FATHER (AND MOTHER) KNOWS BEST

I recently attended a parenting seminar. Truth be told, I had the wrong address. I thought it was tea-bagger convention where my plan was to secretly pass out Sarah Palin whoopi cushions and maybe steal some Lipton.

Long story short, the parents asked me if I would write a column about the hazards of parenting. I listened, I comforted, I cried and felt their anguish. So here we go.

For the purpose of full disclosure, Michele and I do not have any kids. We have however, lived next to people who do have kids and we were, at one time, children ourselves. So, with that, I feel I am more than qualified to address the concerns of moms and dads and their role in attempting to negotiate the rough waters of parenting.

Kids, pure and simple: your parents know more than you do...about everything. Well, okay, we have to award you the Gold medal when it comes to the nimble art of being able to simultaneously text, twitter and update your relationship status on Facebook, but when it comes to pretty much everything else, sorry, you lose.

I also learned something else as I sat in the back and took copious notes. In the parents vernacular, there is actually a difference between a 'slug,' and a ''pinhead,' when speaking in the context of a daughter's boyfriend. A 'pinhead' is someone who, at one time, actually showed some potential, but doesn't anymore. Unfortunately, girls, your dad occasionally uses that noun, unbeknownst to you, when referring to him. A 'slug,' on the other hand, is someone who never quite reached the heights of amoeba status. Perhaps the best example of a slug would be, well, me, actually. When I was sixteen years old, I remember trying to impress Sandy Schmidt by washing my father's Impala wearing next to nothing. How could she possibly resist? Well, she did. Not only did she resist, she called the cops who proceeded to give me a stern lecture about indecent exposure. A 'slug' never showed any redeeming social qualities and, if not set straight, will continue to wander through life aimlessly. In extreme cases, this type of person grows up to be a radio disc jockey.

We need to introduce another word that surfaced several times: entrepreneur. This type of teen overvalues his importance in the workforce by showing off the sixty-eight keys he has dangling from his belt. Yes, there's no holding back this business juggernaut. Along with all those keys that open so many doors, he also proudly displays a crisp, clean white paper hat which he dons whenever he's 'on duty,' and proudly exclaims, "I heartily recommend our brand new Pineapple Jalapeno Burrito Pancakes with your choice of salsa." Yes, mom, your daughter has found herself a gem, a true entrepreneur. Hey, at least he's working. Let's give him that.

Kids, I beg of you, please tell me that you didn't initially set out to break your parents hearts. Tell me it's not part of some evil, long term master plan as revenge for not letting you attend that clothing optional rock concert with that stellar piece of humanity known as Knifeboy at Lake Nudearama a few years ago. C'mon kids, your parents need to know. Is it pre-meditated? Is it something that you put on your 'to do' list? Umm, let's see, buy condoms, twitter about size of condoms, break parents hearts?

You may not believe this but your parents used to be your age. Gross, huh? Yeah, to you, it was before the advent of running water, round wheels and Latte Frappicino Mocha's, but they actually drove THEIR parents to the brink, too. No, you didn't invent being self-centered and annoying, and neither did your parents. I think it might have been Annette from the Mickey Mouse Club, but I'll have to double check on that. It was either her or Tiny Tim.

Finally, kids, just know that time passes way too quickly...unless, of course, you're a Cubs fan. One day, you're happily strolling through the mall with your buddies, drooling at the girl in the sweatpants with the word 'BOOTY-LICIOUS' on the butt, and the next day you awake as the parent of those kids. How did that happen? Where did the time go? OMG, you are now the PARENT of those adolescents who had all the answers. You never stop trying to steer them in and out of the harbor safely, regardless of the resistance you meet. You always, without fail, try and guide them to smoother, calmer waters. You know they won't listen, but you keep plugging away. Then, finally, you do what parents have been doing since the beginning of time; ever since Adam implored Eve to 'get busy with that apple pie.' You'll jump into the murky, cold waters and pull them to safety. Once on shore, they will go off on you for never letting them make their own decisions and continuing to 'stifle' them on their all important journey into adulthood. You, as parents, will then have an obligation to go to the closest bar where a double vodka martini will have your name on it.

So, kids, go easy on the old units. You, too, will be a parent some day and only then will you be able to proudly exclaim, "Damnit, I finally DO have all the answers. Whoopi! Bartender, set 'em up!"

WE GOT A WINNER!

Did the last 5 question Quiz begin around the time Pres. Nixon left office? Umm, no, but it seems like that.

CONGRATULATIONS Martina Matea on nailing every one. If you missed it, here are the questions and answers: A new batch starts Monday, February 8th.

It took 40 tries to get this formula right.
WD40

You can do this 4 different ways.
A Royal Flush in poker

Studies show that women are far better than men at doing this.
Assembling things (furniture, grills, etc.)

These date back to 4th century B.C. - in China. They were given their name in the United States in 1600. What are they?
Pancakes

According to a recent survey, 64% of men said 'Yes' to this.
Having an affair with a friend's ex.

I'M SORRY, MIKE. I'VE STRAYED

I need to get this of my chest. I can't live with the guilt I have in my wilting brain any longer. I cheated.

A few weeks ago, Michele and I were in the mall grabbing a few last minute gift items that we're pretty sure would be returned by the 26th of December. Plastic frogs on a spring that jump out from behind some mini fiberglass bushes exclaiming, 'Get me another beer' may not be everyone's idea of a thoughtful gift.

While my wife was looking for just that perfect knickknack, I decided to take a little stroll. I came across a barber shop that was offering ten dollar haircuts. I bit my lower lip in anticipation and gave serious thought to allowing myself to be seduced. Never having been known for willpower, I quickly gave into temptation and sat down in the chair. A well groomed gentleman by the name of Antonio reached down and grabbed a pair of scissors out of his holster and gave them a few twirls, much like Wyatt Earp did when he was taunting some drunken horse thief in the wild west.

My brain was working overtime with thoughts of the guilt I'd be riddled with if I actually went through with this. It was then that I could feel his strong yet soft hands on my neck as he placed the smock around me. The mist from his water bottle floated gently onto my waiting hair. All feelings of right or wrong had vanished as I sensed that by the end of this all I would really want to do is light up a cigarette. He then firmly spun the chair around, looked me in the eyes and asked in his manly tone, "What do you like?" I swallowed hard and answered, "Um, baseball?" In retrospect, he was probably asking how I wear my hair, but c'mon, I was nervous. This was my first time.

Things then started to go south. What at first seemed like a fun idea, turned into a disaster. I hated myself and I knew then that there was no way I was going to be able to just immerse myself in the moment and relax. Antonio may have talked a good game but he didn't have the nimble fingers and the expertise that Mike has. Truth be told, he dropped the scissors a total of four times and ended up switching to sheers, which he was also totally ill equipped to handle. After he cut his index finger and began a tirade of very colorful language, mostly in spanish, the mood was totally ruined. There was no getting it back. Yuk! I felt dirty. All I wanted to do was run home and jump in the shower. I was looking for emergency exits but if I bolted at that moment, I would have resembled the 'Before" picture on one of those Flobee commercials. Also, I would still have that stupid smock snapped around my neck. I was trapped. I had no choice but to let him finish but I knew in my heart that the second he was done, I'd run like Hell and never look back. I'll get my kicks in other areas of life, not this...it's to risky. On the 'mistake' scale, this might rival the time in the Navy when I told a Marine that he had better pull his head out of his butt and start shining up those brass buttons. That didn't end well, kids.

I mustered all the courage I could and walked into The Men's Room in Poughkeepsie, where Mike works. I didn't know how he was going to react, but I was pretty sure he would be waving that little whisk broom in front of me and, in no uncertain terms, inform me that my hair belonged to him, and him alone. I broke down, asked for a tissue, then forgiveness.

After accepting my apologies and obviously feeling more in control now, Mike's cockiness started to show. "Who takes care of your hair, Bob?" he asked. "Only you, Mike. I promise," was my response. He had the upper hand now and was thoroughly enjoying watching me squirm. He was pouring it on, but I had it coming. "Bob, when you put your hair in the hands of someone else, it may seem exciting for a fleeting moment but it's something that you'll live with for the rest of your life." I nodded in agreement and felt I should be happy that all I got was a lecture. He could have made a 'slip' with his scissors and cut off a portion of my ear but instead he acted like the semi-mature barber he is and just splashed a little talcum in my eyeballs. Message received, loud and clear.

Mike, I'm sorry. From now on, you're the only barber for me. I won't even drive by other shops that have the little red, white and blue poles outside. Thanks for not cutting my ear off and, one other thing: sorry about the lousy tips.

IT'S A GRAPE: STOMP IT, RINSE IT, DRINK IT!

Whenever I go on wine tastings at local vineyards, (Haley's Comet comes to mind) I always make sure to bring my sixty-four ounce, pewter Chicago Cubs beer stein with me with the hope they'll fill it up. Just a heads up: they won't. Instead, they will dispense into your glass, an amount approximating two thimbles full. You will then be expected to swirl it around for a minute, hold it up to the light as if you might have just discovered some alien being floating on top, sniff it for thirty seconds, then sip. From that experience you should be able to tell everything there is to know about that particular wine. "Hmm, I believe this wine comes from the Fishkill region of New York with sixty year old grapes that were grown under the blazing sun next to Route 9...near a traffic light." Look, consuming wine should be enjoyable, relaxing and stress free. It should never become a science project. "May I help you?" "Yes, I'm looking for a wine that after two glasses will make me macho, good looking and worldly. What isle is that in?" "I'm sorry, Bob, we have nothing on our shelves that can accomplish anything even close to that."

I'm not trying to diminish the wine pros that really do know what they're talking about. These people study it and truly appreciate the inter workings of every facet of the wine making process, and that's great. They generally either own and operate their own wine business or they are master sommeliers, or both. Then, of course, there is the person who tries way too hard to impress but, in truth, the only thing they know for sure is which end of the bottle to open. My friend, Mark, falls in this category. I implore you to stay away from them at cocktail parties because they will drone on adnauseum about the dreadful state of the economy and insist that nothing will turn around until Ben Bernanke starts returning their e-mails.

So, I decided to play a little prank on Mr. Smarty Pants Mark. You should know that Mark spends hours in his 'lab' (basement) on weekends conjuring up what he believes is the best wine on the planet. Trust me, I've had some of Mark's wine and I'm not exactly sure what planet he's referring to. For my little test, I enlisted the help of my other friend, Kevin. I know what you're saying: "Bob, you've actually got two friends?" Yes, I really have two friends and they both like wine but only Mark is a pompous jerk.

Kevin provided me with a homemade bottle of red wine. I replaced his label, Kevin's Really Good Wine, with the label from a bottle of 3 Blind Moose Merlot 2007. Of course, I had to alter the contents a little, strictly for the purpose of exploiting Mark. I poured out about a cup of Kevin's wine and fed it to the plants, may they rest in peace. I then added a combination of Poughkeepsie tap water, three tablespoons of lemon extract, a shake of nutmeg, an eighth teaspoon of chili powder, and a splash of olive oil (extra virgin). Oh, and just to finish it off, a pinch of tabasco. I gave it a good shake and delivered it to Mr. Know It All. He was duly impressed by the label and immediately broke out the corkscrew.

Unfortunately, for appearances only, I had to pour myself a glass as well. He held the glass up to the light, swirled it around and brought it to his lips. The moment of truth was upon us. "This is excellent wine," he said. "My tongue feels like it's dancing." I was in my glory. Yes, indeed, my little friend, Mark, was blowing the cover off the bullshit meter now! To taunt him a little further, I asked him what he thought it tasted like and he said he was getting a hint of birch. Well, that's great, I thought, because who among us doesn't want our wine to taste like charred firewood? Mark insisted on having another glass and the joke was getting out of hand. There was no way I could level with him now. All I wanted to do was go home and throw up. He ended up having three glasses. The message here is simple: The harder a person tries to convince you how knowledgeable he is, the less he actually knows. But, on the other hand, maybe Mark's just addicted to lemon extract.

Here's what I DO know: The next time I'm having a glass of red wine, I'm tossing a big ol' ice cube in it, and, if I'm feeling really rebellious, I may not even swirl the glass or sniff it, and I recommend you try the same thing. It's very refreshing and cathartic.

Coming up next time, kids, we'll explore the many fine pretzel varieties that can be successfully paired with a bottle of Amstel Lite.

THE DEPARTMENT OF REGAL SECURITY

So, let me get this straight: A guy hides a box of potentially explosive Milk Duds in his Hanes Briefs. It goes undetected at the movie theatre and, as a result, he gets to waltz right in and see the movie of his choice with Non Concession Stand Purchased Snacks (N.C.S.P.S.)? How can this happen in the year 2010?

Let's meet Billy Bob Smoot, the Head Ticket Taker (H.T.T.) at Regal Cinemas. "Nobody sneaks in nothing," says the highly respected cinema employee. When I interviewed him, I reminded him of the double negative in his statement but he just scratched his head and instructed me to bend over and spread 'em.

Billy Bob's record is spotless when it comes to Foreign Snack Detection (F.S.D.) "If that Snickers bar comes from CVS Pharmacy, I'll snag it," he said emphatically. He added, "Besides, we don't even sell Snicker's Bars."

Why are other movie chains lacking in the F.S.D. department? Other cinemas says they're doing their best to track down and prevent the N.C.S.P.S. from ever getting into the actual theatre, but still, to date, nobody can match the efficiency of Billy Bob Smoot and Regal Cinemas.

Will we soon be needing full body scan machines as we enter the movie area? Will we have to create a 'movie watch' list for repeat offenders? These are just some of the, as yet, unanswered questions. Interestingly enough, it's the effortless way in which Billy Bob performs his job that brings strong criticism from many including the former H.T.T. at Regal, Richard China who says that Mr. Smoot just isn't displaying the toughness needed for such a high pressure job. Mr. China feels that suspected contraband holders should immediately be yanked out of line by their nostril hairs, then forced to walk through the food court for three days and nights with no money, all while being restrained by handcuffs. Then, they would be strapped in a chair facing the screen where School Of Rock plays over and over until the perpetrators' eyeballs fall out. Mr. Smoot, for his part, responded eloquently, "Hey, nobody's ever snuck in squat on my watch so shut up and bite me." For the record, Billy Bob invites, in fact, challenges all of his critics to try and sneak in his theatre with any kind of edible or potable contraband. "I'll find it, by golly. Even if it's an M&M nestled between the butt cheeks. "I'll find it, I'll remove it and I'll stomp on it, by gum."

Still, there remains a small segment of theatre goers that remains extremely annoyed by what they describe as a 'tedious and pointless effort to eliminate harmless minutia while creating painfully long lines and broken spirits.' They are generally loud and boisterous and they insist that as long as they feel safe and comfortable in the theatre and the previews don't include anything with Jennifer Lopez, there shouldn't be any concerns. However, this opinion is not shared by the majority of the cinema buffs in this country who feel that there are certain snacks when taken in combination, that pose a serious threat to anyone who steps inside a theatre, no matter where they were purchased. The prime example they are quick to point out is Milk Duds and Cherry Coke. They say there is overwhelming evidence that says Milk Duds consumed in large quantity over a short period of time, taken in conjunction with a product with such massive amounts of carbonation properties like a cherry Coke, can yield disastrous results for anyone sitting close by when the intestines erupt without warning. "Believe me, it's not pretty and the last thing we need in this country is panic in a movie theatre," says Mr. Smoot.

You should also know that the tight security measures in place at Regal are the result of many grueling hours of contraband training (C.T.) that all ticket takers must endure. Each candidate works alongside a highly trained Raisinette sniffing canine, who won't relent until every single nut is licked and devoured.

So, as Mr. Smoot says, "Don't be afraid to come to the theatre, unless you're carrying something you shouldn't be. But, keep in mind, if I see a bulge in clothing where there shouldn't be one, I'll make you disrobe right there on the spot and don't think I can't. My name is Billy Bob Smoot and I carry a name tag!

THE TENANTS TOP TEN

As another year draws to a close, as a landlord, I think that it's an appropriate time to reflect on some of the gems spoken by my wonderful tenants over the course of the last twelve months. Sometimes I felt moved, sometimes I just shrugged and walked away, but most of the time, I really just wanted to step in front of a speeding Loop bus. So with that, I present The Tenants Top Ten.

After getting a call about a tenant's 'cold' apartment in October, I tried to troubleshoot the situation from home first. After several minutes, I finally asked if they had tried turning up the thermostat. His response comes in at...

#10: No, I haven't tried that.

A prospective tenant completed the rental application and, on it, clearly stated that he had no pets. After accepting him, I went over two days later only to find four Pit Bull Terriers in the house. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...

#9) Come on, dogs aren't pets. Hamsters and rabbits are pets, Bob.

In July, I agreed to let a tenant, who claimed to be a 'professional painter' paint the front of the house in lieu of a portion of the rent. I went over to see the completed job and my jaw dropped to the ground and my eyes practically fell out of my head when I discovered that he had painted AROUND THE BUSHES! I asked him why and his reply is....

#8: I'm allergic to Rhododendrons. (P.S.: they were Forsythia)

It may be none of my business, but when a tenant of mine, who rents a two bedroom apartment for $1,200 a month and who delights in eating Hormel chili directly from the can, starts driving a $100,000 Hummer with all the bells and whistles, I get a little curious. I casually approached him on that and he came back with...

#7) I finally got that weekend job at Price Chopper.

Last February, after not receiving any rent by the 5th of the month, I called the tenant and asked when I could expect the payment. My God, you would have thought I just asked him to come over and critique the video of my colonoscopy. His retort landed him...

#6) Bob, what do you mean pay rent? I shoveled the entire sidewalk!

It's always a good idea to maintain contact with the tenants because it keeps surprises to a minimum. We rented an apartment to a young woman and her three daughters. When I stopped over to repair a leak, a man answered the door wearing enough gold around his neck to make Mr. T blush. And, as an extra added bonus, he was nattily attired in boxer shorts and a World Wrestling Entertainment tee shirt (no doubt won from some radio station). Behind him was an army of kids bouncing off furniture and swinging from ceiling fans. I broke into a cold sweat as I thought I must have just walked into Chuckie Cheese on free cinnamon stick night. Also, judging from the plethora of rugrats running around, it was fairly obvious that this guy spent most of the time with the boxers OFF, rather than on! I asked the woman point blank if he was living there. And here comes response....

#5) I don't know what you mean by 'living here?'

We have a nice relationship with some of my tenants and in August, one of them even invited us over to dinner. We weren't quite sure what to expect but, after getting a phone call from her two hours before we were to arrive, all doubt was pretty much removed when she asked...

#4) Would you mind bringing the plates and silverware?

Beware when renting to college students because many are demon seeds disguised as human beings. You'll probably need to peel back a layer of flesh to make sure they're not the devil incarnate. They generally only care about three things: drinking beer, exercising their joystick (most often alone) and destroying your house. I went over to fix a 'non-flushing' toilet, the result of one of the little miscreants trying to flush towels and tennis balls. While I was there, I noticed a mammoth hole in the sheet rock. The wingspan of Air Force One isn't that wide. Trust me, Sarah Palin could see that hole from her house. When I asked about it, I was told...

#3) Oh, crap, I didn't even see that.

Having vacancies is just part of the deal. You try and rent the space as soon as possible to re-coup your cash flow. One of the ways to advertise an apartment is to place a For Rent sign in the yard with a description and a phone number. I did this recently and was shocked at the lack of response. As I was driving by one day, I noticed the sign was gone. I asked the first floor tenant if he knew anything about it and, at least, he was honest. What he told me earned him...

#2) I took it down because I don't want anyone living upstairs!

I hate fielding complaints. Why can't these people act like adults, you know, like me? The language coming from this one unit was enough to prompt several calls from a tenant on a different floor. I went over and told the offender that he had to watch his language. I reminded him of the kids upstairs and that it's very disturbing for them to hear him spew venom like a drunken sailor. My dear friends, of all the great tenant lines I heard this year, this one comes in unanimously at...

#1) Bob, I can't stop swearing, What are ya, frickin' nuts?

Happy New Year and don't forget the silverware!

DR. OZ' BIG COVER UP

My wife, Michele, was invited to be a panelist on The Dr. Oz Show where the topic would be Alzheimer's Disease. Her father, and my best friend, Salvatore, is in the late stages of the disease and, as a result, has stopped complaining about the lumpy oatmeal served in the Claire Bridge cafeteria in Naples, Florida. Now, he just thinks they're soft golf balls and washes them down with a glass of the gravy from the peach sorbet.

Michele was told the segment on the show would be about twelve to fifteen minutes long which is just long enough to make some salient points but not long enough to plotz your drawers after you suddenly realize you're sitting next to Dr. frickin' Oz!

The panelists that were scheduled to appear were positioned in the bleachers next to the stage. They have a tiered seating arrangement in the studio. The people who either haven't bathed in a week or thought they were attending a taping of Password sat waaaay in the back and, obviously, had no shot of ever being seen on television. The group in the middle section were told to clap and smile at pretty much everything the doctor pontificated on, including explosive diarrhea and the dreaded crooked penis syndrome. These people also had no shot of ever actually speaking to the doctor.

It's the first group, the bleacher people, who were front and center. They're the ones that the pre-production group and the make-up people were fawning over to insure that they looked interested, alive and cute. They had to be the perfect little group.

Michele's friend, Beverly, went down for the taping to lend moral support and was one of the lucky ones to sit up front. I need to mention here that Beverly has, um, ample attributes. I believe the proper medical term is, "big boobs." When the person in charge of warming up the audience came out and explained what was going to be happening, he neglected to mention that cleavage would not be tolerated. It was on their final sweep through the bleacher creatures that some astute staff member noticed Beverly. The stage personnel huddled together in perplexed unison much like Nasa scientists do when they learn that the International Space Station has ran out Charmin. This was The Dr. Oz Show, damnit, and there was no way Beverly's boobs were going to take center stage! These people were completely stumped leaving many in the audience to wonder aloud just how many years they spent in I.T. before making the switch to production assistants. My God, hadn't any of them ever seen a well endowed woman before? Were they going to put her in the last section where all the people who haven't bathed sit? Maybe they could give her a pair of scrubs or a sweatshirt to wear. Possibly the good doctor could perform a quick reduction procedure. Heck, there had to be a scalpel close by, right?

They finally settled on lifting the top part of the dress a scosh. But how? Keep in mind that this is a multi-million dollar production and only the finest tools are used. That's right: Duct Tape! A little piece on the inside between the fabric and the skin is all it took. Perfect. They told Beverly to sit still and definitely not to try and adjust anything. After all, they wouldn't want any viewers to think that an attractive female who looked like she may have, at one point, had close ties to someone on the PGA tour in the audience, would they?

The taping, although late in starting due to the 'wardrobe malfunction,' went well. It was a great day for raising the awareness of Alzheimer's Disease and Michele did, in fact, get to ask a question of Dr. Oz. I believe the question she asked was, "What's the proper treatment for a rash caused by excessive exposure to duct tape on the chest?"