The best TV dads since the beginning of time

I know, I know—another list. And this one is highly subjective, so please feel free to add to, subtract from, or destroy this list entirely.

Since we're approaching the Father's Day exit from this interstate freeway called life, I've decided to compile my top ten television dads. After closely examining each of these characters, I've discovered traits which I consciously or subconsciously acquired from these guys, for better or worse. Here goes.

10) George Bluth—The patriarch of the highly dysfunctional family of Arrested Development, the man is dishonest and self-centered, yet endearing nonetheless. Hmm, didn't I just say I've managed to acquire his traits? Got to rethink that one.

9) Herman Munster—Why is it that most TV dads are bumbling yet lovable? Herman definitely fits both categories. He means well, but always manages to screw up somehow. That one definitely hits home.
I've got a theory that John Kerry's striking resemblance to him may have cost Kerry the 2004 election.

8) Frank Constanza—Serenity now!

7) Ozzy Osbourne—He taught me that mumbling can get you through some tough spots. Embrace your hidden mumbler.

6) Howard Cunningham—He steadily held a firm grip on his composure, even during the later years of Happy Days, when Chachi sported a mullet during what was supposed to be the early 1960s.

5) Cliff Huxtable—I've always aspired to parent like Cliff. He could impose punishments on his kids in such a humorous way that they'd be wiping tears from their eyes as they began cleaning the oven.

4) Fred Flintstone—I'm hoping some day we'll see an adult version of this cartoon, where Fred and Betty Rubble get a little prehistoric in the parking lot of the Water Buffalo Lodge.

3) Mike Brady—If he were a baseball player, he'd have batted 1.000. Mike was the anti-Herman Munster, since he didn't screw up...ever. I'm not sure what the point of this photo is, but there's some definite long, waxy chemistry between those two.

2) Ward Cleaver—Also nearly flawless, Ward rarely got ruffled. He never appeared hungover or in need of a shave, and whenever June was concerned about the Beaver, he was up to the task.

1) Homer Simpson—As much as we dads may hate to admit it, we've all got some Homer in us. Who hasn't, after gazing at the ad for that mouth-watering new sandwich by KFC, muttered, "Mmmm...Double Down."





Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. Yabba Dabba Doo!

When it comes to our kids, how much freedom is too much?

To the great relief of many of us, 16-year-old Abby Sunderland has been located and rescued.

She had been attempting to sail solo around the world in her craft, Wild Eyes, when, during a storm in the southern Indian Ocean, a rogue wave knocked out her mast and satellite telephone connection. An emergency beacon signaled her approximate whereabouts, but it nonetheless required a valiant effort by an Australian jet pilot to locate her disabled vessel.

Naturally, the fallout from Abby's brush with tragedy has included a lot of judgments about whether or not her parents are negligent, much less insane, for allowing their young daughter, a lifelong mariner, to take on such a dangerous and daunting mission.

Every parent struggles with the amount of freedom to give a child. We may not be wrestling with their circumventing the globe, but the challenges are still constant.

And it begins when they're so young. Do I unharness my infant from her car seat, which requires a lot of torque on the old man's back, and take her back in the house with me as I retrieve her diaper bag, or do I leave her sitting in the car for an unsupervised twenty seconds? Do I let my eight-year-old set up a lemonade stand, where I look out front every five minutes, but not constantly? Do I let my thirteen-year-old ride public transportation with a friend?

I've decided not to answer these questions, since every parent owns a unique set of tolerance levels in his or her decision-making tool box. It's so easy to judge other parents when something terrible happens to a child, but there's such a fine line between overprotectiveness, which can leave children ill-equipped for adult life, and too much freedom, which leaves them at risk.

Children can also be treated differently based upon order of birth. As Bill Cosby once said, "When the first-born child drops his pacifier, the parent disinfects it in boiling water. When the second-born drops his, the parent rinses it off and returns it. When the third-born drops his binky, the parent just kicks it back to him."

So many decisions, and no owner's manual.

They obviously watch too much TV

Our kids have decided, for the third consecutive summer, not to watch television while school is out. My wife and I fully support their decision, since most of what's offered on the cretin cube is nothing but pixy stix for the gray matter. Sports and movies are exempt from the moratorium.

We suggested another television-free summer to our offspring after overhearing one of their conversations a couple of weeks ago, recording it, and playing it back for them. Here is the transcript, with footnotes:

Older daughter: I think maybe we've been watching too much TV. Not that there's anything wrong with that. (1)

Younger daughter: Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, (2) Zoe? 

Older daughter:  Whoa (3),  just relax, Lauryn. We can start up again in the fall.

Younger daughter: Well isn't that special? (4) Actually, I guess it worked out pretty well when we were on a break. (5)

Older daughter: Yep. And when I talked to Mom about it, that's what she said. (6)

Younger daughter: It's so tempting, though. What if I get caught watching Hoarders or Sixteen and Pregnant?

Older daughter: I guess you'll have some 'splainin' to do. (7)

Younger daughter: I've already got it figured out. I'll just say something like, "I'm just checking to make sure the remote still works." Yeah, that's the ticket. (8)

Older daughter: And if Mom asks me what I know about it, I know nothing. (9)

Younger daughter: I don't think you'll have to worry about it. Mom's an ignorant slut. (10)

Older daughter: Excuse me! (11) If she ever heard you say that, that would be it. No soup for you! (12) By the way, why are you clutching your Barbie so tightly?

Younger daughter: Because they killed Kenny. (13)

Older daughter: Okay, stifle it. (14) I hear someone coming.

Younger daughter: That was close. They almost heard us. Missed it by that much. (15)

I think we're making the right decision.

Television show glossary:
(1) Seinfeld
(2) Different Strokes
(3) Happy Days
(4) Saturday Night Live
(5) Friends
(6) The Office
(7) I Love Lucy
(8) Saturday Night Live
(9) Hogan's Heroes
(10) Saturday Night Live
(11) Saturday Night Live
(12) Seinfeld
(13) South Park
(14) All in the Family
(15) Get Smart

Buyer beware. Unless you really want it.

I overheard my fifteen-year-old daughter complaining the other day.

She was upset at paying $1.29 for a single song, purchased through that unnamed digital music juggernaut which rhymes with "my prunes." My solution to her dilemma, which she didn't heed, was to simply not buy the song, recorded by a teenage boy who looks like he held a blow dryer the size of a jet engine against the back of his head for a full fortnight.

This whole extreme price mark-up situation left me wondering: which consumer products contain the largest profit margins? Thanks to the miracle that is the world wide interweb, I had my answer within seconds. A site named toptenz.net compiles top ten lists through various, diverse sources.

The ten largest price mark-ups among consumer goods (profit margins) are as follows:

10) Cosmetics—Alarming, I know, but I found a compromise. I only use eyeliner now, and sparingly at that, applying a dark brown eye pencil to press a series of small dots between my lashes, along the lash line. It's a way I can accentuate my earthy prettiness, while keeping frugal.

9) Bottled water—Come on, people, water is water is water. Sure, it's got a cool bottle, but a rump roast in a tuxedo is still just a rump roast.

8) Greeting cards—But really, isn't it worth the price when you find a good one?

7) Mattresses and furniture—This is why now, more than ever, it's time to say yes to the beanbag chair.

6) Restaurant wine and soda—Two words: Beer, please.

5) Brand name clothing—How true this is. Many of us are familiar with a line of designer denim named 7 For All Mankind. with an average price point of around $160 for a pair of jeans. A more accurate name, without much reworking, would be For .007% of All Mankind.

4) Jewelry/diamonds—We all know that anniversaries are marked by paper or silver or gold, but is there one for lead? Because lead jewelry is really reasonably priced. I plan on splurging for that one.

3) Glasses frames—I suppose this is true, but do these frames look expensive?

2) Movie theater food— This used to be an issue, until I perfected a method for putting an entire Red Baron combo pizza in my tube sock.

1) Prescription medication—Obviously, that whole "see your doctor if it lasts more than four hours" thing is just a calculated tactic for guys to get more bang for their buck.

Now that we know these rip-off categories, don't you feel more prepared against future exploitation? Well, gotta go. Haven't had my Starbucks yet.

Real men do makeup

A frequent subject of my posts is schools—teachers, kids, the gym, the cafeteria, that smell in the hallway that only a well-worn school possesses and can't be duplicated.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to take in all that fantastic ambience yet again, serving a shift in the cafeteria as a face painter at the annual Arbor Heights Elementary School carnival.

I love this job. It's part of a huge production put on by the PTA, complete with bouncy houses, dunk tanks, cupcake walks, hot dogs and games where everyone's a winner. My station was situated at a strategically advantageous location, right next to the cotton candy. Kids can smell that stuff from further away than cadaver-sniffing bloodhounds, so I had an instant customer base.

Most of the kids were shy at first; it can be a little daunting gazing over at some middle-aged dude with earrings and eight colors of paint, ready and eager to tag your face. With this in mind, I tried to be as un-intimidating as possible. Here's an example:

Me: "Hi, do you want your face painted?"
Six-year-old girl: (no response)
Me: "I can paint a cat or a butterfly or a rainbow or a flower or something else."
Six-year-old girl: (no verbal response—tentative head nod—quickly walks over and sits down)
After she sits in the customer chair, she requests the final item on the list I rattle off, which usually happens with the smaller kids. This is why I try to make the last example a sunshine or peace sign, as opposed to, say, a replica of God giving Adam life on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

I always feel a little sorry for the first couple of kids, because I inevitably experience a slight learning curve. Face painting is a lot like bowling—your first game is terrible, your second and third are pretty decent and then back to terrible in the fourth and final game.

Adding to the challenge a bit, my first customer was a little autistic boy, who was a fantastic guy; he just moved around a lot. I felt like I was painting a cat's face on someone while surfing. His face ended up being the most heavily painted, just because I kept trying to compensate for errant paint streaks and balance out each side of the moving target. Finally, he ended up looking like a cat, and his dad told me he was really surprised that the boy sat still for as long as he had. It was really nice to see the young man look into a mirror and smile.

Before long, the line was about five or six kids deep. Usually, trends would develop, like eight consecutive butterflies or four sunny faces, but some kids wouldn't be swayed by fads:
"Can I have a dolphin?" It looked more like a penguin.
"Can you paint some red lips on my cheek?" I painted lips on the cheek of a thirty-five-year-old woman.
"I want to be in Blue Man Group." This didn't really happen, but it would have been fun.

I was spelled when someone arrived to take the second face painting shift, but it would have been really fun to keep going. The kids were so patient and funny.

And just for a little show-and-tell, here's some of my work on a group of four friends:

I think they were fifth graders.

To my dad on his birthday

The following are fictional discussions, based upon actual events.

Conversation between a five-year-old boy and his dad, while riding in a white, 1965 Chevrolet Bel Air station wagon:
"Dad, why do you always let me shave with you, and put shaving cream all over my cheeks and let me use your extra razor without a blade, and then splash after shave on my face?"
"Well, I just don't want you to grow up to be one of those hippies. Actually, that's just something dads do with their sons."

Conversation between an eleven-year-old boy and his dad, while riding in a royal blue, 1974 Chevrolet Vega station wagon:
"Dad, why are you reading books to learn about soccer, just so you can coach my team?"
"Son, that's just the first step. I'm also practicing a Scottish accent, so I can have some credibility out there. Actually, that's just something dads do with their sons."

Conversation between a fifteen-year-old boy and his dad, while riding in a red, 1976 Ford Granada sedan:
"Dad, why did you sit through that entire track meet, only to watch me trip and fall over two of the five hurdles?"
"Well, it was worth it to see how great your form was on the three that you cleared. And that's just something dads do for their sons."

Conversation between a 21-year-old boy and his dad, while riding back to college in a metallic blue, 1983 Volkswagen  pick-up:
"Dad, why are you sacrificing so much putting me through college?"
"It's not a big deal. I've always wanted a paper route. Actually, it's just something dads do for their sons."

Conversation between a 47-year-old boy and his dad, while riding in the son's sapphire blue, 2003 Kia minivan:
"Dad, why do I love playing with my kids, teaching them how to vacuum, buying them popsicles when they're sick and creating the best ponytails humanly possible?"
"It's just something dads do for their daughters."

Dad, you've taught me so much, these examples don't even scratch the surface. Happy birthday.

Purchase a ticket to yesterday's game? Count me in

Our culture just keeps on one-upping itself.

Last Saturday, Roy Halladay of the Philadelphia Phillies pitched Major League Baseball's twentieth perfect game versus the Florida Marlins. Obviously, this was a rare accomplishment, and those who witnessed it were almost as fortunate as lottery winners.

Just over 25,000 attended the game, played at the Marlins' home field, Sun Life Stadium, in Miami, resulting in approximately 15,000 unsold tickets. Typical of most profit-maximizing Major League franchises, the management of the Marlins seized on a rare opportunity and offered the remaining tickets to the already-played game for sale to the general public...at face value.

Three words: only in America. Where else can sheer desire for profit compel an organization to sell tickets to an event which already happened, to people who didn't see it? Our society really knows how to squeeze every last drop of value out of an opportunity, thereby devaluing the entire commodity in the long run.

Remember when bobble heads were kind of novel and cool? We collected them as kids, and they all looked the same. No more. Bobble heads have become an industry, compelling people to line up at the ballpark three hours early just to grab the promotional chachka for future re-sale on EBay. This season, the Seattle Mariners are holding three separate Ken Griffey, Jr. bobble head nights—three—just for him. I'm hoping at least one will show the head rotating sideways only, otherwise known as the "Strike Three Bobble head."

Corporations aren't the only culprits in promulgating over-the-top valuation. Just look at activities in which our children are involved, like T-Ball. At the end of the season, they get trophies the size of small lawn mowers. I was lucky to get a tick tack and a pat on the fanny.

When our kids attend a birthday party, they return home with more stuff than they receive on their own birthdays, often resembling Oscar night gift baskets. Our son or daughter bursts through the door, shouting, "Dad, I bowled a 250 today." I have to be excited, because what jerk of a dad would respond, "So what. You had those lame kid bumpers." Not me.

If our society acclimates itself to this type of overvaluation, by the time our kids are adults, the Olympics will award, rather than gold, silver and bronze—gold, super gold, and super awesome sparkly gold medals. The Vice President will become the President, and the President will be the President With Benefits.

Children will no longer be asked to pick up their nasty, used Kleenex tissues off the couch cushions. Nope, they'll be gently reminded to gather up their "protein-enriched nasal hygiene strips."

Then again, maybe not. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to install my "my kid is an honor student" mud flaps.