Why We Eat

It’s the time of year that posts are flying all over the Internet with main dish recipes and cookie recipes and appetizers that don’t require cooking recipes and make ahead dessert recipes and the world’s best ever side dishes recipes. I gain weight every day just opening my tablet.

Seriously, I am gaining weight every day. I know because I weigh myself every day. There might be a little vanity in there. After years of avoiding scales because my weight was approaching numbers usually reserved for poor credit scores it’s refreshing to step on a scale and see a number more closely associated with IQ test scores. (Not my IQ but I’m ok with that. The world needs average people too.) Anyway, I get on the scale every morning and I see a number just a little higher than the day before. Over the last week I’d say a couple of pounds higher.* And I know why.

It’s not because of all the cookie pictures Facebook. Although they certainly aren’t helping. I would go through this unexplained weight gain when I was working, specifically anytime I was about to go out on a business trip.

Regular readers with good memories and occasional readers who visited just the right posts know that back in a different day when I was working I worked for a national health care company. An extra duty as assigned was visiting other facilities to do operational reviews. Unlike McDonald’s or Wendy’s which have the same food from coast to coast, our hospitals did not share that familiarity. There were some pretty bad cafeterias in those places. So I think subconsciously when I knew I was going away I’d eat a lot. Why ever it was, I knew that whenever I was going somewhere I was going at least two pounds heavier than the week before.

So, if we are to believe that a) there are no coincidences, b) the past is a harbinger of the future, and c) I historically always use three examples, I am gaining that weight for a reason and it has nothing to do with water weight gain and/or Christmas cookies in the kitchen. I’m going on a trip! Now since I haven’t planned anything on my own and since neither my bank balance nor my credit score is sufficient to finance a trip much farther than 12 to 15 miles down the road**, somebody is giving me a vacation for Christmas!***

Boy I hope it’s somewhere where sun block is recommended.

*For those of you of the metric persuasion that “couple of pounds” would be about a kilogram if you subscribe that a pound is 2.2kg or 1kg=0.454lb. I used to know why the abbreviation for pound is “lb.” but I don’t remember right now and it’s not all that important anyway. Probably more important is if you are somewhere that requires me clarifying the relationship between pounds and kilograms, do you also require clarification of the American credit score (or debt score as some would insist)? If you do, well, there is no reasonable explanation but the lowest FICO score possible is 300. In the VantageScore system the lowest score is 501. See. No sense at all. Just like the lowest SAT score is 400 but the lowest PSAT is 320. Oh. What’s SAT? This is going to take another post. My weight approached the lowest FICO score, not the VantageScore.

**19 to 24 kilometers (We really need to universalize weights and measures.)

***Holiday (We really need to universalize English too.)

What Not To Buy

Country Living magazine recently published a list of the 29 gifts you do not want to give for Christmas. I’ll tell you up front that I disagree with 28 of them as well as the entire idea of the list.

First, why 29? That seems arbitrary. Who comes up with a Top Twenty-Nine of anything? We’re they just sitting around in the production office and tossing out things they don’t like getting while tossing back some double fortified eggnog? If you can’t be firm on a topic and declare “These are the 10 worst gifts ever!!!” why should you expect anyone to take the basket full of suggested “don’t do it” gifts with any seriousness?

NoGiftsBeyond the idea itself being of little value to normal people, the items they chose would actually make pretty wonderful gifts. Assuming you are gifting to those you care about enough to give thought and consideration to your gift giving, 28 of the 29 items could be tops on anybody’s wish list.

For example, they had to hop on the “let’s hate fruit cake bandwagon” and include the delicacy on their never ever give list. I personally like fruit cake. If you gave me a fruitcake you would go directly to top of my I Love You list. Just don’t give me one that was prepared 11 months ago in a factory that also puts out sparklers for the summer market. If you gave me a mass produced chocolate lava cake made more than 4 hours ago I would use that as a stop to prop open the front door while I threw you out on your ear. So stop knocking my decision to like fruitcake and start practicing that inclusion stuff you keep posting on Facebook!

Another item in their list of taboo tchotchkes is fitness equipment lest you send the message that your giftee is in need of some serious body work. If your friend or family member is an avid exerciser would he or she not appreciate that your share their enthusiasm for self-improvement? One of the best gifts I ever received was my fitness tracker. It provides daily encouragement to keep moving else I find myself behind a walker again. Interestingly, among their suggestions in lieu of exercise equipment is a pocket wine aerator. Now isn’t that just the perfect thing to gift to you closest drunk on the go?

I could go on 26 more times but you get the idea. Gift guides are fun because you can look at stuff out there you may never have thought of and know somebody who would be just right for this or that. But non-gift guides are just mean! They send the message that if you considered any of those items that you’re a lesser person. You know what those on your list like and appreciate. Don’t let somebody you don’t know tell you what your friends and family want!

Oh, what was the one thing on their list I would agree with being a less than thoughtful present? Toilet paper. Yep, toilet paper. Did that really have to be on a list at all? Then again, we are the culture that came up with pet rocks (still available!) and designer sweatpants (on sale now!!).

Remember, only 7 shopping days until Christmas. Happy Holidays!

(No, I don’t get any compensation from the pet rock people, Saks Fifth Avenue, designer anybody, lava cake bakeries, the Association for the Ethical Treatment of Fruitcake (EAT-Fruitcake), toilet paper, and Country Living magazine.) (Although I do subscribe to Country Living so if they want to gift me a couple years renewal I won’t argue.) (If they want to cancel me, I will argue.) (If you haven’t already figured it out, EAT-Fruitcake doesn’t really exist, at least as far as I know. That was supposed to be funny.) (Come on! I said supposed to.)

Water, Water Everywhere

There is something strange going on with water. More than usual strange. What. You don’t think water is strange? How else do explain that water can make the Grand Canyon but can’t wash peanut butter off a knife in the dishwasher? Strange!  But that’s not the kind of water strange (strange water?) I’m talking about. I have a whole different kind of strange going on.

I am a relatively sound sleeper. Years of rotating shifts, working very early hours, and being on call, while still having to function in a world that pays homage to 9-5 for basic business functions like banking and haircuts meant I had to be able to sleep through just about anything to get any kind of rejuvenating rest. Unless it was a child’s cry or a job’s beeper I slept through it. (Yes, beeper. You know the world didn’t always have cell phones. Back in the 70s if you had a job that required you to be reachable you carried a pager.) (Even if you weren’t an international drug smuggler.) It had to be the right pitch for a sound to get through to me while I was sleeping. Otherwise, I had been told, a bomb could go off next to the bed and I’d never hear it.

Well, let’s fast forward to today. The child is grown and she might still cry at night over some things but since she is about 12 miles away I won’t hear it. Usually. And the pages, whether through a beeper or later a cell phone, stopped about 3 months after I retired. (Some people were slow to get the message.) But my ability to sleep through anything is still functioning. Mostly. I can still tune out just about any external stimuli but I’m almost always awakened once during the night to….ah…..you know.

NiagraFallsEvery night I go to sleep with a bottle of water on my night stand. (You knew we’d get back to water eventually. Congratulations on hanging in there with me this far!)  I never remember drinking any of it but every morning when I get up it’s at least half empty. Not only do I never remember drinking any water, I don’t remember ever being awake during the night. (Um, unless I get up to…ah…, moving on.)

Am I a sleep drinker? Do I have such a water craving that I reach over, grab and uncap the bottle, glug away at a few ounces, replace the cap, and return the bottle to its place on the nightstand all without waking? If I didn’t have water next to me would I be sleep walking to the kitchen then sleep pouring a glass full so I could get my water fix during the night?

How does that happen? I have to figure it out. This is something I’m going to have to think on until I come up with a reasonable explanation about how I can drink and sleep at the same time. Unless it’s not me. I still haven’t solved the mystery of the open doors, drawers, and other front pieces. Perhaps with all their nocturnal activities the house fairies have now developed a need to wet their whistles.

I’d like to think I’m not so oblivious to my surroundings that I’m even missing the times that I am the one interacting with them when I quench a nighttime thirst. On the other hand, just in case it is the house fairies and they’re finally going to get around to actually working around here I want to keep them happy. If that means letting them drink my water, who am I to argue?

I certainly don’t want to make waves.

 

One Tough Cookie

Today is National Cookie Day! Those of you outside the United States please feel free to celebrate also. I am almost certain that there is nothing so subversive about cookies that would undermine any world government.

I became aware of today’s designation when I read an article in the paper last week reporting that Cinnabon selected today to release its new cookie/cinnamon bun hybrid specifically because it is National Cookie Day. Since they have outlets in about 40 other countries they must not think cookies pose a threat of international destabilization either.

Although the thought of a cinnamon bun wrapped inside a cookie (or the other way even) is intriguing (and mouthwatering to boot), it was the day designation that made me go “hmmm” when I read that piece. I could have sworn we already had a cookie day this year. A check of my official “let’s celebrate anything we can to make a buck” calendar indeed revealed December 4 as Nation Cookie Day! (exclamation added) Is there nothing we won’t celebrate? (Tolerance of opposing political views excluded.)

Already this month, if you haven’t been paying attention, you have missed Red Apple Day (Dec. 1), National Fritters Day (12/2), and Roof Over Your Head Day (yesterday). Don’t be caught tomorrow in black moccasins because Tuesday is Brown Shoe Day. Not surprisingly every day has something associated with it. Thirty six occasions (you read that right) are special interest supported days designed primarily to get you to buy something. Apparently just about anything from the aforementioned Fritters to Bicarbonate of Soda. (That comes on December 30.) (You would have thought that would have been the Friday after Thanksgiving.) (Or January 2.) (But Dec. 30? Who’s pigging out on Christmas ham for 5 days?) (I probably overuse parentheses, don’t I?)

So, if you are reading this in Morocco and want a cookie today, feel free to stop at your local Cinnabon and try out their new Frankencookie. I am almost certain you’ll be able to find one debuting there also. But if you’re concerned about inciting a riot by serving bouillabaisse on the 14th of this month because it is an American “holiday” (even though you have a better claim on it that we do), feel free to serve a tuna salad sandwich. We’ll understand. (Probably.)

CookieGuide

Games People Play

Christmas is coming. You can tell by the way TV commercials have taken their annual bend towards toys and games that most companies don’t spend money on during the year.

RaiseTheFunHasbro has taken a different approach to marketing some of their classic boxed games on their “Raise the Fun” commercial suggesting you add challenges to some of their games. I personally like the idea of Pillow Twister*. But of course that got me thinking, why stop there?

So, as I have said from time to time, since yes, I do have that kind of time, I came up with a few of my own combinations. (You should probably see ** about this next section.)

Remote Control Life: No, this game is not about telecommuting or “working from home.” It’s played like the regular Game of Life but instead of the little plastic cars you use remote control cars to navigate the game board. For bonus points you can raid the kids’ doll collections to replace the traditional stick figure-ish tokens.

Basketball Monopoly: Play progresses like regular monopoly but you can’t buy or build on any property until you successfully toss the deed through an indoor basketball hoop like you mount on the back of your office door at work. (I had thought of Real Money Monopoly but that would limit players to only movie stars and politicians, the only demographic groups that want you to believe they are just regular folk but are actually the only ones with enough money to pull off the game.)

Macaronic Scrabble: Each player constructs words in a different language.

Drone Strike Battleship: Upon completely identifying an opponent’s vessel it is sunk in an actual drone strike. WARNING: this game should be played only outdoors and with all warnings traditionally reserved for lawn darts.

Bubble Wrap Lawn Darts: Like Pillow Twister for the more adventurous set. See warning above.

Clay Pottionary:  Three dimensional Pictionary with Play-Doh.

Candy Candy Land: Candy Land with real goodies. Should not be played within 4 hours of bedtime.

Strip Mahjong: For the older crowd. Players identify a varicose vein that has been stripped each time tiles are removed from the board. (You weren’t expecting that, were you?)

* Hasbro did not pay me or anyone in my family or any close friends in cash or by other financial considerations. I just really like the idea of Pillow Twister. Being around when it was first released I have a special spot for the game. Maybe that was because I was a young teenager when Johnny Carson and Eva Gabor played it on the Tonight Show and, well….

** None of the owners of any these games paid me nothing neither. See if I ever mention them again!

Twister

Image via Global Toy News

 

Packed Man

Thanksgiving is a week away and that means that many families are preparing for their week away. All those people that come home for the holidays and the homecomings and the reunions are coming from somewhere. And that involves travelling.

I don’t travel. I only have to go about 12 miles to get home and if anyone wants to return to my nest it’s still only a dozen or so mile markers only from a different direction. No cots or sleeping bags will adorn my living room floor next week, I’ll need not make any hotel reservations to visit anyone and at the end of the day everyone can use their own pillows without having to pack them.

A friend of mine doesn’t share the same travel stress-free holiday as I and it brought up the subject of packing. And not just pillows. Although I have never had to pack to enjoy a weekend with loved ones, I have over the years packed billions and billions of times for work, leisure, both, and sometimes in retrospect, neither. And all our talk brought up memories of packing and even unpacking that I have lodged in my memories vault.

Packing for vacations was always a harder than it should be ordeal for me. I wish I could be one of those who spend a summer backpacking across Europe and actually manage to spend an entire season crossing an entire continent while surviving out of one actual backpack. I needed an entire three suiter sized suitcase (plus my allotted two carry-ons) to spend 7 days on Puerto Rico. Just for me. And I’m a guy!

You’d think that would have been easy. Swimsuit. Flip flops. Done. Pack in a day bag. Still have room for a toothbrush and some sunscreen. I had that covered. It actually went more like this.
-Swimsuit and flip flops into the case. A whole week? Just one pair of trunks? In goes another.
-If I want to walk anywhere but along the beach I don’t like flip flops. Sandals, into the case.
-Can’t have dinner in swimwear. Shorts, tropical print shirt. Times 7.
-Gotta go to a nice dinner at least once, maybe twice. Maybe more. Slacks. Nice shirts.
-One even nicer dinner. Add a blazer. Wait, now we need real shoes.
-I’ll want to go to the casino. Bond, James Bond always wears a tuxedo to the casino. I’m not Bond, James Bond. No tux. But something nicer than shorts and a t-shirt. For a few nights. Ok, all of them.
-And something for the work out room. I never use the work out rooms but just in case that means work out clothes and shoes.
-Don’t forget pajamas. Even if you don’t wear them at home you have to have them for travelling in case there’s a fire at night. Don’t forget slippers.
And that is why I have paid overweight baggage fees.

SuitcaseBusiness trips weren’t less painful. The last few years of work I traveled a lot to other hospitals to do operational reviews. These would take me one or two days each and I usually did 2 or 3 hospitals at a time so I was mostly gone for 4 or 5 days. Because these places could be located almost anywhere in the country and there are only 3 airports in the world that have direct flights between them, business travel meant more time in and between airports than at productive work. Somehow I managed to get a week’s worth of shirts and ties, laptop and files, and the requisite book, phone and flight snack crammed into one approved sized carry-on. Heavy, but within the limits of the underseat and overhead compartment areas.

No matter if it was a week-long vacation, a long weekend getaway, or the puddle jumping business treks, each time I’d check in to a hotel I’d empty my modern day steamer trunk and/or little carry-on, iron the wrinkles out of the shirts, then hang everything up and load the folded stuff into the dresser drawers. When I’d go anywhere with anyone else I’d get the questioning looks that said “what the heck are you doing?” and that included the ex who should have already known I was more than a little on the “over organized” side of things. (Does anybody else do this also or do all those hotels put in closets and dressers and provide irons and ironing boards just in case I happen to show up?)

And that’s why I’m looking forward to next week and one of the things I am thankful for. No matter where I end up for the holiday, no suitcases will be involved in the travel.

All Downhill from Here

I know I haven’t lived the most exemplary life, but even by my standards, this just isn’t fair. It’s because I still read the paper.

Yesterday’s Sunday paper, the big one for the week, the one with all the features and ads that get in your way of finding Saturday’s scores and the comics. That one. The one that published this year’s first ski report. Yeah. It’s skiing time.

I guess that shouldn’t be so shocking. It was only 14 degrees Friday night. (That’s in Fahrenheit here. Using my handy dandy conversion calculator I make it that would be -10 Celsius. Oh, that sounds even colder.) Plenty cold enough for either the natural or manufactured variety of ski powder, and there were both in the mountains. Not shocking nor unfair.

The shocking part…the price of lift tickets. Here a weekend ticket is going for better than $200. That’s not close to a weekend at say St. Regis but a far cry from the $49 that is cost when I was half my current age. But the reality is that a Big Mac has gone up over 200% in 30 years also. So, shocking but not not fair.

skier

Image by Lakeshore Learning via Pinterest

The unfair part is the discounts. I don’t mind seeing the young ones getting their 20% or so off the adult prices and that kids under 5 ski free. I applaud that they recognize that seniors might still want to tackle the slopes and give them a full half off the regular prices. That’s very fair. Especially as one pending seniordom I relish on finally collecting the perks. The unfair part is that I can’t yet and won’t for years! Why? Because their idea of senior doesn’t start at 55 with one’s newly acquired AARP card. It’s not at 60, a nice round number, or at 62 which seems to have become the new standard for discounts announced right about the time I turned 60. It’s not even 65 which is what most places will consider reasonable for a senior discount right around the time I’ll turn 62. Nope, their idea of senior is 70. Yes, if you are between 70 and 79, you can ski at any of the area ski resorts for 50% off the regular adult rate.

Oh, what happens after 79? I’m glad you asked. At 80, you can ski free. Really. If you can manage to remember where you put your skis you can use them to your hearts content. Or its stoppage, whichever comes first.

Butter Me Up

While going though yesterday’s emails I skimmed past the one “What’s in Movie Theatre Popcorn Butter,” stopped, went back, and clicked. First, DON’T click on that if you like movie theater popcorn butter. And second, this post has nothing to do with movies, theaters, or popcorn. But that does leave butter. (Which apparently is more than you can say about movie theater popcorn butter.) (Ooops.)

Christmas is coming and shortly we’ll start seeing the television commercials they only trot out at holidays. Among these are the commercials for fragrances. You would think the only time anybody bought perfume for their feminine others is at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Mother’s Day. Come to think of it, you’d probably be right. Equally right would be the only time anybody buys colognes for dads is at Christmas and Father’s Day. (I’m specifying dads here because other than dads and granddads, the chance of having a male fragrance bought for any male without guilt ridden children with no idea what to get him is basically nonexistent even at these times of year.)

Something that has changed in the last few years is that men’s fragrances now don’t stop at what one splashes on one’s face. Today the fragrance world also includes men’s favorites for room freshening.

Leather, cedar, barbecue, and bacon scented air fresheners will also be heavily advertised in print, on line, and on air next month. These are the smells men like. One fragrancier boasts air fresheners named “Hunting Lodge,” “Distillery,” and “European Sports Car.” A major chain ‘mart’ has pizza scented freshener hanging next to the dangly pine trees. You can buy candles scented as gunpowder and pipe tobacco. Turkey leg and corn dog car scents threaten to replace “new car” and “ocean breeze” for on the road freshairness.

Hot dogs and pizza, even bourbon and tobacco are good smells. Nobody can argue against the ability of the smell of bacon crisping on the stove to stimulate the salivary glands. But do you want to smell that all day. Ok, maybe you do, but I don’t. I don’t want to smell bacon or bourbon, pizza or pipes, or heather or hotdogs everywhere I go. At the same time, even though I enjoy hanging out with my sensitive side, I don’t want lavender and chamomile following me around all day either. So what do I want my living room to be to my nose? Where can in turn for some smelly inspiration?

I spent almost 40 years working in hospitals, nursing homes, and colleges. All have their own unique … um … smells yet they’re all the same. Whether outside a patient room, a dorm room, or the C-Suite conference room, there will be a mix of bad coffee, sweat, fear, and a bodily function gone wrong. No, not there.

I love to be outside. In the summer I don’t really need a house. I’ll be at the pool, on the patio or on the road. In the winter I am very happy walking through snowflakes falling from the sky on a crisp morning. In between those seasons it can be rainy and windy and ugly but it’s also the best times to put the top down and test the limits of lateral suspension cruising down a country road speeding by the new colors of spring or the waning colors of fall. The sights of the seasons may be remarkable but the olfactory memories are of chlorine, charcoal, gasoline, road salt, and abused tires and clutches. Pass.

My personal favorite scents come from the kitchen. Starting with breakfast and sizzling sausage and brewing coffee. Ripe apples cut into super thin slices stirred into yogurt dusted with fresh grated nutmeg at lunch. Dinner with fresh lemon juice and balsamic dancing in the ripping hot pan around a perfectly cooked salmon. Now here are some a-list aromas. But no. They are special. They belong in the kitchen and the dining room. Not hung from the rear view mirror.

ButterSo what manly smell would I want hanging around me all day? Remember that movie theater popcorn butter that started this meandering missive? Yeah, that one. No, not that. But it’s close. It’s butter. Real butter, but the real butter melted in a hot pan when it just hits that perfect spot after the water has sizzled out of it but the browning hasn’t started and it gives off that unexpected nuttiness that lasts just a handful of seconds. That butter.

Take that scent and put it in a candle, hang it from a mirror, or spray it all around. Heck, do all three. Even the manliest of men will stop and sniff the air and know this is the way the world is supposed to smell.

And if that doesn’t work, well there’s always the popcorn.

Timely yet Priceless

Have you changed your clock back yet? If you’re somewhere where that happens, of course. If you’re not, then you shouldn’t have, so don’t now. I’m of two minds when it comes to these twice yearly time changes. Now the two minds aren’t I like it but I don’t like it. It’s the rule so I’m going to do it and not let my personal feelings intrude on my appropriate completion of this task. Like coming to a complete stop before making a right turn on red, particularly in the face of oncoming traffic. I might not like it but it’s what we’re supposed to do and not liking it out loud isn’t going to change that.

I don’t understand why Arizona doesn’t follow Daylight Savings Time. Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, Samoa, and the US Virgin Islands don’t either but they’re isolated from the rest of the country so if they want to follow what their closest neighbors do, that makes sense. Arizona doesn’t. Oh sure, Arizonans didn’t have to wonder should I change my clock before I go to bed on Saturday or after I wake up on Sunday, but is that a fair exchange for being out of sync with their border state neighbors all summer long and tuning in for the 6:00 news an hour early for six months?

SlowClock

Anyway, my two minds are when to actually make the change. Nobody in their right mind is going to wake up at 2:00 am just to reset various timepieces. I certainly wouldn’t and I’m not necessarily that right in my mind. Besides, I not only wouldn’t but I couldn’t. I have other things to do when I change my clocks and I need to be alert which I certainly am not in the middle of the night. So that leaves the day before or the day after.

Typically I change my clocks before I go to bed. But not right before. If I waited till then I’d forget. So I change them when I think about it or hear or read a reminder. Usually that’s around 5 in the afternoon. That’s what time I changed them 2 days ago. Then for the next 6 hours I wondered every time I looked at a clock what time it really was. Since the computers and phones magically change themselves in the middle of the night I didn’t touch them. That meant that none of the clocks in the room matched the times on my cell phone and tablet which are my ever present recliner companions. And worse than that, the TV listings didn’t match the clock next to the TV. I’ve been changing my own clocks for over 40 years and I go through this dilemma twice a year every year. Next year I think I might wait until I wake up on Sunday to change them and see what happens.

By the way, tomorrow is a noteworthy if not outright special day for The Real Reality Show Blog. On November 7, 2011, I posted the first of now close to 600 posts. Except for a few months when I was in the intensive care unit at the local get well center, I got a post out every Monday and Thursday for six whole years – with an occasional off schedule day tossed in to keep you on your toes. And during all that, this amazing feat has been brought to you for nothing more than your energy to connect and your desire to read.

I want to thank you for your support and continued readership. It is only with that support that this blog is and always will be free. And worth every penny.

 

Pantsing Around

The last couple of days here have been the cold, rainy, dreary, generally not the kind of weather you want to go outside in unless you have to type of days you find when fall really turns into prep days for winter. So I’ve been practicing sitting around and relaxing since most of my days include “don’t go outside unless you have to” on the to do list.

Mostly I’ll read, write, or puzzle something out to bide my time on those inside days. Every so often I’ll turn on the television and see what I might have missed in prime time over the past few years by watching whatever new has hit the late afternoon/early evening syndication runs. I’ve discovered that I’m much too overdressed to be properly relaxed. Apparently the All-American male cannot relax with pants on. I missed that somewhere along the way.

In every sitcom on television today, there is a male character who barely crosses the threshold of his house before taking his pants off. These males range from youngster at the cusp of teendom, to teenager, to young adult, to middle aged parent, to grandfather. They are from struggling, middle class, well to do, and outright rich families from New York across America to California, of a variety of ethnic backgrounds. Their only common denominators are male-ism and being pantsless at home.

This concerns me. I never ran across this behavior in my personal experiences. I have often been in what I would otherwise consider a relaxing situation and I have always kept my pants on. I have observed other men from my own, older, and younger generations, and have never seen any of them kicked back on the sofa in boxers or briefs. Yet our television role models are dropping trou before they clear the front door. And not just in solitude. They do it and stay that way in front of wives, mothers, siblings, offspring, and on several occasions, delivery persons.

Don’t say that they’re only sitcom males and I shouldn’t be taking them seriously. Sitcoms are America. We may want to think that the hour long dramas are where Americans are really at but they aren’t. The dramas may be what we want to believe us to be. We want to be that deep, that inclusive, that concerned with the environment, current causes, and family. But we aren’t. As much as we want to be the Pearsons, deep down we know we’re really the Hecks.

Clearly I’ve been doing it wrong for a lifetime. And I’m afraid that as I’ve gotten this far in my life I’m too old to change and will continue relaxing with all of my clothes on. I know, I’m bucking convention here but I can’t see myself any other way. And I sincerely hope it doesn’t offend any of you to know that as I’m typing this, I’m wearing pants.