meds for a read on our family vacation to the Dominican Republic. That’s when I REALLY bought it.

“My Love,” I recall saying through a haze of sunscreen and Presidente beer. “I am not alone.”

Bra Shopping with Father

Some claim that I, a straight American male, am biologically hard-wired to notice the female breast. I won't argue with science.

Unless the breast in question belongs to my tweenage daughter.

Just the other day there she was: a sweet little thing in a princess gown, buckled snugly at 5-points in her car seat, singing about the yumminess of fruit salad. Then I blinked, and ... OMIGOD! WHERE DID THOSE COME FROM??!!

After I recovered from hysterical blindness, my little angel announced that I needed to take her shopping.

For a bra.

"I need it for my dance recital Sunday," she said. "My costume has really thin straps so the teacher said I should get a strapless bra."

I know bra shopping is one thing she has done before (and would rather do) with the adult women in her life. So why me, Lord? Why now?

Process of elimination. My wife was on a business trip; my sister, on vacation. Ladies and gentlemen, I am literally … the booby prize.

"Uhhh," I said wittily, "To Target."

+ + +

I'm surprised by just how big the lingerie department here is. By big, I mean, their key demographic must be body doubles for Sofia Vergara. It's also dazzlingly colorful like one of those candy stores where the walls are lined with tube after tube of exotically flavored jelly beans. 

After wandering around, we find the juniors section. 

Seamless bandeau, structured bandeau, Spandau Ballet. 

Scoop, demi, Ashton.

I have not been this overwhelmed by selection since I shopped Home Depot for sheet metal screws.

"Will this work?" I say. "The tag says it's a convertible bra."

"No. It has straps."

"Doesn't convertible mean the top comes off?"

"I don't know," she says.

And I think to myself, I hope you never will until you're married.

It's then that I spot her: A woman by the sports bras with a cart. It's overflowing with a mish-mash of clothing, sporting goods and toys. More importantly, she wears a bright red jacket and a bull's eye name tag.

"Let me go ask that clerk ..."

"Daddy, nooooooooooooooooooo!"

"All right," I say. "Just remember that answer when you're on stage and the girls make an unexpected curtain call."

Finally, we find some strapless bras. They are in hot pink. In “passion purple.” Day Glo green. Vegas showgirls wear less flashy outfits.

Finally we locate a couple that would not be noticeable from a nautical mile in London fog. They also happen to be in her size.

Not that my daughter knows her bra size. That would have been too easy. I've been down this road before. Not with bras, but nearly every other piece of clothing my children own because in own house – this dad does the shopping from groceries to garage doors. So before we left the house, I went to my daughter’s room, found one of her bras and checked the tag. Now, the next time some marketing genius tells you women make the vast majority of family purchasing decisions in the United States, you have the permission of this member of the minority to kick that person squarely in the statisticals.

She heads to the fitting rooms, and I am alone. Suddenly, I forget what to do with my arms. Fold them? No. Hands in pockets? No -- NO!

This keeps me perplexed while I wait. And I wait. And I wait ...

Suddenly, I am a child again. Waist high to a headless mannequin in a tube top and bell bottoms in some long-demolished women's department store. I'm confused. Lost. My mom has dragged me shopping with her again. The hopelessness. The suffering. The boredom. … The boredom. Things start pulling away and I'm falling down a hole walled with endless racks of frilly rack holders. I'm weightless, I'm floating! Below, I can almost see my boyish self ...

Wait a sec.

I really can see my boyish self.

It's my 9-year-old son. I forgot we took him along on this expedition.

"Son," I say, extending my right arm and index finger. "Pet supplies, office supplies, greeting cards. Choose your pleasure."

After a contemplative look, he picks greeting cards. I tell him we'll be there in a few minutes.

+ + +

The next morning, the sun still rose in the east.

And this Sunday, when my daughter bounds across the stage for her final curtsy, I will be there applauding and standing proud and tall.

Just. Like. Her bosom.

Not What it Seems

What first comes to your mind when you look at this photo of Excitable about to plunge off the back of our vacation houseboat and into the clear waters of Lake Powell, Utah/Arizona?

Photo Finished

I write about my failures as a family portrait photographer on our recent trip West at DadCentric today. Here’s the start and one of my many bad photos to entice you. Cheers!

The poetic among us would find rich metaphoric comparisons between the taking of our yearly family portrait and my annual health checkup.

I kinda froze here: one is a figurative pain in my tuchus; the other is literally.

:: snap :: ... and exhaaaaale -- good.

Though a notoriously mediocre point-n-shooter, I undertook the job of family photographer this year because I now own a decent camera and we were going on a scenic week-long trip out West. The breathtaking, soul-enriching beauty of the Grand Canyon and such should surely override my technical ineptitude and my motley crew's many flaws, right?

Yeah. Right.

Continue reading at DadCentric >>

Tips for the Boy Appreciated

Excitable, formerly known as Thing 2 to you old-school “Uncool” types, hits double digits in a month.

The big 1-0.

Dear Lord, I’m frickin’ OLD!

But this is not about me. It’s about him.

On his 6th birthday, I offered him a mess of life lessons on this blog. Hence, four years later, I’m tapped out. Drained. Spent. Pffffffft.

Here and at DadCentric yesterday, I asked readers to give my boy some advice for his 10th year on Earth and (cue cavernous echo effect) BEEEEE-YOOOOOoooond.

So pass on your words of wisdom to the boy in the comments. He probably won’t heed them, but he doesn’t listen much to me either these days.

Go on. I dares ya!

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Spread your “Uncool” love – tweet, like, etc. using one or more of the social bookmark buttons below or in your feed reader. Thanks!

Some Dads Quietly Have It All. Thanks.

This DadCentric piece I wrote last week is especially appropriate because it is the day before the tax filing deadline. I’m sure my dad will be franticly cranking out his clients’ returns late into tonight and tomorrow night. – Un.

I once worked with a person who claimed to be an action hero -- SuperWoman, to be exact.

She wrote a newspaper column about social issues facing women balancing career, husband and kids. Many weeks, her writing boiled down to one point: only working mothers know the burden that comes with this attempt at, in her generation's words, "having it all."

I didn't wholly buy into her premise then when I was a single, childless guy in my 20s and I really don't now as a 40-something father of two. But I won't speak for my entire gender, as she purported to do. I will only speak from my experience. I will speak of my father.

Continue reading at DadCentric >>

"Dance Moms" Lacks Dads: Thank Heaven or WTF?

Despite all the complaining we dads do about our being portrayed by the media and entertainment industries as inept or uninvolved, we really should be thankful.

After all, we could have our own reality show on the Lifetime network proving it.

Of late, my tweenage daughter Li’l Diva(formerly known to all you as Thing 1) has been subjecting me to DVR marathons of her two favorite shows: Toddlers and Tiaras and Dance Moms. We've had a few talks about the kid, in particular -- young girl, exploitation on both of these ratings winners and, despite that recent F in Spanish, my daughter is bright enough to recognize the ridiculousness and evil extremes shown on these shows. She has been sucked into the cartoonish over-the-top drama of all overbearing moronic adults (um, nearly all mothers -- just stating the facts) and nothing more, she says.

"So how do you think I would do if I was on Dance Moms," I asked, which is apropos because she has been taking dance for the past 7 years. For first several of them, I'd hang out with the estrogen set during lessons, mostly drinking coffee and reading the newspaper because they would never talk to me. Must have been my cooties.

"You wouldn't last," she said. "You get mad too easily. You'd be angry at the teacher and the other moms and you'd pull me out of there pretty fast."

So wise, my daughter. If only she'd rinse her plates and put them in the dishwasher, she'd be perfect.

Whenever I've watched Dance Moms with her, my reaction to said moms constantly bitchin' and moanin' about the dance teacher's constant bitchin' and moanin', the questionable taste in costumes and routines, the apparent favoritism, and the snarky backstabbing and sniping at each has been the same:

Continue reading this post at DadCentric >>

Dads are Capable Parents, Too

While I’m polishing my next epic, I thought you might enjoy my “final” word on the Dad 2.0 Summit, which appeared last week in my hometown newspaper column.

Bits at the start and end first appeared on DadCentric, but the bulk is new and fleshed out for non-blogger mass consumption. If nothing else, the writer types among you may enjoy seeing the evolutionary twists, turns, adds, deletes and punching up done in the never-ending battle I wage on writing every time I sit in front of the keyboard. Cheers!

+ + +

The only adult male this at-home dad hangs with on a regular basis is his dog, though, if not for fences, my best friend would most likely spend all his time canoodling with the cute beagle next door.

Naturally then, I had some trepidation about being corralled for three days in Texas recently at a conference with 200 other fathers.

Were we going to the woods to beat drums? Do primal scream therapy? Whine endlessly about how our dads did or didn't treat us as kids? Not at all.

The inaugural Dad 2.0 Summit in Austin gathered bloggers of the paternal persuasion to discuss with each other, marketers and social media mavens the role of the modern father.

We also gathered to drink beer, a statement based not on stereotype but on my credit card receipts.

Surviving (and Recapping) the Dad 2.0 Summit

The air thickened with conspiracies to prevent me from attending the Dad 2.0 Summit last week.

There was My Love’s first business trip in a year, a 10-day behemoth to Berlin that overlapped with half of my Austin adventure.

But my sister agreed to look after the Things and Murphy and all their medications and appointments for me.

There was American Airlines continuing its long history of delaying nearly every flight I’ve ever taken between Dallas and New York. We were 90 minutes late this time, forcing me to miss the registration. And curse a lot.

However, a conference staffer agreed to run back to the storeroom and dig out my badge so I could get into the opening night party.

Oh, there was more.

Yet once inside, it was all good.

Real good.

Go over to DadCentric for the deets, a rare group post by me and two of my colleagues, titled: Dad 2.0 Summit in a Nutshell (by 3 Nuts with Nuts). I promise you’ll like it. And that I’ll never again say “deets.”

Here’s some stuff I left out:

“They talk of my drinking but never my thirst.”

Looking for a last-minute Father's Day gift for a dad who has an iPhone4 and a thirst for life?

No?

Want to watch me drink a lot of beer while attempting to give a coherent product review?

Still no?

Well, maybe you want to see what My Love looks like dressed like as a St. Pauli Girl beer wench?

Ah – that’s it! Then have I got a video for you.

It has music! Comedy! Graphics! Me and a lot of beer.

Click the link at the end of this sentence to watch the special video I made for DadCentric.com called “When Technology and Alcohol Collide.”

# # #

DONATE TO HELP THING 1 NOW
AND YOUR GIFT WILL BE DOUBLED

If you have yet to give to the Cure JM Foundation’s search to find a cure to Thing 1’s juvenile dermatomyositis, then now is the time.

Why?

Because a friend has come forward with an offer to match every dollar our family raises between now and race day (June 25), up to a total of $3,000.

No one knows what dollar will find the cure. Let’s hope it is yours.

What are you waiting for? Give to Cure JM now!

They Called the Band ‘Poison’ for a Reason

Remember your parents always complaining about how the music you listened to wasn’t as good as the stuff they did the boogaloo to when they were kids?

Well, guess what? Now you’re the parent. Time to learn from some of your youthful foolishness and make better decisions when sharing your tunes with the wee ones.

Here’s the start of what I wrote yesterday on DadCentric.com on the subject …

HELP SAVE THE YOUTH OF AMERICA
FROM HAIR METAL BALLADS!

I "get" the concept of Kidz Bop.

Take the pop hits of the day. Sift the bump-and-grind rhythms  through a Size 45 Lawrence Welk cone filter. Scrub in some Ajax to remove any hint of naughtiness from the lyrics ("brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack" in Tik Tok by skank dance queen Ke$ha becomes "brush my teeth and then I go and pack" ... yet it still leaves a scummy film on my skin after listening.) Finally, let a Holiday Inn warbler share the lead vocals with some truly average sounding children who fill in the chorus and harmonies with their screeches.

Bland as instant oatmeal but, geez, it beats that Satanic turdgrinder Raffi. His music has been known to wake coma patients just long enough so they can unplug themselves.

Now, the whole Hair Metal scene back in the '80s -- that I never understood …

Read more …

Do The Hustle!

Sorry, I meant win The Hustler, the Paul Newman/Jackie Gleason classic about pool sharks (that’s billiards, not swimming predators).

Click over to my DadCentric post from Friday and leave a comment – any comment – to be entered in a drawing to win three great movies on Blu-ray DVDs that would make great Father’s Day gifts for someone in your life (or yourself).

Along with The Hustler, you could win:

• The Comancheros – John Wayne. Lee Marvin. Guns. 
• Cowboys. Members of the race formerly known in the States as Indians. As classic as they come
• Tigerland – A Vietnam War movie starring Colin Farrell. I hear its pretty good.

No need to comment here unless you want to tell me about your Memorial Day weekend. Better yet, leave a joke but keep it semi-clean. I have a fictitious image to maintain.

Even better yet: Support our family in the Seattle Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon with a small donation to help find a cure for Thing 1’s juvenile dermatomyositis. Donate to Cure JM now! We’re nearly at the $3,000 mark.

International Man of Mystery, That’s Me

For St. Patrick’s Day, I will attempt some lovin’ in the oven in the form of a loaf of homemade Irish soda bread today.

If I’m lucky, the bread will be filled with plump, juicy raisins and doughy goodness. If I’m not, the house will be filled with smoke, firefighters and claims adjusters.

Hmm. I should bake extra for my guests.

Come tomorrow, if the kitchen is still intact and so are all my limbs, I’ll be celebrating the big day by breaking in a new roasting pan with a slow-cooked, Guinness-and-Jameson’s braised corned beef. I figure if the meat turns out bad, at least I’ll be able to pour the drippings in a pint glass and have a nice toasty buzz.

I don’t why I’ve been into the whole St. Pat’s thing the last few years. Maybe it’s a deep longing to better understand my roots and find some grounding in this wacky world. Maybe I just have time on my hands.

Despite our Irish surname (What? You thought “Uncool” was Jewish? Oy gevalt!), we are the muttiest of mutts. Mostly Italian, some Polish, dash of German, a hodgepodge of odd middle European countries (My Love’s side, though they claim only to be Nebraskan, through and through) and, apparently, a touch of the Emerald Isles. At least in name, as no one on my side has any knowledge of an Uncool coming over from there.

My guess – a distant relative wanted by the law in his real home country gets off a ship at Ellis Island and steals the identity of an Irish hobo he found stowing away in the hold and later killed for cheating during a game of Crazy Eights.

Hey, why bother digging around your family tree when you can just pick up any of the unclaimed nuts on the ground around it?

Speaking of nuts, swing over to DadCentric for a debriefing on my vasectomy of many years ago, among other things, in “Birth Control: Your Balls are in Whose Court?”

Until next time, L'Chaim!

Dang it! I mean, Sláinte!

Technorati Tags: St. Patrick's Day,Irish

Hello, Keith Hernandez; Goodbye, Mustache Movember

I know I’m two days late for my final mustache showing of Movember but both cords we have for downloading our digital cameras mysteriously disappeared.

So I bought a new camera.

I had to. Mine was tragically smacked out my hand by an 8-year-old (not named Thing 2) at a birthday party in May, and it had been shooting with a wonky focus ever since. That’s why I’ve been looking so Cybill Shepherd in Moonlighting-ish of late. 

So without further ado, here is my Day 30 ‘stache, in which I channel my inner Keith Hernandez.

Why Keith?

Because Keith is a one-time Most Valuable Player and 11-time Gold Glove winning first baseman.

Because Keith, in 2007, won the American Mustache Institute’s Top Sports Mustache of All Time award and had his own mustache tribute day at Shea Stadium:

Because Keith played a central role in one of the best episodes of Seinfeld ever.

Because Keith is a spokesman for Just for Men Mustache and Beard dye gel which, I admit, I had to use not so much to hide the gray but to darken the blonde so people could tell I was growing something under my nose.

Because Keith, while broadcasting a Mets game this year, reflected the feelings of all the team’s fans by falling asleep during the “action”:

God save you and your mustache, Keith.

And God save those of you who contributed to me and Team DadCentric, to help us raise more than $1,300 to fight prostate and testicular cancer.

As for those of you who didn’t donate this time out, I’m sure you were saving up to make a HUGE contribution this spring when I ask for you to support Cure JM in the Seattle Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon/Half Marathon in June.

Now back to our regularly scheduled, unfuzzy and Uncool face:

Sex, Blogging Conferences and Knowing Your Place

Let’s talk sex.

Gender, actually. (I know. I’m disappointed, too.)

When I was making the rounds at BlogHer ‘10, handing out Pepsi Refresh / Cure JM voting cards and stepping through the throngs of fawning females treating me like I was a stray puppy, I met a woman.

A woman who worked for the federal government.

The “federal government source for women’s health information,” to be precise.

And she wanted to interview … me?

“Dude – I mean, Ms. – I’m a dude,” I said. “Really.”

Thankfully, didn’t I get mad, go into a rage and DM her proof of that fact on Twitter. That can cause a heap of problems these days.

(And, really, guys: distributing unsolicited photos of your shortcomings is plainly not cool. Ever. Distributing solicited ones generally isn’t smart either, doofuses. Not even to your spouse or significant other.)

No, she said, even though I was a man politely navigating my way around a den of Self-Empowered XX Chromosomes, I had a unique perspective and information about a health issue that affects young females significantly more than young males.

Her audience, she said, could learn something and they’d appreciate hearing my point of view.

Sure, she could have held out to talk to My Love, the woman who leads the foundation seeking a cure for the disease and the mastermind of our ambitious agenda to make the public aware of the need to make juvenile myositis a memory.

But face it, could you resist a stray puppy? Could you?

(There’s your Day 3 Movember moustache update! Please support me and the DadCentric crew as we grow ‘em to show ‘em our support for men’s health issues.)

So we exchanged business cards, and later we exchanged questions and answers. I think it was a win-win. Please read the interview.

* * *

Much of the above is my tongue-in-cheekiness about a recent public debate I’ve been in this week about men at “women’s conferences” with one blogger that carried over to another blogger who discussed the need for homogenous groups to occasionally rally together, celebrate themselves and support each other. I respect their opinions even though I don’t fully agree with some of the arguments. Please read them and weigh in (I have comments included at the end of each of their posts.)

Given that, I feel compelled to highlight one gender role question from my interview and response that probably doesn’t add to the debate, but at least may make you smile:

Q. What about other stay-at-home moms, do you think they ever treat you differently?

ME: Some seem a little wary of me, and I think it is somewhat understandable. I'm invading what has been traditionally been their territory, so obviously they are going to a bit suspicious of a guy volunteering at a bake sale in the middle of a school day or hanging around the ballet school on a Saturday morning. But if you let that bother you constantly then you're probably not cut out to be an at-home dad. You need to either: 1) smile, introduce yourself and try to be a constructive part of the group; 2) suck it up and carry on; or 3) make alternative arrangements. That said, I've also met many stay-at-home moms and work-at-home moms who think it is the greatest thing in the world that I do what they do. Of course, that may be some sort of revenge thing.

Cheers … and peace. We all need each other these days.

Technorati Tags: sex,gender,parenting,women

Give Cash for My ‘Stache This Movember

Cancer sucks no matter who gets it, but the facts are particularly scary for us guys.

For example, 1 in 2 men are likely to be diagnosed with some form of cancer in their life compared with 1 in 3 women.

And while enormous amounts of pink are spilled annually publicizing breast cancer awareness for women, did you realize a man is 35% more likely to be diagnosed with prostate cancer than a woman is to be diagnosed with breast cancer?

Dang it, dudes – we need to level the playing field!

E-qual-ity! E-qual-ity!

While anyone can pin a ribbon on his or her chest to show support for a cause, only a man (and maybe certain Eastern European female bodybuilders) can proudly wear said ribbon under his nose – in the form of a moustache.

That is why some of the more facial-hair adept members of DadCentric and I will be sprouting ‘staches this month in support of “Movember” – an international movement to raise funds and awareness for men's health, specifically cancer affecting men.

(Allegedly “Mo” is slang for moustache. That’s news to me, but this whole thing was started by Australians and, as you know from those Foster’s beer commercials, the Aussies have a different way of saying everything.)

Here’s what you can do help this worthy cause:

DONATE: Give a few bucks to support the growth between my nose and upper lip. Just visit my Always Home and Uncool Mo Page, and click the big ol’ “Donate to Me” button.

Funds raised benefit the Prostate Cancer Foundation and LIVESTRONG - the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

GROW YOUR OWN: If you are facial hair proficient, join the DadCentric team! Sign up as a Mo Bro, then shave your face clean and get raising some whiskers and money for the cause.

BE A MO SISTA: If you are of the female persuasion but not an Eastern European female bodybuilder, then you can’t grow a mustache. However, you can still support Team DadCentric by raising funds and spreading the word about men’s health issues by signing up as a Mo Sista.

Watch for semi-regular updates on my blog and on my Always Home and Uncool Mo Page. Meanwhile, tell me this:

What type of moustache should I aim for?

The Derek Smalls?

The Earl Hickey?

The Pointy Poirot?

The Magnum P.I.?

Perhaps, the Anna Lefler?

Technorati Tags: Movember,moustaches,men's health,cancer,prostate cancer,breast cancer

Honestly, I Liked ‘Mr. Mom’

Every other Tuesday I franticly work on the newspaper column I’ve avoided writing for the past two weeks, a process made even more difficult by the lovely Polish women who fumigate our house with every known chemical cleansing agent not classified as a WMD for the first four hours of my waking day.

On the bright side, at least the blood spurting from my forehead gets mopped up.

This week I took a momentary breather from not producing anything by flipping on the Today show, a habit I developed well before Katie Couric left and felt obligated to counter her natural spunk and babeness by broadcasting the nightly news dressed like an undertaker’s wife.

Unexpectedly, as it usually is, inspiration hit in the form of … Al Roker? He  teased to a segment on stay-at-home dads.

Off to Twitter, I go.

Nineteen minutes later …

Oh, snap.

Presently, Matt Lauer introduces the piece. I’m aware he is the “go to” host of all at-home-dad segments, but he’s not on Twitter so Al was an easy target.

The spot featured a discussion about an article Marie Claire magazine did on stay-at-home husbands (especially dads) as the “ultimate status symbol” for a successful career woman -- you know, like My Love. The article covers the usual gender role reversal stuff and makes fellow estrogen-challenged bloggers Joe Schatz of Dad Blogs and PJ Mullen of Real Men Drive Minivans seem like the well-adjusted, good guys they are (especially PJ, who I want to start making my lunches). It adds a sensational headline and then wedges the status symbol junk in the middle to sex it up and get suckers, like me, to write about it and drive their traffic and ad sales. Not one real-life example of this so-called status symbolness making guys like me the Rolls Royce of marital partners.

I shall steal a quote from Aunt Becky of Mommy Wants Vodka: Marie Claire, shut your whore mouth.

(See my complete reaction to being a status symbol on DadCentric: “I am Househusband: Here Me Roar.”)

The Today piece isn’t that bad. Not one “Mr. Mom” clip (but one verbal and one written reference) and Matt, who I’d love hoist beers with some time to discuss how he regularly avoids acid reflux whenever Kathie Lee Gifford speaks, does a decent job of talking about at-home men not being arm candy, but being a symbol of an enlightened relationship:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

I went into this at-home gig, jeez, six years ago – first as a full-time telecommuter and, since 2007, as a full-time homer – not kicking and screaming but embracing it. No commutes, office politics and the rest of the rat race that beats down so many good people. I love managing my home, being a genuine part of The Things’ life every day at school and play, and having a wife who supports my vague attempts at writing professionally. I’ve never been made to feel (too) uncomfortable in a gaggle of moms or been slighted to my face as a “babysitter” or what not, so obviously I hang with the right crowd.

Most of all, I’m a lucky guy to be married to My Love. She’s the enlightened one who draws me away from the Dark Side with her big heart and open mind.

She smells real puuurty, too.

* * *

Watch next week for a giveaway from one of the generous sponsors who, I honestly don’t know why but I’m not complaining, pays money to appear on this site.

And, please, continue to vote and spread the word about Cure JM’s attempt to get a $250,000 Pepsi Refresh grant. My thanks to all of you who have blogged and tweeted and Facebooked for us in the past month.

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