Summer is unofficially here and nothing says so more to me than parking my paper-thonged butt in front of the flat screen, flippin’ on the USA channel and watching the new seasons of a couple of my favorite returning shows:
To celebrate their return (Burn Notice on June 14; White Collar on July 10), I’m giving away DVD sets of Burn Notice - Season 5 and White Collar - Season 3.To win one of these, just leave me a comment below – any comment --by noon EDT, June 7, and you are entered in a random drawing. If you prefer one show to the other, say so – otherwise it will be dealer’s choice on the prizes. Simple as that.
The recent passing of my blogiversary has gotten me thinking about my early days in this racket.
You remember those simpler times.
Before we personal bloggers all signed lucrative contracts to endorse personal hygiene products, received book deals to reprint our Tweets (with sequels on our Instagram streams and Facebook status updates), and became stars of TLC shows that failed miserably because – face it – we’re pretty boring in reality. That’s why we all entered rehab: to regain our mojo, our qi … and our audiences (wink, wink).
Now it’s all melancholy word masturbation, competition and denial, moaning and whining. It’s like the worst of NPR but without the pleasure of being hit up for money in between stories about the obscure 17th fingerpainters without thumbs and the sexualization of Thanksgiving turkeys.
High time we who are still plugging away at this took the “blah” out of blogging.
For the next few weeks (or at least until I run out material or get lazy again), I’m going to dedicate Fridays to returning some of the goofy spirit of 2008 to the blogosphere.
Thanks for putting up with me this week. It’s gotten better, including two new freelance writing assignments to fill the time and bank account while My Love pounds the pavement looking for a new job.
Just a quickie before the weekend and some real posts next week:
One more DVD giveaway for fans of another popular USA Network TV series coming next week – this one comes with a real-life celeb sighting and shoulder rubbing by My Love. Trust me, I was very jealous. And turned on.
I have a video post from Conan O’Brien’s crew today as a “Friday Fun” post at DadCentric: Team Coco presents ‘American Dadiators.’ I also explain what the proper term is for ‘love handles’ when they are on a woman.
Thanks to Neil at Citizen of the Month who was the first to recommend the Uncools do the Capilano Suspension Bridge in Vancouver when we were up there two weeks back. The fam is all smiles on the return trip across it in the above photo, but they were soiling themselves on the way over. More on that later.
Let’s take it in the weekend optimistically, then. Hit it, Old 97’s:
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.
All it takes is a click. No registering, no giving your bank account number to a Nigerian prince’s exiled daughter, nothing. Just go to my Circle of Moms Top 25 Daddy Blogs page and click the “Votes” logo once a day.
Oh, sure, I could throw a fit about being called a “daddy blog” (How pejorative! How condescending to my gender! How I need a life!), but what the hey – no other big-time “parenting” websites ever look to promote me and my fellow weenie wielders (I’m eye-balling you, Babble.com) despite our devotion to our kids, such as teaching the next generation the Zen of armpit flatulence sounds.
So it’s an honor just to be nominated. However, I’d much rather win.
Therefore, vote for me!
Read my lips! No new taxes! Except on telemarketers and bad PR pitches to bloggers!
Pot in every chicken; a band in every garage!
Tippecanoe was Uncool, too!
Etc. Etc. So on and so forth.
You’ve come a long way, blogosphere. Now give us daddies some love … and votes.
What?! I stay off the Internet for a week to do some actual paying work (but mostly freebie stuff for the Things’ school because who has got the title “Yearbook Editor,” a masochistic streak and two thumbs? This moron!) and I almost miss Delurking Day?
GRRRRR!
OK, here’s how we make amends.
You leave a comment on this post by 11:59 p.m. Tuesday, Jan. 18, and I’ll enter you in a drawing for some prizes courtesy of those wacky Pepsi Refresh Grant people:
FIRST PRIZE: A coupon for a free 12-pack of any Pepsi product (Mountain Dew, Sierra Mist, Mug Root Beer, or any of the many Pepsi formulations out there)!
SECOND PRIZE: TWO coupons for a free 12-pack of any Pepsi product!
THIRD PRIZE: Another coupon for a free 12-pack of any Pepsi product!
Leave a valid e-mail in the proper form window so I can notify (and your dentist) if you if you win.
As My Love buckled herself into the passenger seat at about 4 o’clock last Tuesday afternoon, I told her to relax.
Only eight hours left, I said. The die has been cast; the Rubicon crossed; James Brown has excused himself to do the boogaloo.
We had bought tickets to the U.S. Open tennis matches months before our lives had turned upside down. She should enjoy the night out.
Besides, no matter what happened to Cure JM in the Pepsi Refresh contest, this day had already been a momentous one.
“The electrician showed up this morning,” I said. “He put a new cover on the thermostat to replace the one he lost while relocating it four months ago.”
“Then,” I added, “right before the electrician left, I made him pull out his cell phone and text us a vote.”
“Oh, good,” My Love said. Then she disappeared, lost in her iPhone on yet another call to rally the troops.
That’s how August went for us.
Me, interrupting strangers – online, at a conference in Manhattan, on a ferry dock in North Carolina, at an amusement park in Westchester County, N.Y. – begging for votes to win the nonprofit organization funding research into a cure for our daughter’s juvenile myositis a $250,000 grant.
My Love, ear attached to her phone while simultaneously working her laptop, trying to build, hold together or simply calm down voting coalitions of other worthy children’s causes all vying for free money.
Yet I hate sales. And she hates Survivor.
The reception on My Love’s iPhone was very spotty in and around Arthur Ashe Stadium in Queens on August 31, the last day of voting. When it was working, though, she managed a couple of calls or e-mails to convince people to head to bars to solicit votes or to leave requests for votes at online prayer message boards.
Just before 10 p.m., someone squeaked an e-mail through to us. Cure JM had just dropped out of the money. Again.
“Give me your phone,” I said. “I need to send out a message.”
I punched this into Twitter:
“RED ALERT ... Back down at 3. Please help!”
Then I left, in the middle of Rafael Nadal’s first-round match, to hit up people at the concession stands one last time for text votes. In short, the Ben & Jerry’s line was very, very good to Cure JM.
The next update we managed to get came through about 11:35 p.m. We were about halfway back to our house, slicing through the parkway darkness, the Things asleep in the middle row.
“Do you want to know?” My Love asked.
“Only if it’s good,” I said. “I’m too tired for bad news.”
This is where she should have paused for dramatic effect.
Instead, she calmly said: “Cure JM is No. 1.”
About 10 miles later, we realized we had driven well past our exit.
* * *
It’s been a week since then. Yesterday was the first day that neither My Love nor I felt the need for a midday nap or a triple espresso. We lived on adrenaline and pipe dreams those final 72 hours until the clock struck midnight, ushering in September. The next 72 hours we were walking zombies.
Happy, grateful zombies but zombies nonetheless.
We have a few more weeks to wait for Pepsi to verify that Cure JM is a real organization with a real plan before it gets the $250,000.
That’s the quick and easy part.
Thanking all the people who helped it happen … that may take a while. But I’ll give it a shot:
To every one of you who like blogged about our effort even though it cost you comments and traffic;
To every one of you who linked to the Cure JM Pepsi Refresh page or one of my posts on Facebook;
To every one of you who Tweeted and re-Tweeted, especially in those last frantic hours, in particular those of you who never before knew of me or juvenile myositis but simply carried our flag into battle because you believe every kid deserves a chance to be healthy;
To every one of you who on our behalf spammed their address books or their school PTA’s e-mail list or may have “borrowed” a stranger’s cell phone (or tried all the demos at the Apple Store) to send a text vote;
To every one of you who didn’t tell me to bugger off and put up with me and my voting cards, handbills, e-mails, postings and in-person pleadings;
To every one of you who took matters into your own hands, such as Jett who figured the blogosphere was well covered those last few days so she petitioned the members of her church for votes or my brother-in-law who spent the final hours of the contest getting every Mafia Wars player on Facebook he could to stop performing virtual crimes and start helping sick kids;
To all the security officers and the vendors at Arthur Ashe Stadium, especially the two who sold me that last Heineken then tried to get me to take back my tip (I didn’t) after they text voted for us;
To the woman I meet outside the log flume ride at Playland Amusement Park who took a voting card and said she’d get her entire office to vote for us;
To the guy waiting for the ferry at Hatteras dock in North Carolina who convinced his friend, who kept trying to give me $5 to leave him alone, that all he needed to do was send “a f****ing text, dude! You know how to text!”;
To the ferry workers who jumped our car battery after it died from running the A/C, the Things’ Nintendos and the radio while My Love and I handed out cards and fliers on the docks; and finally,
To every single one of you who put up with the quirks and frustration of the online voting system or learned to text, even if it was just to give us a single vote:
Cure JM, my family and every family touched by juvenile myositis thanks you.
These and many more practical and less sophomoric things can be accomplished with the help of one of my generous advertisers, NextDayFlyers.com. They also do cool business cards and charming greeting cards but that doesn’t make for entertaining reading for you, now does it?
IT’S A GIVEAWAY, CONTEST, A FREEBIE!
As proof of their blind faith in me as a means to their ends, they are letting me give one of you fair Uncoolniks a $25 printing credit good for anything they sell online. Here’s the rules, you need to:
Be at least 18 years of age.
Leave a comment, any comment, on this post.
Be hungry like the wolf. Or at least a bit peckish.
That’s it. Winner will be announced in one week’s time.
Disclosure: Duh, these folks bought ad space on my blog. This giveaway was part of our agreement. They offered me a printing credit, too, but I’m passing solely because they were nice enough to buy ad space. Makes me feel like less of a status symbol and more of a man.
While I'll tell you that I am a realist, I know what I really am.
I am a pessimist. I am a cynic. Sometimes that makes me, plainly put, an a-hole of the nth degree.
When My Love told me Cure JM Foundation was applying to be in the running for $250,000 grant through the Pepsi Refresh Project, I told her not to hold her breath. A million other organizations would be applying as well.
When word came July 1 that the application was accepted and that the world would be voting on Cure JM's proposal online, I told her not to get too excited. Only the top two vote-getters out of 278 finalists would win the quarter of a million dollars. Cure JM is a tiny, all-volunteer organization created around a disease that only 3 in a million kids are diagnosed with every year in the United States. While its base is passionate, it's minuscule, I told her.
The odds of Cure JM winning, like the odds of your child actually developing juvenile myositis, are exceptionally and astronomically poor.
I need you good folk of the Internet to do me a favor.
I need you to prove me wrong.
You need to do nothing more than go every daythis month to the Make Juvenile Myositis a Memory application page, click the "Vote for this Idea" then either vote by using your Facebook sign-in or creating a unique sign-in based on a valid e-mail address. Takes less than a minute a day to do and costs you not a cent.
If Cure JM wins, every bit of that $250,000, which represents about half of the money Cure JM normally raises in an entire year, goes either to fund research studies or to support the doctors and scientists who help children with juvenile myositis at "JM Centers of Excellence" the foundation has help set up in Chicago and Washington, D.C.
Please lend a hand -- vote daily, Tweet, Facebook, grab a widget (like the one I have at the top right of my home page) -- every little bit helps.
If not to prove me wrong, then to prove there's hope for kids like:
Parker, diagnosed at age 4
Gracie, diagnosed at age 10
Mason, diagnosed at age 17 months
and, of course, Thing 1, diagnosed age 2.5
* * *
This is the video I put together for the application. You can spot me lurking in the background of one of the last slides.
My favorite meat pushers (wow -- that didn't sound right) have authorized me to give away another load of sausage, deli meats and other products, this time by hosting a drawing on DadCentric. Entry rules are similar to what I did here last week, so get over there and comment.
Come back soon for a new post about my brush with the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Meanwhile, enjoy Hanson doing a wicked Blues Brothers imitation. Thinking 'Bout Somethin'
Sure, you love me, your humble scribe and beleaguered at-home dad, but I know where your true affections lie.
They lie on the grill.
And in the oven.
Maybe even in a crusty cast-iron frying pan, smothered in sauteed onions, peppers and artery-clogging yumminess.
Yes, my friends, you love your Hillshire Farm meat.
And you love it free.
For one whole year.
In all, you submitted more than 240 entries into my "Win the Sausage!" giveaway, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (assuming you didn't enter a similar once-in-a-lifetime affair elsewhere in the blogosphere) sponsored by the generous, intelligent and totally smoking hot folks at Hillshire Farm.
And I have sorted through them all and come up with this ...
First, some surprise "bonus" prizes so I can:
better comply with FCC regulations,
avoid problems with the IRS, and
hide the evidence of any possible sausage abuse from my doctor.
Runner-up prize No. 1: A copy of The Hillshire Farm Cookbook This 64-page, full-color paperback includes a whopping 42 meaty recipes featuring Hillshire Farm products as well as tips on cooking, grilling and entertaining. And, it goes to an entrant -- chosen at random -- who happens to be named ...
Runner-up prize No. 2: An official "Go Meat!" white apron
This must-have article of cooking attire is being awarded to the person I believed submitted the most logical, literate and honest rationale (in the form of a naughty limerick to boot!) for her winning the grand prize. Here's her entry:
There once was a woman from Weaselville
She had very sore knees due to ... (cleaning well)
A year's worth of meat
Would keep her off of her feet
And focus her efforts in pleasureville.
The apron and congratulations go to WeaselMomma!
GRAND PRIZE: A year's supply of Hillshire Farm Product(s)
The winner, chosen at random, is a Midwestern man with
a heart of gold (soon to be replaced with saturated fats) ...
Congratulations to all my winners and thanks to all of you for entering, commenting, tweeting and making not-so-thinly-veiled penis jokes. I hope the many of you who entered but are not regular readers at Always Home and Uncool will come back even when I'm not offering free animal products. Special thanks to the folks at Hillshire Farms for providing the goods.
But don't leave empty handed! Go back to my home page, read a post or two and grab a laugh.
-- The Uncool Management
* * *
Did my last post make your mouth water? I know it wasn't my scintillating writing, so it must have been the lure of ...
YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A YEAR'S SUPPLY OF HILLSHIRE FARM PRODUCTS
The lovely Liz from Hillshire's PR/marketing agency sent me an e-mail last month that:
Didn't refer to me by the wrong name or gender.
Offered a product I can actually relate to. I'm thinking Liz made the "meat for a meathead" connection, but I'm hoping it was something far dirtier yet more flattering, you sweet thang, you.
Wasn't tied-in to a worthless reality star. Yes, I know I'm being redundant.
Liz's minions (which I'm sure she has many of and she dresses them in lederhosen and St. Pauli's Girl outfits) shipped over some Hillshire Farm Beef Smoked Sausage and Polska Kielbasa, both of which survived the great Uncool Power Outage of 2010.
I was planning on making one of the recipes she also sent, but My Love got a hold of the sausage (that's what she said) and tossed it into a pot with some crushed tomatoes and a mess of red and black beans.
Simply: Oh, baby, goooooooood!
Here's what you can do to get a chance at
WINNING A YEAR'S SUPPLY OF HILLSHIRE FARM PRODUCTS
1. Leave a comment on this post by no later than 11:59 p.m. EDT, April 22, 2010. Any kind of comment will do, but if you want to entertain the judges, we do like originality, poise and the occasional naughty limerick.
2. Earn extra entries by Tweeting a link to this post (just include @homeanduncool in the Tweet so I can count it).
A winner will be selected at random onApril 23, 2010. The winner will be announced shortly thereafter so you'll need to check back.
Since a woman first declared 2010 "The Year of the Daddy Blogger" (she might also be a mom, maybe even a mommy blogger, but the use of a woman's ovaries are best left up to her own devices -- or, more precisely, the lack thereof -- so I shan't speculate further), my inbox has literally gone from zero to half a dozen PR pitches a day.
Unfortunately, most of these pitches are lame and the products and services lamer. For example:
They are about mom/woman things. I'm not talking cleaning, ironing and cooking supplies, you presumptive reverse sexists. Those are my areas in the household and there is nothing wrong about that no matter what says the Mother of All Uncoolness (hi, Mom!). I'm talking expensive jewelry for babies, confession Web sites for moms who don't have their own blogs to confess on, and items that provide, um, uh, girly freshness. Is my content that feminine? Where are the microbrewers? The makers of Blu-Ray DVD players with built-in WiFi (like the Panasonic DMP-BD85K or maybe the LG BD570 -- do you need a mailing address)? Damn it, where's my XBox360!
They are addressed to "Mr. ____." A half-point for getting my gender right. However, if you don't know my last name then don't leave it blank, you unpaid PR intern monkey. What's that? You're a VP at the company? Then hire a PR intern monkey, idiot! Geez, at least address me by my first name (hint: it's in my FAQs and my URL.) If nothing else, be a creative suck up. Starting with "Dear Mr. Well-Endowed Blogger" is not going hurt your chances around here.
They hype products tied to idiotic, overexposed "celebrities." I have written about my waistline issues but why would I give a slutty Kardashian about what type of girdle one of those reality show harlots wears to squeeze in her post-baby belly? Especially without sending me an actual slutty Kardashian to model it for me. (Note to that marketing agency: I'm partial to this one, especially in this saucy pirate outfit:
And, yes, I'll pay for the postage. Delivery only, though.)
They are about inappropriate products. I'm not talking sex toys. Those are perfectly fine between consenting adults, assuming your household contains adults (mine -- yes) who consent (meh). I'm talking items that run quite counter to my core beliefs. My favorite to date? Right after I ranted about overpriced high chairs, a company sends me an e-mail pimping not only a $600 baby stroller but some bizarro artwork some "well-known artist" did of said stroller. First, people who are well known don't need to be introduced as such. Second, what the fluck, flunky flak?
That's why I'm happy to announce an actual PR pitch worthy of this little blog that benefits me and YOU, my dear loyal readers and irregular commenters. (No, it's not a deal with Fiber One, but that also would be appropriate for our collective colons.)
Details will appear here Thursday. Tune back in then.
Meanwhile, fill me in on the most inane PR pitch you have every received. Or your favorite Kardashian. Sex toys, optional.
Today's the annual “Secret Santa Can Suck It” gift swap hosted by the ever-charming Bee of Bee's Musings. This post is about the gift I would have bought the blogger whose name I drew if we were to actually exchange gifts.
+ + +
The clerk in the burrito-stained golf shirt smiled as I approached.
“Welcome to MockFluster," he said, "home of fake movies on imaginary DVDs. How can I pretend to help you?”
“I’m looking for a gift.”
“All righty,” he said. “You are one good looking son-of-a-gun. I’d really love to see you in a paper thong.”
“Um, thanks. But the gift’s not for me. It’s for another guy.”
He looked me up and down, licked his lips and gave me a wink.
“No need to apologize to me, big fella. Get your kicks any way you like. Now, why don’t to tell me a little bit about this ‘guy’ you are not thinking about naked right now then I'll see what I can do for you.”
After a few minutes of laying out the details, the clerk nodded then walked over to a shelf a few yards from the counter. He pulled down a DVD case and returned.
“I've what you need right here,” he said, slapping the plastic case like a newborn's behind. “It’s a classic tale of a man born in Cyprus to classical concert banjoists only to be whisked away in the middle of the night by a couple of gypsy IT workers. Just like in Raising Arizona.”
“Outside of the kidnapping, that’s nothing like Raising Arizona.”
"It's also nothing like what you'd expect to see in a trailer before Kit Kitteridge: An American Girl, but crazy thing's happen in life, my friend," the clerk said. "Anyway, the gypsies take the boy to Britain. Here, they raise him like their own flesh and blood, teach him their cultural quirks and their rogue trade -- secretly installing Linux systems on personal computers. For revenge!”
“Revenge against what?” I asked.
“Microsoft. The mother gypsy once saw a photo of Bill Gates in a Speedo and it made her sterile.”
“That actually makes some sense," I said. "Go on. I'm intrigued.”
“Yep, it’s a good one, huh?” he said. “Anyway, the kid – deep down he knows he’s not one of them. Then one day, he meets a traveling kebab salesman with a lazy eye. Bam! He understands! He’s really Greek! The gypsies aren’t his parents! The Mentalist is a complete ripoff of Psych and not nearly as entertaining despite its huge ratings and Emmy nominations!”
“Damn, I knew it! Why doesn’t anyone else realize this?!”
“Too numbed by overexposure to the 16 variations of CSI and Law and Order on every other channel. But back to the fake movie," said the clerk. "Our hero runs off to Greece to try to find his one true love -- this totally hot Greek news reader chick he’s been obsessively watching online in between illegal uploads and downloads.”
“That’s perfect! What’s the name of this fake movie?”
“My Big Brit Greek Geek.”
“Awesome," I said. "But why ‘big’?”
The clerk tilted his head. He looked like I had just brought him a steaming platter of lamb chops.
"No! No! I withdraw the question," I said. "Just wrap it up, I've got to pretend get this over to Brian at his blog, Brian O Vretanos, before it's too late!"
If you have kids between ages 3 and 7 who like computer games but you are iffy on the safety and educational value of those silicon babysitters, then have I got a deal for you.
I'm giving away TWO 3-month memberships to JumpStart.com, an online virtual 3D world for kids. JumpStart.com comes from the award-winning makers of JumpStart and Math Blasters educational software.
You have two chances to win:
The first membership, which also includes a CD-ROM game "Trouble in Town" that works with the Web site, is being given away on DadCentric.com. You can read my review on JumpStart.com and enter the contest over on that site.
The second membership is exclusively for "Always Home and Uncool" readers. Just leave a comment on this post (make sure you either have an e-mail address in your comment profile or leave one in the actual comment so I can contact you if you win) and I'll pick one person at random. Deadline is Friday, July 3 at 11:59 p.m., Pacific Coast time.
Please pass this contest onto your friends via e-email, Twitter and your blogs. Thanks!
and not nearly as entertaining despite its huge ratings and Emmy nominations!”
