Knock! Knock!

For the third time this week, I have found myself in a single-person public restroom, door locked, conducting my business, when someone attempts to open the door, discovers it locked, and then knocks. Who are these people?

When you encounter a restroom door that is locked, what goes through these moron’s heads?

I wonder who is in there.

Maybe he will let me join him.

Perhaps he isn’t aware that I am waiting, despite the clear jiggling of the door handle.

Knocking is fun.

In response to these morons and their idiotic knocking, I have officially adopted a new policy that I have been using for more than a year, much to my delight.

In response to the doorknob-rattle-followed-by-knocking, I respond to the knock in a clear, loud voice, stating the first and most ridiculous thing that comes to mind. Phrases like:

Hark! Who goes there? Tally-ho my good man! Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin! Tis MacDuff, come to find King Duncan slain!

Last night I used, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!” and I could hear the giggles on the other side of the door.

Last week, while dining in Cosi, I used, “The truth shall set you free!” which also managed to get a laugh.

And thus life has become a little more fun for me.

Name your kid after me or don’t. No middle ground.

I don’t understand people who think that naming their child after a grandparent or other relative only requires the use of the first letter in the name. “My son’s name is Mason. He’s named after his great uncle Mortimer.”

“We’re naming her Piper after my grandmother Patty-Sue.”

There are people who abide by this logic. A lot of them.

I once met a woman named Cara who claimed to be named after her grandmother, Clara. I wanted to tell her that if her parents really wanted to name her after her grandmother, they would’ve stuck the L onto her name and called it a day.

Instead they hedged their bets and honored no one.

Please allow me to go on the record as saying that if any of my future relatives or friends plan to name their children after me (and one almost did once), the child’s name had damn well better be Matthew. If they plan on naming the kid Marcus or Myron or Milroy in my honor, they might as well bestow this meaningless and insignificant honor upon someone foolish to buy into this nonsense.

Because I ain’t.

Foolish guarantee

I was watching a home improvement show yesterday.  The designer and contractor were explaining to a homeowner that granite was an excellent choice for a kitchen countertop because “it will never go out of style.”

This seems like quite a bold assertion, particularly considering that granite only gained widespread popularity in recent years. If its style was truly eternal, why weren’t people installing it in their kitchens and bathrooms thirty years ago?

How many times has some poor sap heard these same words from a contractor or designer?

You can’t go wrong with wallpaper. Look at that floral pattern. It’ll never go out of style.

Shag rugs. Classic beauty and almost impossible to wear out.

Why not try sponge painting? It’s both trendy and chic.

What’s the first thing that people remove after buying a home today?

Wallpaper and carpeting, followed closely by the elimination of the God-awful sponge painting which currently adorns two of our rooms.

The senior editor of Fine Home Building agrees.

Quarterbacks are jerks

Imagine that you are an offensive lineman, 360-pounds, crouched down into a three-point stance, ready to explode on the snap count. Your knees are sore from years in the trenches and your elbow is aching from the hit you took from the defensive lineman ten minutes ago. Even if you were fully healthy, it ain’t easy crouching into a three-point stance when you are nearly 400-pounds. You’ve been in your crouch for eight seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds, and then you see the play clock run out.

You stand up and look behind you, only to see the quarterback, the face of the franchise, the team’s highest paid player, the 220-pound pretty-boy who only has to stand upright and bark out orders prior to the play. He’s thirty yards up field, heading towards the sideline, having called a timeout about twelve seconds ago but never bothering to tell you.

I see this every week in the NFL, including last week’s preseason games. The quarterback calls a timeout and walks away from the five or six guys who are charged with saving him from a weekly dose of bone-rattling concussions, leaving them crouched on the ground, bent over, facing down a drooling, mouth-breathing defensive lineman.

If I were the center or one of those beefy guards, I’d walk over to the sidelines and kick the quarterback’s ass. Have the decency to let your team know that a timeout has been called, damn it.

Really bad band names

I’ve always been fascinated with band names and they way in which they are created. For example, here are three bands that I’m currently listening to and the derivation of each name:

Vampire Weekend derived it’s name from the lead singer’s film of the same name. Admittedly a strange name for a band, but a memorable one.

Arcade Fire, according the great and powerful Wikipedia, reportedly got its name from an actual fire in an arcade. Sort of. When asked about this story, lead singer Win Butler replied, "It's not a rumor, it's based on a story that someone told me. It's not an actual event, but one that I took to be real. I would say that it's probably something that the kid made up, but at the time I believed him."

A good name despite the convoluted explanation. Don’t you think?

Bright Eyes gets its name from a 1934 Shirley Temple film that lead singer Conor Oberst watched on Turner Classic Movies in which the protagonist calls his love interest "Bright Eyes" as a term of endearment.

I like this story. The name Bright Eyes isn’t as memorable or unique as Arcade Fire or Vampire Weekend, but it’s not bad, either. I like it.

Bad band names are another story. I often wonder why some bands are capable of coming up with such interesting and memorable names while others don’t seem to try at all.

For example, check out this list of local bands appearing at a club in Madison, CT.

image

I don’t think there’s a good name in the bunch, and a few are downright stupid.  I’m never a fan of bands simply named after their lead singer (The Dave Matthews Band, for example), but on this list, they are the best of the bunch.

Except for Langley Project. After the Alan Parsons Project and the John Tesh Project, haven’t we had enough projects?

Check out some of the names that aren’t named after the lead singer:

What Up Funk Rock Bottom Bud Bottleneck and CD

What kind of intriguing story could explain the creation of these gems?

What Up Funk. I actually found this band online. They refer to themselves on their website as What Up, What Up Funk, and The What Up Funk Band.

This is a problem.

They also write only in CAPS and use phrases as “LAST FREAKEND WAS ONE TO REMEMBER…” I also learned that their albums are named “As Funky As U Wanna B” and “Soulfunkful,” so it’s clear that this band has a problem with names.

I also found Rock Bottom online. Their homepage reads:

Sorry for the site problems!!! My computer crashed!!! We are now back on line!! The band has been practicing hard and working on some new music...see you soon at the next couple of shows!!!

Rock Bottom (Bryan, Jeff, Damin, Matt, and Greg)

At least the name appears to fit. Right?

Bud Bottleneck and CD have no website. I was not surprised. I’m guessing that they derive their name from something like this:

My name is Stew Johnson but I gave myself the name Bud Bottleneck because it makes people think of beer, and then they drink more, which makes us sound better. And Marty Finklestein, my lead guitarist, took the stage name CD so people will think of CDs and buy our CD. Great marketing, eh?

But the worst of all is The Rockaholics, a name that I would expect a ten-year old to invent for their band, only to be warned that the name is so close to to the word alcoholics (and just so stupid) that it should probably be avoided.

But no. I found this band online as well, and apparently they are actually playing up the addiction theme. Their homepage reads:

rockaholic (rah - ke - hôl - ik) n. - 1. a person affected with a rock and roll addiction; 2. one who rocks out habitually and to excess or who succumbs to rockaholism. pl. - Rockaholics, The. a hard hitting Connecticut based band that serves up an intoxicating blend of the best rock & roll from the 60's 70's 80's and 90's!!! The Rockaholics... Get addicted!

A couple items of note:

Check out the pronunciation guide to their name. If you were to actually use it, you would be pronouncing the name incorrectly. According to their pronunciation, rockaholic should be pronounced rockehholic.

I also adore the use of the triple exclamation point, always a sign of professionalism.

I know. All this seems kind of mean, and it is. These guys and girls are musicians, working hard and trying to entertain audiences, and nit-picking their websites and their extensive use of CAPS is petty and cruel.

But if they had given their band a decent name, I wouldn’t be doing this.

Maybe Toughskins and parachute pants will make a comeback, too

I am pleased to report that there is a new trend in town, and it goes against everything that I despise about the fashion industry. Scientific American reports that researchers surveying California consumers found that people who are seriously well-off are willing to pay a premium for items whose branding is more discreet.

In short, these are people who are willing to pay more to leave the logo off the item.

Can you imagine?

A Coach bag that isn’t plastered with the letter C? How will anyone know how much money I spent on this bag?

A pair of Gucci sunglasses without the brand name scrawled on the side?  Someone might think that I bought these at a kiosk in the mall!

A polo short without a stupid little alligator sewn onto the breast? How will anyone know that I am a person of value and worth?

As a man whose wardrobe is nearly free of any outward logo or label (I’ve yet to find a pair of well-made athletic sneakers without a logo, and a few pairs of my gym shorts might also be so adorned), I find this news incredibly refreshing.

It’s my secret hope that this new fashion trend will become so popular that the closets bursting with labeled and logoed clothing that stretch across America and have cost so many people a near fortune to assemble will become utterly worthless, the fashion equivalent of Toughskins, parachute pants and Enron stock. Imagine a vast wasteland of overpriced, brand-named merchandise that’s very ownership confirms the mealy mouthed, shallow-minded, sweaty desperation of its status-seeking owner.

Heaven, perhaps?

The thought that the nonsense of high school fashion demands would end in high school was something that I (and Bowling for Soup) gave up on long time ago.

Today I have been given hope.

A little consistency, please?

A few years ago, I was introduced to the fabulousness of this.

The only problem with this device is that no one can agree on a name. The list of names that I have personally heard used for this device includes:

Flash drive
Jump drive
Memory stick
Memory key
USB drive
Pocket drive
Pen drive
Thumb drive

I don’t care what name we decide upon (though thumb drive, pen drive and memory stick strike me as especially stupid), but can we just all agree on one?

Short-sightedness

Occasionally I make the mistake of thinking about my friends’ needs ahead of my own. Rarely does it work out well. About a month ago, I suggested that my friend launch his own landscaping business after he successfully tamed the small-growth forest in my backyard and replaced it with a a lawn. I provided him with information on an insurance company, wrote a testimonial for his webpage, took photos of my brand new lawn and ensured him that starting a small business would not be difficult.

Then he went ahead and did it, and over the last couple of weeks, his business has taken off.

I was happy for him and thrilled with his success until yesterday, when I needed a golfing partner and he wasn’t available because his day was filled with landscaping work.

He used to always be available to golf. Ready on a moment’s notice. Anxious to meet me at the course. Willing to play nine, eighteen or anything in between. Walking or riding.

A couple weeks ago, while everyone was hunkering indoors, enjoying their air conditioning, we played in 103 degree heat, opting to walk the course rather than take the cart.

Now he’s too busy to hit the links on a regular basis, leaving me struggling to find another person to play with in the middle of the day.

I’m happy that he’s finding success in his business and earning some extra income, but I’d much rather have him poor and available than flush with cash and always busy.

See what I mean? Altruism often benefits others, but is does nothing but create problems for the altruistic.

Only in corporate America

I was sitting in Red Robin yesterday, waiting for my wife to arrive. Beside me, spread across two tables that had been pushed apart, was the cartoon map of a Red Robin restaurant. A manager, a middle-aged man with a perpetually furrowed brow, and a younger, more affable corporate wonk were placing cards on the map. At first I was confused, unable to discern the purpose of this exercise, and then the corporate wonk spoke.

“Here at Red Robin, we can only treat our guests as well as we treat ourselves. Look at the map and find examples of team members working together and helping one another out.”

I stole a glance at the map and realized that the cards that had been placed represented cartoon people in various locations in the restaurant. The manager examined the map, looked back at the wonk, and then back down on map. I am certain that he was thinking the same thing as me:

Are you kidding me? Whose stupid idea was this? Why not just look around the real restaurant and find examples of teamwork instead of playing this insane version of Restaurant Monopoly.

Instead of saying this, he replied, “Well, I guess these two people are helping to clear a table, and these two guys are stacking bun racks. But I don’t know why that would ever take two people.”

Elysha was about fifteen minutes late, giving me plenty of time to watch this tortured manager read aloud Customer Response Cards, Unexpected Situation Cards, and similar board game paraphernalia.

“Here’s a family of nine,” the wonk said, placing nine cardboard people on the board.  “Including three infants.  How do you accommodate them?”

The manager began to describe his solution, but three words into his explanation, the wonk said, “No.  Show me on the board.  Move your pieces.”

The manager and I both rolled our eyes simultaneously. 

In the corporate office of Red Robin, some executive had decided that playing this game with restaurant managers was a good way of improving leadership skills, customer interactions, and overall management expertise.

Based upon my years of experience managing a McDonald’s, I can assure you that whatever idiot dreamed up this idea never actually managed a Red Robin restaurant in his or her life.

I felt bad for the manager, who clearly found this exercise as futile and foolish as me. At one point, I almost said something to the wonk, who was either too stupid or too brainwashed to realize the lunacy of this experience. But I refrained. If I’ve learned anything about restaurants in my many years of management experience, it is this:

Don’t insult an employee who may have access to your meal at some point.

Besides, the whole situation was highly entertaining.

Stupid tee shirt made stupider

I saw a woman in the gym today with a tee-shirt that read: A friend will help you move…

Then on the back of the tee-shirt, it read:

But a real friend will help you move a body.

Of course, in order to read the back of her shirt, I had to dismount my elliptical machine, feign the need for a drink of water at the fountain and pause beside a support column in order to read it.

I’m not quibbling with the message on the shirt, as inane as it may be, but I have a problem with the idea of splitting a tee-shirt message onto the front and back of a shirt, necessitating almost stealth-like maneuvers in order to read the punch line.

Or worse, causing the wearer of such witticisms to ask, “Did you see my tee-shirt?  Did you see the back? Wait for it…” Then he or she performs an awkward pirouette, followed by another question. “Get it?”

Yeah, I got it. You’re shirt is stupid.

The first table is merely a suggestion.

The fact that I cannot walk into a restaurant full of empty tables and simply choose the table that I want baffles me. I understand that when the joint is jumping and customers are waiting, you will be assigned to a table of the hostess’s choice. But on a Tuesday night at 6:00, I should be able to walk in, scan the restaurant, and say, "I’ll take that booth over there” rather than hoping for my desired table. Am I wrong?

Thankfully, I am married to a woman who operates under this assumption every day. Elysha considers a hostess’s offer of a table as a mere suggestion, the first in what will likely be an upgraded location. She has no qualms about requesting a new table and does so with a kindness and grace that never fails to charm the restaurant employee.

Recently I was out with friends, six of us all together, and a hostess stuffed us all into a booth when a perfectly good rounded corner booth with extra room was available. Using Elysha’s methods, I quickly had us moved to a more comfortable spot, much to the amazement of my friends, some who had clearly been accepting table assignments like sheep for most of their lives.

But I still would like to be able to walk into a restaurant, point to a table, and say, “That one. I don't give a damn if it seats eight. I’ll be able to watch the Yankees game while pretending to hang on my wife’s every word.”

Top 3 blogger on this blog

A friend of mine recently started doing business with one of the “Top 3 dermatologists in New York City.” There is a select breed of person in this world who loves to assert that their doctor/lawyer/psychologist/tanner/lion tamer is one of the top three in their respective craft in their respective city.

I hear this expression all of the time.

“You must call this dermatologist. She’s one of the top three in her field.”

“He’s the top plastic surgeon in the state.”

“She’s the number one dental practitioner in the city.”

“He’s the best lion tamer on the North American continent. I promise that the lion won’t eat you.”

But what makes a doctor or a dentist (or a lion tamer) the tops in his or her field?

Most patients? Most profit? Happiest patients? Healthiest patients? Fewest dead patients? Highest rating by Zagat?

It seems that depending on the criteria, there could be a dozen or more “Top 3” professionals in any field in any city.

Furthermore, it seems as if the patients and customers of these Top 3 professionals derive more satisfaction from these arbitrary and impossible-to-prove distinctions than the professionals themselves. It's as if associating oneself with a Top 3 professional means that you are a Top 3 patient, and by mentioning your Top 3 patient status, you become a Top 3 referrer, thus conferring upon yourself some bizarre illusion of status.

It’s a ridiculous, relatively meaningless distinction that should be refuted as such whenever declared.

Questionable restroom language

For those of you who don’t pay attention to details, you may have missed the messages that frequently inundate us while using a public restroom. Recently I noticed that Sanor System, a Rochester Midland product, flaunts the slogan Clean Restrooms Happy People on the urinals and toilets that it helps to keep clean.

This seems rather hopeful and overly optimistic, don’t you think?

I’m not buying it. Personally, a clean restroom and the level of my personal satisfaction are hardly simpatico.

But my favorite restroom message is on the rubber pads that you find inside a urinal. While their purpose still evades me, some of these companies think it’s a great idea to place public service announcements on these pieces of rubber, since the urinal admittedly enjoys a captive audience.

The Swisher corporation is the most prolific in this regard.

The result is me urinating on slogans like Don’t Do Drugs.

Literally. It’s almost unavoidable.

Am I the only one who sees the irony of this situation?

It's fine to be a slightly insane parent. Just don't pretend that you're not.

I have friends whose daughter slept in a tiny bed at the foot of their own bed until she was five years old. Today that little girl is eight years old and is finally sleeping in her own room, but it took a long time to get there. Probably not the best way to raise a child (by my friend’s own admission), but more common than you might think.

When my friend and his wife used to talk about this odd sleeping arrangement, they would say things like, “We know that we’re crazy for putting her bed in our bedroom,” and “This is not the best example of parenting in the world.”

His wife was fond of saying, “I’m a great Mom, but I’m also a terrible Mom.”

I have another friend who is hell-bent of keeping his daughter away from television and movies for as long as possible. When his daughter attended a birthday party recently and he learned that a movie was shown as part of the entertainment, he was upset for not being warned about it beforehand by the parents of the birthday girl. When I suggested that the parents probably and rightfully assumed that all nine-year old kids are cleared for watching movies like Shrek and Toy Story, he acknowledged this fact and his own extremism. When he talks about his desire to keep his daughter away from all forms of media, he says things like, “I know that we’re super over-protective about TV and movies, but we can’t help it,” and “I realize that we're on the farthest end of the bell curve when it comes to keeping media away from our kids.”

How wonderful it is to hear from parents who are willing to acknowledge that they are a little crazy when it comes to their kids.

There are many, many parents in this world who could learn from these bits of parental wisdom. We all know that the birth of a baby and the subsequent  eighteen years or more of parenthood can make some people crazy.

Most people, in fact.

For some parents, they lose their minds immediately, becoming obsessed with their child’s safety and terrified of every possible danger lurking in their child’s path.

Others are so nervous that they suddenly find the prospect of leaving their child with a babysitter impossible until the kid has entered puberty.

Others attempt to relive their youth through the lives of their children, often in tacky and embarrassing ways.

Others adhere to feeding and napping schedules as rigorous and inflexible as US Army standards.

Still others ignore many commonly accepted notions of parenting and place their little one in front of a television before the kid is six-months old.

Some despise daycare. Some become health food nuts. Some become obsessed with every food item that enters the kid’s mouth. Some allow their children to wreck the house on a daily basis, and others send their toddler outside unsupervised. Some wipe their kids down with antimicrobial wipes four times an hour and other only dress their children in organic cotton.  Some stick a pitching wedge in the hands of their two-year old in hopes of nurturing a future golf prodigy.

My point is that we all know that parenthood can make a perfectly rationale person act completely irrational. For one of my friends, this has meant sleeping in the same room with his daughter for longer than most would consider normal or even advisable. For another, it means that he may be highly overprotective of his daughter, particularly in terms of the media that she consumes.

Are they completely irrational? No, but they are closer to irrationality than others.

But that is their right. And who knows? These methods might prove to be the absolute best means of parenting ever.

But both sets of parents do something that few parents ever manage to do:

They acknowledges the possibility that their style of parenting is at least outside of the norm.

Wouldn’t it be nice if every possibly irrational parent would do the same?

Wouldn’t it be a hell of a lot easier to accept and embrace the parent who says:

Look. I know it’s crazy, but I will not allow my 12-year old to cross the street without me. It’s just the way it’s going to be.

Or how about:

Yes. The research says that a child should not watch television before the age of two, and I know that large-scale consumption of television is detrimental to learning, but I am putting a television in my kid’s bedroom anyway, because that’s the way I was raised and it worked for me. I know it sounds a little crazy, but it’s what I’m going to do.

Or:

I drive my kid to school every day because I don’t allow my child to be in a vehicle with anyone but me driving. I know it’s a little nuts, but it’s what I need to do to feel that my child is safe. 

These are the people who I understand. These are the parents who I can embrace wholeheartedly.

Parenting can make you crazy. I understand.

It’s the parents that pretend that their irrational style of parenting is normal, mainstream, and beyond question who make me insane. The ones who are instantly offended by the furrowing eyebrow, the doubting look or the helpful suggestion of friends or family upon learning that their thirteen year old is only permitted to listen to gospel music, and only on Sundays.

It's the ones who think it’s normal to scream at the soccer coach for not starting their son in the big game.

The ones who pretend that their decision to home school their children in order to keep them away from bullies and other worldly contamination is beyond reproach.

If these parents would just acknowledge that they are outside the norm when it comes to parenting, I am willing to venture that most people would be willing to accept their differences with little complaint or judgment.

But pretending that it’s normal for your toddler to watch Judge Judy reruns in the afternoons or for your daughter to wear a hairnet everyday in order to avoid lice is simply insane. There’s nothing worse than having to tiptoe around people who insist that their behavior is normal and their decisions are universally accepted and unfailingly correct.

I love my slightly-insane friends for acknowledging their insanity, and I wish that everyone would do the same.

At this point, you may find yourself wondering what parenting decisions my wife and I have made that are outside the norm.

Fair enough. In the spirit of full disclosure, and as far as I can tell, our rules surrounding television  fall into this category thus far. Our daughter did not watch any television until she was two except for fifteen minutes of the Today Show every morning while my wife caught up on the news, several innings of several Yankees game over the course of this baseball season, 30 minutes of the US Open final round, a two-minute technology podcast each night at dinner, and random portions of random children’s show while her nails were being trimmed. She also watched one movie (Coralline) when we were both too sick to get off the couch (though she slept during most of the movie) as well as an Apple press conference on the iPhone 4.

There may have been other random moments of television viewing, moments that I have forgotten and television viewing while visiting friends and such, but that’s about it. Nothing scheduled or consistent, and no programming designed specifically for children. While we’re comfortable about our decision, it is clearly outside the norm. Most of Clara’s friends watch at least a little bit of television on a regular basis, and most are watching some type of children’s programming from time to time.

Technology podcasts, Apple press conferences, the UP Open and the morning news are not their standard fare.

We also prefer to serve our daughter certain organic products like milk and strawberries, but if they’re not available, we’re more than willing to use the non-organic versions. And instead of purchasing baby food, my wife made all of Clara’s baby food from fresh ingredients, but I’m not sure if this is outside the norm or not.

I am also slightly insane about the size of food items that I am willing to give to my daughter. I cut fruit up into squares so small that she has a hard time picking them up. I am terrified of the prospect of her choking on food.

Even Elysha thinks I'm a little crazy in this regard.

I’m certain that there will be other, less-than-normal acts of parenting in our future, and maybe some that I am not even aware of at this moment.  And when these situations occur, I will try my best to think back upon my two friends and their willingness to do things differently, and I will remember their willingness to  acknowledge the parental insanity that infects most of us.

If I fail to do so, feel free to call me out.  I’m a big boy, and I can handle it.

The Vatican is nothing if not consistent

It’s the lack of consistency that often annoys me when it comes to religious tradition and belief. It most often occurs with the strict adherence to certain lines of Scripture that conveniently validate one’s personal beliefs while ignoring other line of Scripture altogether.

Leviticus 18:22, for example, forbids homosexuality and is viewed as the infallible word of God to a large but thankfully shrinking number of religious zealots.

But just a few lines later, Leviticus 19:19, which prohibits clothing woven of two kinds of material and Leviticus 19:27, which prohibits the trimming of beards and the cutting of hair, are largely ignored by these same people for reasons that they are never able to fully explain.

See what I mean?

If you’re going to utilize religious doctrine as a means of rationalizing your bigotry towards homosexuals, you should at least be forbidden from donning cotton blends and be required to wear a full beard at all times.

In fact, I think this is a fair trade. You are only permitted to discriminate against my gay friends if you are also willing to renounce polyester and make every effort to resemble the members of ZZ Top.

All I ask is for a little consistency. All or nothing. Religion was not meant to be a buffet, particular when it comes to denying individuals certain rights and privileges based upon their sexual orientation.

Another case in point:

At the JCC swim club today, I was not allowed to purchase a cheeseburger for kosher reasons, but I was permitted to purchase a carton of milk and a hamburger, which is clearly in violation of kosher traditions.

See the problem?

The girl at the counter admitted that the snack bar was only “slightly kosher,” but if you’re going to adhere to a set of arcane dietary restrictions for the benefit of those members of the club who care about such things, at least be consistent. Follow the kosher guidelines or abandon them altogether, but please don’t muddle around in some bizarre middle ground. Keeping a semi-kosher snack bar will only serve to annoy cheeseburger-loving heathens like myself while simultaneously infuriating the kosher-kitchen dietary obsessives.

At least make one of us happy.

On a more serious, non-food-related note, the Vatican issued a decree this week that included a provision making the "attempted ordination" of women one of the “gravest crimes in ecclesiastical law.”

The change put the offense of ordaining women on a par with the sexual abuse of a minor, at least according to Catholic doctrine.

I cannot fathom why Catholic women are not picketing every church in America right now.

But unlike those buffet-style homophobes and the JCC swim club snack bars, at least the Vatican is consistent. Hundreds of years ago the Vatican took a stand against women’s rights, and damn it, they are not back down from it.  The Catholic Church does not believe that women are capable of holding leadership positions in the Church, nor should they be treated as equals to men, and they are sticking to their guns.

Give the Vatican some credit. At least it’s consistent.

There is never a need to make Journey songs more accessible to children

This morning, I brought Clara to her gym class and was subjected to the musical styling of a Journey cover band that transformed classic songs such as Don’t Stop Believin’ and Any Way You Want It into dorky versions of the same song thanks to the addition of a oh-shucks-golly-gee-wilikers lead singer. Same words. Same music. Terrible singer. I don’t get it.

What was wrong with playing the originals?

Even more befuddling was the cover of the Lady Gaga song Bad Romance that removed the word bitch.

While the removal of this word was sensible considering the age of the audience (children under the age of two), you have to wonder why Lady Gaga even made the playlist.

It certainly did nothing to inspire my seventeen-month old, who is unaware of the existence of Lady Gaga and could care less about her music or popularity. And it did nothing for me, particularly considering it was another dorky cover of the original song.

And since it did not appeal to anyone in the gym, what’s the point in including a song that needs to be censored for profanity?

And more important, what will be next?

Clean versions of Playboy magazine in the waiting area, with little paper dresses pasted over the nude models'?

A sanitized version of a Richard Pryor comedy routine on the flat screen television, dubbed over with the voice of Kermit the Frog?

Penthouse Forums in the restrooms in which all references to sex are replaced with references to rubber ducks, bath time toys and Tickle-Me Elmo?

There comes a time when certain things are better left in their original form rather than attempting to sanitize them for a child’s benefit.

It’s coffee.

New statistic

97.3 percent of all jokes regarding coffee are not funny.

Listening to a podcast the morning, the hosts began the show by warning listeners that “Brian just drank a mocha cappuccino, so we don’t know what’s going to happen today!”

“Look out!  There’s going to be trouble!”

“This guy’s already a lunatic!”

“Emergency teams are standing by!”

Not funny. 

Seriously, in a double-blind study conducted over the course of my lifetime, I have determined that 97.3 of all jokes, quips, anecdotes,  Facebook status updates, Twitter posts and all other forms of humor, amusement and jocularity regarding coffee are stupid.  Also included are jokes regarding caffeine, coffee shops, coffee addiction and all the variants on coffee.  These jokes are tired, worn out, not funny and most often annoying and stupid. 

Facebook status updates that read:  Need. Coffee. Now.   STUPID.

Twitter posts that read: All the #coffee in Columbia won't make me a morning person.  STUPID

Even an early morning declaration that “I’m not going to survive this meeting without a second cup of coffee” or comments implying the need to inject or free-base your first cup of coffee to kick start your day.  STUPID

Based upon the results of my peer-reviewed research study, you should never risk a joke or even attempt a mildly amusing wisecrack regarding coffee unless you are as talented as Chris Rock and have recently been possessed by the spirit of the late George Carlin.

In the hands of a professional, almost all of these jokes about coffee are still stupid, which is why you would never hear a comic like Chris Rock or even the ghost of George Carlin making such a stupid remark.

You should follow suit.  Coffee is something that you drink.  Sometimes it contains caffeine, as does soda, chocolate and a hundred other foods.

It’s not nearly as vital, special, singular or important to your life as you think.

Caps? Bolding? Air quotes? And freakin' Comic Sans?

Cleveland Cavaliers majority owner Dan Gilbert’s scathing open letter to the fans is frankly too over-the-top and hubris-laden for my taste. I prefer my NBA owners to be a little less emotional and considerably less reactionary. And Gilbert’s obsessive use of air-quotes is just stupid. Note:

“This was announced with a several day, narcissistic, self-promotional build-up culminating with a national TV special of his "decision" unlike anything ever "witnessed" in the history of sports and probably the history of entertainment.”

“But the good news is that this heartless and callous action can only serve as the antidote to the so-called "curse" on Cleveland, Ohio. The self-declared former "King" will be taking the "curse" with him down south. And until he does "right" by Cleveland and Ohio, James (and the town where he plays) will unfortunately own this dreaded spell and bad karma.”

See what I mean? Emotional, reactionary, and a terrible use of punctuation.

I also don’t like it when owners make on-the-court promises despite the fact that they never shoot the ball or score any points. Note:

"I PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THAT THE CLEVELAND CAVALIERS WILL WIN AN NBA CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE THE SELF-TITLED FORMER ‘KING’ WINS ONE"

A foolish and ultimately meaningless guarantee from a guy in a suit, not to mention the use of all-caps and bolding in his personal guarantee.

I personally guarantee that if one of my students attempted the all-caps-plus-bolding technique on an essay, regardless of how strongly they felt about an issue, they would be hearing from me.

But the poor punctuation, the unmitigated vitriol, the lack of stylization and the amateur use of capitals and bolding all pale in comparison to the worst part of the entire letter:

The use of the Comic Sans font.

C’mon, Dan. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that this is the worst font ever created?