Mandatory Belts?

Will belts be mandatory someday? I don't mean seat belts. I mean the kind you are probably wearing around your waist.

Don't be shocked if government mandates one day require you to tighten up and dress right.

The War on Saggy Pants rages in America.

Somewhere along the line, men and women stopped being dignified in their daily attire and fashions became inspired by prisoners and harlots. Imagine for just a second if your grandparent's generation would have been caught dead flashing their boxer shorts or belly buttons in public. In fact, your grandfather would have probably walked up to a teenager and pulled his pants up FOR him.

I had guessed incorrectly that the baggy pants epidemic would have disappeared by now. Instead, it is EVERYWHERE you go.

Some cities are clamping down on the look, going as far as hefty fines and even JAIL if your bare bottom is exposed.

The ACLU has labeled it profiling and racist, of course. Even though all races apparently like to look like a sloppy hooligan now and then. This is not about race. It is about perception. It is about how you want the real world to label you.

How ELSE do you think society will label you, if not as a thug or a slob? Is it racism if a boss doesn't hire somebody who looks like they just crawled out of bed and put on somebody else's pants?

By the same token, I don't think city governments should make this an issue for themselves to tackle. Let the parents and schools deal with this. Have parents put down this "they are just expressing themselves" garbage and start being parents again. Schools need to start sending kids home when they come to school looking like a bad music video.

Just remember that this is a societal blight that COULD go away without the government's involvement.

We just need to return to even a modicum of dignity and self respect before it happens on a wide scale. And THAT might take time and restraint and responsibility.

Unfortunately, we are running short on all three.

Will Steal For Hair!

A Long Island man was arrested this week for stealing $50 worth of Rogaine, a topical treatment for hair loss.



I know all about it. I used to use Rogaine. It doesn't matter whether it worked or not, the bottom line is I desperately used it as a last ditch effort to put a few hairs back on the top of my head.



Rub, rub, rub went the Rogaine into my bashful and vulnerable scalp.



I even tried the prescription drug Propecia for a little while. And then my first child came along and I wasn't going to play with fire (why take even a small chance on side effects that MIGHT harm yourself or loved ones?).



Finally, I looked myself in the mirror, sucked it in (as best as I could), and admitted that I was a bald man. And that there were WORSE things in life than that. I was healthy. I had supportive friends and family. I hade my dream career. I wasn't homeless.


I just didn't have as much hair as I used to.



Something tells me that this bandit felt as much embarassment, if not more, than Senator Larry Craig did getting caught in the Men's Room.



But there is no need to be embarassed about hair loss. Just go with it. You COULD spend countless thousands of dollars trying to get a little bit of it back. But come on now, why WOULD you? Be yourself, even if you are Folically Challenged as I am.



Working so hard for more hair isn't worth it. And chances are you will get more compliments shaving your head than you ever did on your BEST Do Days. Go for it!



And I am sure this crook is regretting his hairbrained scheme right about now.

Who Says There Isn't A Free Lunch?

Don't tell the growing Freegan movement that there isn't a free lunch. They won't buy it. LITERALLY!

These individuals won't buy lunch...or any other meal, for that matter. Why buy when you can spurn capitalism and just eat out of a trash can?

And that's exactly what these people do. They forage the inner cities for anything edible that individuals or businesses have thrown away.

We are not talking about homeless people, either, according to an article this week in the Los Angeles Times. If anything, these people are allegedly often middle class and college educated.

That is their whole point. They don't HAVE to eat like the homeless. They CHOOSE to dumpster dive in order to fight the Man, help the planet, and save money all at the same time.

Some of them even pick up old beat up furniture somebody might have left at the curb. Some live in abandoned buildings or with family (whose to say which is worse?).

To each his own. But I don't want them crying to me if they stick their hand into a bag with a syringe or get sick from food poisoning or disease. You wouldn't share a soda with a family member you knew was sick, so how could a sane person take a chance on potentially eating a sick person's leftovers?

Freegans wouldn't find anything worth digging through at our house. Between the dog and me, there isn't much left by the time the trash goes out to the curb.

And now if you'll excuse me. My son left some syrup drenched waffle remnants on his plate. And is that a last sip of cold milk in his glass?

Who could ask for anything more?

Why We Always Have Time For The Pain

I ran into a friend yesterday at my son's karate class. We hadn't spoken in literally 4 years even though our daughters were best friends since birth.

It was nice to catch up. Our conversation flew back and forth between the mundane to the 9/11 anniversary today.

He reminded me that I was the one who called him up that morning to tell him about the World Trade Center being hit. He was asleep and stumbled to the television and I still remember clearly his "What the HELL is going on?" response to me.

My son was born two days earlier and came home from the hospital on 9/11. It should have been a day filled with loving memories and good cheer. But in fact, I can barely remember most of the details of that day OUTSIDE of the attacks. Memories of my son's first expressions have been lost to images of fireballs and death.

Why do we tend to remember the painful, awful memories in our lives while oftentimes forgetting the seemingly unforgettable moments of joy?

Thanks to a new study from a Boston College psychologist, the answer may finally be at hand.

Negative events tend to be remembered in greater detail than pleasurable ones because the brain could be preparing us for future occurances of those events in question. Is that why I am STILL afraid to swim at age 36? Because when I was a small child someone knocked me into a pool and I panicked? It's my brain's way of warning me so that this trauma and danger never happens again, perhaps.

So isn't that all the more reason we SHOULD be reliving the memories of the 9/11 attacks today? I am ASTOUNDED and SHOCKED at the drive many people have to forget what happened a mere 6 years ago. Too bad that it is a "painful" thing to think about. It happened. TO ALL OF US.

Even though some may be collectively trying to put that terrible day behind us, the wiring in our brains could very well prevent us from doing it.

Our minds record every action we have ever taken, and every action ever taken upon us. But there seems to be good reason why we are reminded of the not so great times a little more often than we might like.

It's a warning signal that enables us to thrive, survive, and persevere.

Maybe we should listen to it.

Set Your Alarm So You Don't Forget

Tomorrow is 9/11. But you might want to set your alarm to remind you in case you forget.


But I fear that even with a collective alarm clock, Americans will simply hit the snooze button and continue slumbering.


Tomorrow is the 6 year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks on America. It was contemporary America's Pearl Harbor. At least it was 6 years ago. But like Pearl Harbor, the anniversary is already losing its power and meaning. It has just taken a lot less time.


I look in horror at countless stories on the wires about how people are already, it would seem, ready to put that infamous date behind us.

My son just turned 6 over the weekend. I will never forget the day we brought him from the hospital. It was a joyful day eclipsed by the horrors played out on live television. I woke up in the hospital room, my newborn beside me in his crib, to the sight of the second plane hitting the World Trade Center.

We were at war. I said it right there and then, right out loud.

And we are STILL at war.

Many have already relegated the "war on terror" to the trash heap of used up bumper sticker slogans.

I hope they never do the same with 9/11.

It may not be too late to stop it. So set that alarm clock tomorrow if you need to.

But personally, I will never hit that snooze button again.

The Ice Cream Man Leaveth...

Soon after we moved into our new home this summer, I heard the distant but unmistakable sounds of an ice cream truck. By my best estimates, it was still several blocks away and I had plenty of time to scramble the kids outside for a nice cold respite from the 105 degree summer heat.

As we stepped out to the truck when it finally arrived, I realized that at that moment, my family and I were living in an episode of Leave It To Beaver. How nice!! Of all the relics of childhood, some as sacred as the ice cream truck had somehow managed to survive!

At least a few companies had. But all you have to do is Google the childhood staple of innocence to see that they are disappearing as fast as common manners.

They make too much noise. They enable obesity. Kids run into the street. Some of the drivers end up being shady (or worse).

Cities around the nation are going after the ice cream truck. Cities like New York and Boston have gone after the repetitive nature of the tunes that are played. And the companies are being blamed because parents are dumb enough to let their 1-year old run out (apparently not very well supervised) and get killed.

What a shame.

Save the ice cream truck! If I won the lottery, I would buy a truck and inbetween radio shows pack the family into the back and help bring joy to countless thousands.

And I would never get sick of the same song, over and over and over and over again.

Hey, Ice Cream Man! It was nice to know you. Please keep coming back to our neighborhood. We promise you'll never get a cold shoulder from us.

Ay Caramba, Ingles Por Favor!

Ok. Enough is enough.

I am TIRED of going up to a drive-thru and not being understood. I am TIRED of repeating myself 8 million times just to order a cheeseburger and a soda. I am TIRED of wasting countless HOURS every month trying to make myself clear to people that SHOULD have understood me the FIRST TIME.

So here is what I will do from now on, and maybe you might consider doing the same...

Next time I am at a drive-thru (or inside the eatery, for that matter) and I run into someone who can't speak or understand English very well, I will DEMAND that a manager find me someone who can!

The same way people can gripe at a hospital to get them an interpreter, I will do the same at my local junk food palaces. Or gas stations. Or banks. Or ANYWHERE that doesn't respect the English language.

I am going to do this. Maybe managers will get the picture that this is AMERICA.

Muchas gracias for listening to me rant.