Texting while doing what?

According to the 2013 Mobile Consumer Habits study conducted by Harris Interactive, 9% of Americans admit to using their phone to send text messages during sex.

Among the 18-34 age group, that figure stands at 20%.

I’m going on the record as not believing the results of this study.

Until researchers can verify the results of this study with verifiable, observable data, I’m going to choose to believe that sex is the last bastion of phone-free existence that we have, not because I believe that human beings aren’t capable of such stupidity, but because I believe in sex.

Please, say in ain’t so.

Forgotten Daddy

I brought my daughter to the park on Sunday in hopes of spending an afternoon playing together. About four seconds after we arrived, she had introduced herself to three kids and two adults, including this introduction:

“Hi, Moms. My name is Clara.”

She’s so much like her mother in this regard.

She spent the next hour playing with these kids and ignoring me and her baby brother completely. At one point, they all declared themselves too tired to continue playing and in need of a break.

For about five minutes, they all sat down on a bench and chatted before leaping off and running around again. 

As much as I wanted to play with her myself, I loved this moment. My daughter (in yellow), sitting with her three new playmates, talking about their pets and their favorite playgrounds.

Mormons find doubt online

In a fascinating turn of events, Mormons, including many high ranking officials, have begun to leave their faith after venturing onto the Internet and discovering that “credible evidence that the church’s founder, Joseph Smith, was a polygamist and that the Book of Mormon and other scriptures were rife with historical anomalies.”

They could’ve just watched South Park’s All About Mormons or seen the musical and been entertained in the process, but as a friend of mine is fond of saying:

“The truth is one. The paths are many.”

My own religious doubt began when I was young. An unfortunate, apparently genetic resistance to authority and conformity caused me to refuse to attend CCD classes as a child. My mother insisted that I have religion in my life but allowed me to choose the church that best suited me, but she later told me that she didn’t have much hope for me in terms of spiritual belief.

“You started reading The Bible while sitting in the pews every Sunday and asking lots of questions. You were never the believing kind of person. You were always such an instigator.”

Truthfully, I only started to read The Bible because it was the only reading material available to me during the service. Had comics books been placed in the pews instead, I might be a comic book collector today instead.

Since those early days of reading in the pews, I have read The Bible from cover to cover three times in my life:

1. Once over the course of a summer as a teenager out of curiosity
2. Once during the time that I had been arrested and tried for a crime I did not commit, in hopes of finding hope and strength within its pages
3. Once in college as part of my English degree

I’ve also read many large portions of it many time, and for a while, I had begun a fourth cover-to-cover reading as part of a blog that I was writing. I cannot quote chapter and verse, but I have spent a great deal of time reading and studying this text.

While my mother was probably correct and my road to reluctant atheism was already paved when I was child, I recall feeling the same way that these Mormons have recently felt. The more I read The Bible, the less I believed, and to be honest, the less I wanted to believe.

While my respect for Jesus as a man grew with each reading, my desire for there to be a God as he is described in the Old Testament waned considerably.

My vision of a Sunday School God, full of kindness, forgiveness and unwavering benevolence was replaced by a vengeful, violent and wrathful being who I genuinely feared.

It is often said that the quickest way to atheism is to read The Bible. While my path was probably determined long before I started serious reading of the book, there is some truth in this statement.

Apparently it can now be said that the quickest path to rejecting Mormonism can be found online.

Another bad day for the bigots

This is the second day in a row that I write about Pope Francis, and in a fairly positive light both times.

Today, it’s just one sentence, spoken yesterday by the pope and reported in the New York Times among many other places:

“If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?” – Pope Francis

My mother was a Catholic. If she were still alive, I suspect that she would be feeling especially proud of her faith today.

It took them long enough to come to their sense, but still. It’s a great day for the human rights struggle. 

More importantly, when the religious defense for bigotry disappears, the only thing the bigots have left to stand on is their own hatred and stupidity.

Dress codes almost always suck.

Last week, a group of seventeen boys marched up and down Cardiff, Wales’s Whitchurch High School’s hallways chanting, “We want to wear shorts."

They did so while wearing skirts.

In the midst of a heat wave in the United Kingdom, 15-year-old Tyrone Evelyn and his friends took drastic measures to feel more comfortable in school. Whitchurch High School’s dress-code strictly enforces that male students wear pants, regardless of the weather, and shorts are firmly not allowed -- the school's dress code reads, "Trousers are compulsory for boys and optional for girls. These must be full length and plain black."

This is not the first time that boys have worn skirts in order to express opposition to an overly restrictive school dress code, and every time it happens, I find myself with newfound hope for the world.

Dress codes suck. They almost always suck.

Even worse, they are often illogical, uncomfortable and discriminatory, especially when applied differently to men and women.

Girls can wear skirts but boys can’t wear shorts?

Boys are required to wear a tie but girls are not?

Men are required to wear a sports jacket to dinner but women are not?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Dress codes are often imposed by authorities who believe that physical appearance will change the way individuals think or behave. They are almost always imposed as an artificial means of promoting conformity or authority in a population.

It’s nonsense.

Dress codes are akin to the idea that the use of titles like mister or doctor in schools or the workplace establishes a certain level of respect for authority figures. It’s an idea typically supported by employers, managers, administrators and teachers who have difficulty earning respect through authentic means and believe that titles and dress codes will assist them in this endeavor.

They don’t. 

If I ever need the title mister or need to force my male students to wear long pants in order to earn their respect, send me out to pasture.

The idea that something as complex as respect could be earned, even a little bit, through a title or an article of clothing is ludicrous, and yet people continue to buy into it all the time.    

I love those skirt-clad boys. They are my latest band of superheroes. They began their protest more than a week ago, and as of today, it continues.

Good for them. I hope they don’t stop wearing skirts until the rule is changed or until they are handed their diploma while wearing a skirt.

Who do you respect me?

The boy wearing the prescribed trousers and adhering to the school’s dress code or the boy protesting the nonsensical dress code by wearing a skirt? 

Pope Francis’s unprecedented accessibility is admirable, but I wouldn’t call it brave.

In an effort to be more accessible to the people, Pope Francis has forgone much of the security that the Vatican recommends and that his predecessors used with regularity, including bullet proof vehicles and large numbers of highly visible security personal.

This has resulted in some tense moments for church officials, including last week’s papal visit to South America:

When Pope Francis’s motorcade took a wrong turn on his inaugural drive through Rio de Janeiro earlier this week, crowds rushed the car to get a glimpse of the popular pontiff. Francis seemed unfazed, rolling down his back-seat window and even reaching out for babies to kiss through his open car window.

Vatican spokesman Federico Lombardi brushed off the incident. “His secretary was afraid, but the pope wasn’t,” he told reporters at a briefing after the pope’s car was rushed. “We have full confidence in the authorities. Today was the first experience, a learning experience, and we will see what happens in the next few days.”

While I find the pope’s desire to be more accessible to the people admirable, I’m less inclined to attribute his willingness to tempt fate to any amount of courage of his part, as has been suggested by various media outlets.

After all, he’s the pope.

If anyone is certain that Heaven exists, it’s the pope.

If anyone is convinced that he is going to Heaven, it’s the pope.

If anyone is absolutely sure that Heaven represents a state of eternal and total bliss, it’s the pope.

It would be a tragedy if the pope was killed as a result of this newfound accessibility, but in his mind, the consequence of an assassin’s bullet is Heaven.

Guaranteed.

Death still stinks, but it’s a pretty good consolation. 

On the other hand, it only makes sense that the pope’s secretary was afraid when the pope’s car was rushed by crowds last week. The secretary has not been deemed by a conclave of the highest of holy men as the closest human being to God.

He’s just a guy. Full of uncertainty, doubt and sin.

In short, he’s not the pope.

While I’m sure that the pope isn’t anxious to die anytime soon, there can’t be any doubt of eternal salvation from someone in his position. In his mind, he’s already punched his ticket to Heaven. The possibility of nonexistence and the threat of eternal damnation have been all but eliminated.

He’s the pope. If he doesn’t believe in Heaven, the Catholic Church is in some serious trouble.

The man’s passage through the Pearly Gates has been all but assured. It sort of diminishes the opportunity for bravery a bit.

Unless of course he follows in the steps of such predecessors as Pope Stephen VI.

Pope Stephen VI hated his predecessor, Pope Formosus, so much he had his rotting nine-month-old corpse dug up, redressed in his papal vestments and seated on the throne to be tried.

The man put a corpse on trial.

Not surprising, the rotting remains of Pope Formosus were found guilty. As punishment,, Pope Stephen VI ordered that the three fingers Pope Formosus used to give blessings be cut off. He was then stripped of his sacred vestments, dressed as a layman, dragged through the streets by horses and dumped in the Tiber River.

Pope Stephen VI probably had some legitimate concerns regarding the possibility of his eternal salvation, even with the protection of his papal title.

But Pope Francis? Probably not.

Men are having butt enhancement surgery in order to increase the size of their backsides. I am hesitant to refer to them as men.

The New York Times reports that there are men who are having butt enhancement surgery in an effort to increase the size of their derriere.

This is not fiction. It’s an actually a thing. 

Apparently these men are dissatisfied with the size of their buttocks and want a larger and more shapely backside.

Here’s the thing:

In my entire life, I have never known a single man who would ever consider this kind of plastic surgery. If I was required to name the man who I know or have known who is most likely to have butt enhancement surgery, as unlikely as that may be, I would still be unable to answer the question.

I’m probably say my friend, Tom, just to be mean.

Honestly, what kind of man does this?

According to the New York Times, a man like John Vickers.

Not long ago, Jeff Vickers, who owns a construction company, had surgery to address something that had, fittingly, been the butt of jokes.

“I’d wear jogging pants to work and the guys used to joke that, ‘You could drop a plumb bob from the back of your head and the string wouldn’t hit anything before it hit the ground,’ ” he said, referring to the weight on a string used for surveying.

A couple things.

1. Does Jeff Vickers really believe that having butt enhancement surgery (and publicizing it in the New York Times) is going to bring an end to the jokes?

Which is worse?

Having a flat butt or having fat injected from your stomach into your butt in an effort to change its shape?

I am fairly certain that Mr. Vickers has only increased the amount of teasing he receives from his employees.

I kind of want to visit his construction site next week to crack some jokes myself. The possibilities for humor are almost limitless.

2. What kind of construction workers spend their days making jokes about the size of their boss’s ass? Are there really men in the world (and construction workers, no less) who are taking notice of the size of their coworkers’ butts and commenting on them?

Again, in the course of my entire life, I don’t think I have ever met such a man. 

Nor do I want to.

The 1970s will never be fully understood.

More evidence that the 1970s were the strangest time in America:

In 1970, Sesame Street’s Ernie’s signature song “Rubber Duckie” reached No. 16 on the Billboard Hot 100.

It’s absolutely inexplicable.

Only cowards take covert photographs of people in order to mock them on social media

Best story of the day:

An iPad-wielding Australian man has been banned from his local gym after he covertly captured photos of patrons working out and posted them to Facebook to mock them.

The unidentified jerk from Queensland, the second-largest state in Australia, was kicked out after 4chan and Reddit users posted screen grabs of the man’s Facebook activity.

I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this story.

As critical and curmudgeonly as I may be at times, I have always believed that there are few things more cowardly and disgusting than taking covert photographs of people and posting them to social media in order to mock them.

Yet I see cowards engage in this behavior all the time. 

The post partum tummy is not a taboo in Actual Town, USA.

Tom Sykes of The Daily Beast reports on Kate Middleton’s busting of what he refers to as one of the last taboos of pregnancy:

Kate Middleton stood up for new mums everywhere when she walked out of hospital yesterday, completely unembarrassed by her post-partum tummy.

This thoroughly modern royal was apparently determined to lend a helping hand to women everywhere who have just given birth, and shatter one of the last taboos of pregnancy: the post-baby belly.

I’m sorry, Tom, but this is not a taboo. It never was a taboo.

Two days after giving birth, the only people who expect a woman’s baby belly to be gone are lunatic celebrities and former reality show contestants who follow up their deliveries with plastic surgery and stylist consultations.

Skyes claims that even though it takes at least two to three weeks for the uterus to return to anything like its pre-pregnancy shape after giving birth, “this fact is little acknowledged in modern Western society.”

What modern Western society is Sykes talking about?

Does he think that the city limits of Hollywood, California qualify as a modern Western society?

In Actual Town, USA, this fact is acknowledged by all. My four year-old would acknowledge this fact is asked. My dog would acknowledge it if she could speak.

No one expects a woman’s baby belly to be gone when she walks out of the hospital.

No mother expects her baby belly to be gone when she walks out of the hospital. 

If she does, she should turn around, walk right back into the hospital and admit herself  into the psyche ward.

Perhaps it’s because I don’t read celebrity gossip magazines or watch nonsense news shows that report on celebrity births as if they were real news, but I have yet to meet a single woman who has expected her baby belly to be gone 48 hours after giving birth. Nor have a met a woman who has attempted to conceal her baby belly in any way.

Skyes goes on to lament:

Sadly too many celebrities often have ultra fast tummy tucks or strap themselves down to emerge in tiny size 6 jeans, leaving everyone else feeling inadequate.

While it might be true that celebrities follow their deliveries with plastic surgery (let’s call it what it is), I hardly think that “everyone else” is “feeling inadequate” as a result of this inhumane, unrealistic, artificial, unnecessary, self-obsessed response to pregnancy.

When a woman sees a celebrity walk out of the hospital wearing size 6 jeans, does she think, “That self confident, highly motivated actress probably did about a nine thousand sit-ups and spent the last 14 hours doing bikram yoga in order to look that good.”

Or does she think, “That narcissistic, image-obsessed megalomaniac probably spent more time under the plastic surgeon’s knife than she did with her new baby.”

I know which one I think.

I suspect that most people living in an actual modern Western society think the same.

Something appropriate to bite

My wife is bitten so often by our son that she told me she feels like she in in an abusive relationship with him.

At least we found something for him to bite that’s much more appropriate.

  

Why am I willing to look less presentable than my female counterparts?

All may be true, or none may be true. You tell me.

I have worn the grubbiest of clothes for Skype chats with book clubs, whereas my female author friends, based upon a sample of recent tweets and Facebook posts, would never think of doing such a thing.

Is it because I am a man and will therefore be excused of my wardrobe indiscretions more easily?

Or is it because I am a man and am less concerned (rightfully or otherwise)about my appearance than the average woman?

Or is it because I’m just an idiot who should make more of an effort to appear presentable?

Or am I simply assuming far too much based upon an admittedly tiny small sample size?

I’m honestly not sure which is the case, but my gut tells me that if my hair was a mess or I was wearing pajamas during a Skype chat, I would be excused as quirky, amusing or typically male, whereas if my female counterpart did the same, an entirely different set of labels would be assigned.

Thoughts?

Are the machine guns really necessary?

My son was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, playing with this tow truck. It looked cute, with large eyes in the windshield and a smile on the bumper.

 

Then he pressed down on the roof of the cap, and out popped a twin pair of machine guns from the sides.

Still the inquisitive, anthropomorphized eyes. Still the smiling, anthropomorphized bumper. Just some added fire power in the event that a disabled motorist refuses to pay for services rendered.

 

I’m not entirely opposed to toys like this. Your average Star Wars spaceship or action figure will undoubtedly be equipped with weapons of some kind, as will any number of similar toys. I’m fine with that.

But were machine guns really needed on this smiling, happy, anthropomorphized tow truck?

Kissing a hippo

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s mascot is William the hippopotamus.

My son loves William. He kisses him all the time.

ALL THE TIME.

He’s also more than willing to chuck him to the pavement as well, as he does here. It’s a complex relationship, I guess.

Quarter-Life Crisis?

Is she for real?

No one gets to claim a quarter-life crisis. There’s no such thing. The self absorption required to complain that your twenties aren’t what you envisioned them to be is astounding.

When did this vision even take take place? After the prom? During freshman bio class? Did she really expect her teenage visions of her twenties to hold up?

And enough about the marriage/house/children nonsense. No one should get married before they’re thirty. The incessant need to match your friend’s marital, occupational and parental status generates more unhappiness in the world than can possibly be imagined.

Who gives a damn if your sister was married and owned a house when she was 25? Are you an individual or a sheep? Live your own freakin’ life.

Here is a brief, chronological summation of my twenties:

• Employed as a McDonald’s manager
• Arrested for a crime I did not commit
• Fired from my job as McDonald’s manager
• Homeless
• Taken in by a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses
• Employed as bank teller and McDonald’s manager
• Worked 90 hours a week for two years to pay attorney
• Robbed, tortured and beaten at gunpoint
• Post traumatic stress disorder that lasts 15 years
• Tried and acquitted for a crime I did not commit
• Moved to Connecticut
• Employed as a legal copy services delivery boy
• Employed as a bank teller
• Married my future ex-wife
• Employed as McDonald’s manager
• Attended Manchester Community College while working full time
• Attended Trinity College while working more than fulltime
• Graduated 
• Hired as an elementary school teacher

Not exactly what I envisioned, either. Certainly not ideal. But I suspect that a lot of people would have lists like this.

Perhaps not as fraught for violence and legal challenges, but an interesting list nonetheless.

But at no point did I wonder if I was suffering from a quarter-life crisis.

Admirable ignorance

When my wife arrived at the dentist office yesterday afternoon, the hygienist said, “Did you hear? It’s a boy!”

She had no idea who or what the woman was talking about.

I love her so much.

In fact, I’m adding this to my next list of 99 reasons that I love Elysha Dicks.

Want to tell a story at the next Speak Up?

We have some exciting news for you in regards to our upcoming Speak Up storytelling events.

First, in case you haven’t marked your calendars, our next two events will take place on Saturday, September 28 and Saturday, November 9 at Real Art Ways in Hartford, Connecticut. Both events begin at 7:00 PM.

The format for the upcoming events consists of 8 storytellers who will each have up to 8 minutes to tell their stories on an assigned theme.

The theme for the upcoming shows are as follows:

The theme of the September 28 event is Schooled: Lessons Taught and Lessons Learned.

The theme for the November 9 event is Holidays and Celebrations.

Both events will be curated, meaning that we will be choosing storytellers who we believe are especially suited for each of these events, but we are looking to expand beyond our own circle of storytellers and invite newcomers to the stage for these events as well.

Here’s how it works:

For the next two Speak Up events, we hope to invite 2-4 newcomers to the stage to tell a story. If you would like to be one of these people, you need to send us an email describing the story you would like to tell. Tell us as much about the story as you’d like, but the more information we have, the easier it will be for us to make a decision.

If you have public speaking experience or any other qualities that make you an excellent choice for a Speak Up event, please include this information as well. We are anticipating a large response based upon feedback that we have received so far, so sell your story and yourself to us. Don’t be afraid to brag a bit. 

Please include a telephone number along with the description of your story as well. After we review all of the submissions, we will call back a handful of potential storytellers to discuss your story and ask any questions that we still have before making our final decision.

All we ask from you is a couple things:

1. If you’re not chosen for either of the two next events, please don’t give up. Pitch us a story again for a future event. We may simply not have room for the response that we receive. 
   
   
2. Please don’t be mean, rude or cruel to us if you are not chosen for an upcoming event. We have always envisioned Speak Up as a curated show made up of a combination of handpicked storytellers and new voices, but our ultimate goal is to ensure an entertaining night for our audience. Our decisions in terms if who will perform will be made with the audience in mind at all times. We are also not perfect. We may pass over the greatest storyteller of all time. Please excuse our imperfection. 

If you wish to submit your story for consideration, send an email to speakupstory@gmail.com.

The deadline for the September show is Saturday, August 24.

The deadline for the November show is Saturday, October 5.

We look forward to hearing about your stories and seeing you at our upcoming events!

Loves him some Pat the Bunny

His sister loved Pat the Bunny when she was a little girl, but it’s entirely possible that my son loves the book a bit more.

My favorite part of this video is when he smells the flowers. I had no idea that he even understood how his nose worked, let alone understanding the purpose of that page.

But there he is, sniffing the artificial fragrance that’s been chemically embedded on the page through some unknown industrial process.

That makes it sound a little less sweet, but only by a little.

Watch this instead. Please. You’ll be so happy that you did.

I took a lot of flack (and quite a bit of praise) for my position on the attention given to the royal baby.

My position is essentially this:

Shut up. It’s a freakin’ prince in a twenty-first century monarchy that shouldn’t exist. Thanks to this child’s genetic background and his ancestors’ ability to maintain power through military force, he has been born into greater unearned privilege than anyone could possibly imagine. Look away, damn it. Give your attention over to something more meaningful. Something earned.

It’s not exactly a nuanced position.

It also opens me up to attack in terms of some of my own interests and hobbies. I readily accept those criticisms, acknowledge the potential ludicrousness of some of my interests, and most important, have not responded to these attacks as if someone has eaten my firstborn child while giving me wedgie, as many have responded to me.

There are differences between supporting the National Football League and supporting the British royal family, and I don’t believe they are entirely comparable, but I won’t get into that now. 

But for those of you who have argued that the birth of the prince has been a means of escaping some of the more unfortunate news of the day and has afforded you the opportunity to revel in something slightly more joyous (the most common refrain to my position), I offer you this:  

While I’m sure the future king is cute as a button, here are some equally adorable children who are doing amazing things with a bit less privilege than the future king will enjoy.

This is something truly worth your attention: 

Which of these 6 things would you change about your spouse?

Carolyn Bucior writes about a newly released 60 Minutes/Vanity Fair telephone poll of 1,186 U.S. adults that identifies temper is the primary trait many American women would like to change about their spouse or significant other.

When women in the 60 Minutes/Vanity Fair poll were given a choice of six things to change about their man, 29 percent picked his temper, beating out changing his friends (11 percent), his mother (9 percent), his sense of humor (8 percent), his physique (7 percent), and his hygiene (2 percent).

I was surprised by this result. I can’t remember the last time I saw a man lose his temper around his family, but then again, these things probably happen behind closed doors.

I’m not sure what Elysha would choose to change about me if she could. I’d like to think that she would change nothing, but that seems a little unrealistic.

I’m not exactly perfect. 

But I also suspect that she wouldn't choose anything off this list. I have many shortcomings (22 at last count), but none of these, I think.

Perhaps she’d change my belief that dishes dry just as well in the cupboard as they do in the drying rack.  

Bucior goes on to say:

Amazingly, 30 percent said they would not change any of those things. As this was a telephone poll, I imagine these women were standing beside their husbands when they answered.

I thought this was cynical at best and at worst a a rotten and naïve thing to say. Is it so hard to believe that there are women (or men) who are more than happy with their spouse when it comes to the six categories listed in the survey?

I know I am.

Bucior’s statement is probably more of a reflection of her unfunny, unhygienic, nonathletic husband and his pack of loser friends than anything else.