If Guys Could Talk

Self Exams for Men: Risky Business

2010-05-10T14:48:00.028-06:00

As a rule, words at the office are few at 6:00 a.m. on Monday mornings. We flock to the break room: to coffee, perchance to awaken. The fact that anything percolates before sunrise is truly amazing. Soon, the meetings will begin, or if there are none, we will, no doubt, within the hour find ourselves three spreadsheets to the wind. I utter ‘good morning’ to coworkers when provoked. We nod and reciprocate plastic smiles. Typical Monday.

At least it began that way until I hear, “nice pants.” It's the human resources gal. She's all smiles and pointing at my navy pinstripes.

Now I’m worried.

Generally speaking, in the dark world of men’s office apparel (mostly black and blue polyester), there is a mano-a-mano code of silence … that is, unless something is amiss, like the guy who tucks sweaters inside his pants. If there's no time to punish the offender by taping him to the flagpole, verbal abuse ensues. That’s when a man hears “Is the circus in town?” or, perhaps, “Nice pants.”

“Uh, thanks,” I say, trying to sound unrattled.

She finds the cream and sugar and disappears.

Second in line now, the self-examination begins in earnest. Zipper: check. No clinging fabric softener sheets. Now I look for stains – down the legs, hips, ankles. The exact moment that I crank my head around and make eye contact with my rear end – when I’m certain that no one else is paying attention – my boss materializes from nowhere.

“Everything okay?” he says, visibly amused.

I redirect quickly – mentioning the weather, inquiring about his weekend golf outing. He plays smalltalk, but the truth is in his eyes. I was checking myself out. He knows.

I’m fully awake now, unnaturally stirred, even before my first sip of coffee. “Nice pants,” I mumble under my breath, coffee now in hand as I make the trek back to my office. This time, the words trigger last night’s dream. I rarely remember dreams and am always surprised when they surface.

I sat in a punishing chair, sporting a provocative leisure suit — all white, bellbottoms, a button-down flower shirt from Mr. Brady’s wardrobe, nipple-length collar, white shoes. I looked like a Pat Boone regurgitation.

A clock ticked loudly, too loudly. Squirming, I searched desperately for the chair’s sweet spot. One wrong move and I knew that I'd give myself a wedgie on national television.

Sitting across from me, mere inches from my nose, Nipsey Russell studied me with twinkling eyes. “Stonehenge,” he said, then repeated it, louder than before, with a nod, with urgency.

I stared blankly, scanning his face for a clue that wasn’t there. The clock grew louder. My mind raced.

Stonehenge. Stonehenge. What did it mean? “Uh … the U.K., rocks, circles, religious ceremonies, wonders of the world …” I said, grasping.

Flustered, Nipsey abandoned me for three precious seconds, then nearly came unglued. “Fashion trends,” he shrieked, shaking his hands ecstatically.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Things a man will never understand!” I shouted.

Chaos. A bell dinged repeatedly. The clock stopped. We jumped up and down. Dick Clark shook our hands vigorously as the “$25,000 Pyramid” theme song filled our ears. Calgon took us away to a commercial break.

Stupid dream. I won’t be sharing that one with my boss.

Not an hour later, overheard in the hallway: “Nice top.” This time it’s a woman-to-woman compliment. No confusion there. It’s literal. They gush about her shirt for a full 60 seconds.

The thought that no one says “nice bottom” crosses my mind. Funny. Such flattery would be less ambiguous than “nice pants” in my world.

I glance at the framed “Life is like a box of chocolates …” poster on my wall and feel the sarcasm bubbling up. With apologies to Forrest Gump and everything that is decent in this world, sometimes, life is like a box of grenades … especially when it comes to men’s fashion.

This Article's Theme Song:
(CLICK HERE)

A Mid-Life Cuppa 'Joy'

2009-12-30T22:59:00.008-07:00

Middle age becomes me – like it or not, ready or not. I knew it had laid its claim on me a full moon and change ago, after sampling a cup of Starbucks “Joy” tea. “Didn’t take,” I informed the barista, “You must’ve slipped me a cup of Jaded.”

Standing there, basking in my emotional foo foo tea take, I felt mid-life’s grip … or was it youth’s kiss goodbye (more of a peck really, nothing long, slow and rapturous)? Whatever it was, it sounded a lot like a slurp. I discerned this rather immediately upon observing the collective raised eyebrow of the other Starbucks zombies, who interrupted their regularly scheduled texting to make deer-in-headlights eye contact. I stared back, unfazed. I drink Jaded now. Nothing rattles me.

I wasn’t like this a decade ago. Nope. I was the guy with dilated Y2K pupils – stockpiling nonperishables, going Chicken Little over crashing computers, oil spills in the North Atlantic, midnight nukes, wondering who did the math when the fateful hour had passed.

What’s changed in 10 years? My nerves, I think. They’re either shot or settled – not sure which. Doesn’t matter. Unlike the Roaring 20s and the Depressing 30s, I’m a new man: an emerging Gibraltar, no longer on a roller coaster carved by circumstance. Still, every so often, I have my moments – like when it’s 7 p.m. and I still have 3 glasses of water to drink to get my 8 in for the day, or when I suddenly realize that I haven’t had a leafy green vegetable in weeks. Horror-stricken, I punish myself the next few days with raw spinach and steer clear of everything that tastes good: everything with hydrogenated oil – cookies, cakes, peanut butter – basically everything that makes life worth living.

Though a bitter pill to swallow, I have also attained a Nirvana-like state of self-acceptance about my failed Ronco pipe dreams: Enya won’t be cutting an “Enya Face” CD; there may never be a That Was Stupid Button (a must-have for meetings); no facial Rogaine for men like me who couldn’t grow beards if their life depended on it. It’s okay. I don’t need the spotlight. I’ve found something better. I found my middle-aged cup of “Joy” … thanks to those magical creatures who call me daddy.

“I’m thankful for blankeys, monsters and aliens – oh! – AND omelets!” they said as we went around the Thanksgiving table this Holiday Season.

Later, during a “Home Alone” commercial break on the eve of Black Friday, my 6-year-old remarked (with a taxed look on his face), “This buy-one-get-one-free stuff sure is getting old …”

Then came Christmas.

“Christmas goes too fast when you’re a kid,” a friend said the other day, “and waaaaaaay too slow when you’re a grown up spending the Holidays with in-laws.” We laughed about the latter, but it was the former that gave me pause.

This Christmas break, my kids and I squeezed all we could from our time together: gingerbread houses and hot chocolate, a horse and carriage ride, holiday lights, the Christmas Eve bell choir, stories, board games, the whole nine. There was one tense moment – when shouts of “Mine!” and “No! Mine!” erupted. It seems that the kids had unevenly divided the wise men and were spatting over dibs on the baby Jesus nativity figurine.

Parenting classes did nothing to prepare me for this. Confiscating Jesus – taking Christ right out of the Christmas scene – just didn’t feel right. So there I stood, ogling my little devils, trying to form words.

“Fighting over baby Jesus? At Christmas? This is sooo wrong … on so many levels,” I scolded. Thankfully, before I could figure out what came next, baby Jesus was quickly bartered for a stable camel and an ox – a crooked trade according to at least one 6-year-old.

But this is what I cherish about middle age: the memories in the making. Later that night, my daughter provided two more: drawing hearts on a piece of scrap paper, handing it to me and saying, “For you, Daddy, because I love you,” then adding before bed, “I think about you when I dream.”

I lapped up her words, feeling my 40-year-old heart grow at least three sizes. Starbucks got nothin’ on my little cuppa’ Joy.

The Memo You Better Not Miss

2009-02-14T12:38:00.018-07:00

It happens to everyone: that jolt that instantly awakens the Linus Van Pelt inside. For some, it’s the economy, a milestone birthday, a Chicken Soup book, a funeral, a reunion. It’s always something we didn’t anticipate. For me, it was 30 pounds of innocence. (CLICK HERE for Sky-Hi Daily News link OR read below)

Flashback: 3 weeks ago …

I hammer away on my laptop while my 3-year-old stacks blocks. Suddenly, by stealth, after sneaking a swig of my iced coffee, she sidles up in her Ugg-boot-clad (happy) feet, cups her hands, whispers “daddy” and waits for a reaction she does not get.

It’s my loss.

Her tiny voice fails to penetrate the spreadsheet-induced fog I’m in – the one hijacking my senses. Despite my pent-up, inappropriate seriousness, the fire within her cannot be quenched. One thing she knows: some things in life are more important than spreadsheets. She inches closer, targets my right ear, and percolates again.

“Daddy,” she whispers, louder, sweeter, with urgency this time, sort of like Enya turning a new page and cutting an “Enya Face” album.

“Huh? Oh, hi honey! What is it?”

“Daddy, I have a secret.”

“A secret. Well now, that sounds delicious. What is it?”

“I know all about letters,” she says pointing to the tower of blocks.

This was news – bigger and more salient than the stimulus package, and delivered with panache … consistent with her M.O. Not a week earlier, she cornered me with her doctor kit and gave me my yearly physical: pulse, blood pressure, stethoscope, the whole nine. Turns out, I needed a shot. As she readied the plastic hypodermic needle, she rolled up my sleeve, eyeballed me and said with drummed up seriousness, “This won’t hurt, daddy.”

I’d be lying if I told you that the twinkling in her eyes, the sweetness in her voice and that toothy grin didn’t say something more: something sobering, something like, “Daddy! You in there? Hello? Life is happening. I’m all over it. Follow my lead.”

This was my wake-up call – prematurely delivered some might say, since my 40^th birthday, the official beginning of “Era of Second Thoughts,” is two months and change away. No doubt, like those who have gone before me, as I blow out the candles, I shall contemplate things anew – things like I’ve got a decade or two (tops) before the Oatmeal and Polyester Years lay hold … like maybe I should guzzle a bottle or two of Oil of Olay to stave off the wrinkles … like I’d give anything to have her whisper in my ear just one more time.

For now, I’m still digesting, “Daddy, I know all about letters.” After she whispered it, I snatched her up onto my lap, intrigued by this waist-high creature with a heart full of all things worth exploring. We laughed. We squeezed. And from somewhere underneath the skin, the Longfellow within me sprang to life: “Daddy, I know all about letters” – the ins, the outs, the ups, the downs, the loops, the sounds … ALL about letters. That’s when I remembered she had “Life” (cereal) for breakfast. I vowed to try a bowlful the next morning.

“Tell me about the letters, honey,” I said.

As her eyes beamed back at me, her thoughts were laid bare: THIS is what it’s all about! You got the memo, daddy. I’m so happy.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Introducing Dr. Phil's Next Project

2009-01-24T10:17:00.020-07:00

Funny how things turn out. Me, author of "The Manly Man's Dictionary," now a fixture in "Inspired Woman" magazine. My Dr. Phil-like plan to take over the world and establish a cultish female following is sooo working ... mWaa-ha-ha-ha-ha. This development, naturally, gave birth to this month's freshly edited (including a few new bells and whistles): "Introducing Dr. Phil's Next Project." Enjoy!

Can anger really be “managed” with deep breathing exercises, laps around the block and articulating feelings? No doubt, Dr. Phil is itching to squeeze another book out of the topic, especially if fate puts him on a collision course with my friend Chad.

Chad who? you ask, eyebrows raised, eyes suddenly jaundiced. After all, we’re surrounded by Chads – friends, neighbors, coworkers, infiltrators of the helping professions, lovers of horror movies. They’re out there right now, running around without warning labels, speaking before thinking, plotting your demise with smile-plastered faces. Know a Chad? ‘Tis of itself cause for concern. Even so, outing this Chad is completely out of the question. Revealing his surname would only result in more pointless bloodletting, of which I have vowed not to abet.

Why Chad and I are tight is beyond the scope of this character study. Suffice it to say that our friendship is my own therapist’s Stonehenge – an in-your-face reality that defies explanation but, nonetheless, cannot be ignored. After scrutinizing the phenomenon, one is reduced to the most elementary of explanations.

“It is what it is,” I say, sprawled out on the couch.

In the end, after consulting the ghosts of Freud, Jung and the masters of shrink, my therapist can only shake her head and grunt. But don’t take my word for it; judge for yourself.

This is the Chad that fate dealt me:

“She asked me what color to paint the bedroom,” he fumed, referring to a recent conversation with his wife. “Anything but yellow, I told her, then left for an out-of-town meeting and came back to – what else? A yellow bedroom.”

Furious, he hit speed dial.

“Why am I standing in a yellow bedroom?” he demanded.

“It’s not yellow. It’s goldenrod.”

“Oh, goldenrod. Well, that’s nothing like yellow now, is it?”

“Gotta’ run, Honey. Bye.”

“Not under my watch,” he mumbled.

After a quick trip to the hardware store, he buried the goldenrod under a coat of black latex. Before his wife returned home from work, he was gone – traveling to the next conference, picking black paint specs from his fingernails.

Fifty miles down the road, she called.

“Vincent Van Gogh,” he answered, then set the cell phone on the passenger seat, turned up the “Poisen” CD and let her vent. They would kiss and make up later, he knew, like always, like the week before.

That day, while she spent the lunch hour catching up on soap operas, he spruced up the sedan with Windex, Armor All and Tire Foam. Half an hour later, the Olds sparkled.

The next few minutes were a blur. While he scrounged through the fridge for a worthy leftover, his wife powdered her nose, grabbed her car keys and pecked him on the cheek.

“See you later,” she said, rushing out the door, jingling her keys like a sleigh bell.

That’s when the real soap opera began.

After filling up on a questionable burrito, Chad opened his car door unprepared for what he saw: there, on the passenger seat that he had meticulously cleaned only moments ago, lay a mound of fast food cups and wrappers, and a sprinkling of French fries. Protruding from the trash heap was a lipstick-stained straw.

“What the … ?” he screamed.

Counting to 10 was the last thing on his mind. The offense transcended the marriage vows. He promptly drove to his wife’s office, unlocked her car and returned the favor – stacking the trash in a 2-foot pyramid on the passenger seat. If only he knew that she would be giving her supervisor a ride home after work …

That night, the couple had words. During the fray, Chad threw out the book on anger management, refusing to: contort himself into the lotus position, find his “happy place,” empathize or back down. But he did take one small step.

That night, for the first time, he openly discussed his feelings. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t sugarcoated. It would have sent chills down Dr. Phil’s spine, but afterward, Chad felt like a new man.

He redeemed himself several weeks later, adorning his wife with diamond earrings.

“For putting up with me,” he said.

They hugged. They kissed. They gazed into each other’s eyes and felt something that words could not express.

The REAL Story:

A Little Music with That Column (spot on, methinks)?
CLICK HERE
Chad Who?
They hung in the Bush-Gore election. They have their own republic: a landlocked country (which Chads refer to as "the hinterland") in Central Africa. The Chads, like greenhouse gases, can no longer be ignored. This Chad, the Chad in question, granted me the surname green light on the blog only (just not in the magazine). He is Chad Reisenauer - one of the elite whom I could follow around with a pen and pad and never suffer for things to document and expound upon ... without need for embellishment.
About Dr. Phil
Dare I open my mouth? I am jealous - all those fans, mostly women, hanging on his every word ... like Barry Manilow, like Michael Jackson. For Dr. Phil groupies itching for an alley scrap (to mete out punishment for anyone who DARES speak ill of him), please take a couple of deep breaths. I mean no harm.
"Inspired Woman" Subscriptions
You can get your annual subscription by mailing $18 (printed every other month) to: Berget Publishing, 311 S. 8th Street, Bismarck, ND 58504.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Leaving Candle-Naming to the Ladies

2009-01-02T11:47:00.028-07:00

It began without fanfare, when I overheard a coworker divulge that she forked out $200 at a weekend candle party. Miraculously, I quelled the beast within that wanted to react as men often do: speaking before thinking. $200 on candles? No doubt, astronauts can identify her house from space when the lighting mood strikes.

The voice belonged to Colette Weber – soft-spoken (except when it came to candles), unassuming, “normal” by all other accounts. Her other vice is cats, though she seems to have that one under control. She owns just three, or, to be more accurate, they own her. But the candle thing … I had no idea. It cudgeled my tiny brain.

Prior to her admission – before I was exposed to the lunatic fringe – I would have pegged ‘majestic sunrise’ for a nature reference made by someone keeping Ben Franklin hours (all that ‘early to bed-early to rise’ nonsense) or, perhaps, the title of a piece of art. But I was naïve about the flippant name-calling practices of the candle industry: combining wax, perfume and Monet-like titles.

Hundreds of dollars spent on candles with ridiculous names! There was no letting it go. Several days later, I found myself in the Hallmark store, picking up over-priced candles, taking a whiff and christening them aloud. Time and again, what I thought should be called “Grandma Emptied the Perfume Bottle” was instead labeled something meaningless like “Heirloom Pearls.”

I was doing humanity a service, I told myself – doing Ralph Nader-like work for consumers falling prey to the candle industry equivalent of the Hindenburg. Heirloom Pearls? Puh-leeze.

The store owner gave me the jaundiced eye. Why wouldn't she? A man spending more than 5 minutes in the candle isle. Judging by the must-be-a-sicko look in her eye, it was time to go. After one last sniff, I mumbled “pitiful” and weaved my way through the teary masses (who were digesting five-stanza poems in the greeting card isle) and left the Hallmark patsies to their own devices.

The next day, my newfound hobby surfaced again, most unexpectedly, at work, just down the hall from Colette in Lori Martin’s cubicle. I picked up the white candle on her desk – entitled 'Cotton' – inhaled, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Hotel bed sheets,” I announced.

Lori ogled me in horror. Until then, our relationship had been professional – discussing advanced paper-shuffling techniques, corporate ladder climbing and how to look and sound intelligent at business meetings.

Hotel bed sheets changed everything.

The look on her face tested my deodorant and highlighted the need for fast and brilliant words. ‘Hotel bed sheets, I repeated the foible in my mind. Now there’s a picture, you idiot! Quick, say something! Save yourself!’

“Clean ones!” I shouted.

Her laughter was volcanic, causing a groundswell of inquiries from curious coworkers. By day’s end, my reputation was beyond salvage.

Thus ended my candle-naming fling. The memory of it lingers – forever burned into my brain as the day I opened my mouth and leaped into the sea of idiocy. Truth be told: for a short while, I did inhale.

The silver lining? My $200 is still in my wallet.

The REAL Story:

A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE
Where to Find a Hard Copy of This Column
Bismarck's "Inspire Magazine", Jan/Feb 2009 issue; email: inspire@btinet.net; phone: (701) 255-3422.
Keystone Candle-Naming and ...
The truth in candle naming issue will forever toy with my scruples. Another equally disturbing scam: lotion naming. No telling how much trouble that one would get me into.
Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Teary Masses
Soapbox issue #21: Hallmark greeting card 5-stanza poems. Too sappy. Too over-the-top. Too much like a bad novel. Please! How 'bout a little truth mixed in, like: You're a pretty good guy. You need to work on (insert character flaw). Happy birthday, nonetheless.
Hotel Bed Sheets
Mark my words! Pick up that cotton candle, head to the nearest hotel, toss back the sheets and take a whiff. My nose does not lie.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Year of the Rat in the Rear View Mirror

2008-12-29T15:07:00.032-07:00

Y2K IX: Top Three Reflections
(a.k.a. Chawbacon Ramblings):

1. Clearly, I need a good therapist ... so I can have someone to share my dreams with.

2. “Last night, I made Yogurt-Stuffed Three-Cheese Phyllo Triangles,” all you Martha Stewart wannabes tell me, rattling off a dozen ingredients I’ve never heard of, could enunciate or even afford … while I pop another Lean Cuisine frozen cardboard MRE in the microwave. Grrr.

Bottom line: DO NOT cook and tell.

3. A telephone answering machine message with teeth – “Hello? Hello? Anyone there? (keep saying this for 10 seconds; it’s deliciously fun).” If the caller persists, sigh disgustedly, then add, “Look: I’m already losing sleep over my expired car warranty. Where were you guys when I was buying a Yugo?”

Yep, my 2008 was a microcosm of reality: 2 parts philosophy, 1 part epiphany. Hard to argue that any bona fide 2008 Time Capsule should include a gallon $4 gasoline, a lead-based paint toy or two, an updated Jack & Jill nursery rhyme: (Freddie falling, Fannie a-tumbling after) and a smoldering 401K. For me, 2008 was the end of an era, the end of a dream: the Wall Street-day-trader dream. Hey, even a dumb animal like me learns.

As another riveting chapter in life’s fairy tale unfolds in 2009,‘happily ever after’ hangs in the balance. It’s a dangling carrot that I can no longer ignore, an Everest that I must pursue.

Step one: research. After burning half an hour in cyberspace, I hit the mother lode at www.wikihow.com, unlocking the secrets to life’s unsolved mysteries, including how to: ‘look like Anna Kournikova,’ ‘buy girl pants if you’re a guy,’ ‘safely use a public restroom,’ ‘be a ninja spy’ and (how to)‘stop talking about yourself.’

Solid information. The stuff of New Year’s resolutions. But not for me. I’m targeting Pulitzers, syndication, sitcoms in the crosshairs. I tell myself it’s easier than winning the lottery. We’ll see …

The 2008 jury for this column, however, has spoken clearly, saying things like:

“Just out of the blue, in public, I find myself suddenly thinking about that last column of yours and peeing my pants – semi-problematic, but manageable, thanks to my designer catheter handbag.”

Yes, yes. I know: Don’t let it go to my head.

To be perfectly honest, the feedback wasn’t all grins and giggles. One critic accused me of stunting my toddler’s physical and psychological development (because she sneaks sips of my lattes). Another reader swung lower (I’ll spare you the details). And I would be negligent to make no mention of the fallout over a typo (I erroneously called a novel “Praying” instead of “Playing for Pizza”). The lesson? Regardless of topic, writers always offend someone … just steer clear of the Grisham Fan Club if at all possible.

Despite the skepticism, there’s one 2 AM-staring-at-the-ceiling waking dream I can’t shake: making the NY Times Best-Seller List. This is why, in 2009, this column will not appear again in the Sky-Hi Daily News until April, and then make a monthly, not a weekly appearance. The lighter schedule will give me time for growing wild hairs, for chasing dreams, for breathing life into my someday.

But enough about me. Here's to YOUR someday! Let's make this rat lap around the sun count ...

... and thanks for reading.

The REAL Story:

A Little Music with That Column?
CLICK HERE
NY Times Best-Seller ... Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!
The way I see it, its either roll up my sleeves and take a whack at the publishing industry or bore my grandkids with oral, instead of written, tall tales. Here goes nothing. Next Sky-Hi Daily News column: April 2009. Next "Inspire Magazine" column: January 2009 (which I will publish on this blog). Not to worry, I'll still be blogging for those of you who need a fix.
"Hello? Hello? Hello?" Props
This phone message comes compliments of a 12-year-old prodigy.
"Semi-problematic, but Manageable" Props
"Semi-problematic, but manageable" is a direct quote from a reader known only as 'Young Twain' (who violates Reflection 2 with reckless abandon, but actually didn't cop to the catheter-handbag). Most critical accusation of 2008: the "chauvinist" tag. All I could say to the offended reader was, "I am sorry to have offended you."

Sky-Hi Daily News version: CLICK HERE

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Wanted: A Simple Mary Ellen Goodnight

2008-12-21T14:55:00.026-07:00

Some find security
in knowing that December’s full moon is fading. Others do not …

Goodnight Irene, Saigon, Sweet Darlin’ – all you sipping tea with long-lost relatives, executing superhero duties flawlessly, reliving childhood … all you aboard the REM Sleep Train. It’s pushing 2 a.m. You sleepmongers are getting fat and happy.

Newspaper column link CLICK HERE ... or read on.

Not me. Turns out I’m nocturnal – lying here on the couch, remote in hand, surfing for the Insomnia Channel (which for some reason I think is a PBS affiliate).

As luck would have it, I catch Mary Ellen blitzing John Boy, Elizabeth, Jim-Bob and the rest of the overalls with NyQuil-grade “good nights.”

“Niiiice!” I snap.

My kids stir in their bunk beds at the outburst, then, gradually doze off again.

“C’mon, Mary Ellen. Throw me a bone,” I say, softer this time. As flippant as she is with goodnights, would it kill her to toss one my way? It’s not like I’m trying to squeeze a goodnight kiss out of her, just a simple goodnight for someone who really could use one.

Exhausted, I contemplate a sleeping pill, but stop myself. I have to hit the grind in 4 hours. Too late for a sleeping pill; the zombie risk is too high. If only chamomile tea did something more than exercise my bladder.

Why me? Why tonight? I don’t deserve this. I exercised. I showered. I read (a chapter of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” … which reminded me to lock the front door). I smoothed the sheets. Fluffed the pillow. Turned off the lights. Relaxed my tongue.

But shortly after closing my eyes, The Bangles concert fired up in my head: “ … the school kids so sick of books, they like the punk and the metal bands. When the buzzer rings, oh-way-oh, they walk like an Egyptian” … 25 words that incite educators, sensible parents, “Dancing with the Stars” addicts and all of Egypt. Twenty-five words and a voodoo-like melody that encroached upon my sanity from 10:30 p.m. until 1:50 a.m. when, finally, I threw off the covers, found the CD and torched it in the fireplace.

Now, as if on cue, Mary Ellen appears.

“Goodnight, Mary Ellen,” I say, turning her off, turning on the lamp and finding “Dracula” again. Like me, he’s a night owl. Like me, he fancies himself in a cape. Like me, he doesn’t like to be disturbed when sleeping. The coincidences are sobering.

Like Dracula, I never bought that Ben Franklin “early to bed, early to rise” crap. If boot camp hours are bliss, why then do most heart attacks occur in the a.m. shortly after the alarm clock jolts the Sleeping Beauty in us? And why do roosters taste like chicken?

I wander to the bathroom, hit the light and search for meaning in the mirror. My un-dead reflection stares back, looking anemic, iron-deficient, like I need a red meat transfusion … or a Geritol tablet. But it’s chicken, not steak on the brain at 2 a.m. Why? Before I can connect the dots, the poultry pangs give way to something stronger … the urge to Google Mary Ellen.

What happens next is fuzzy — images of a suffocating mist, boxes of unclean earth, releasing the hounds. Sometime later – how long I don’t know – the alarm clock pierces the fog and echoes down the hallway. Why is Mary Ellen on my computer monitor? Why do my house slippers have mud on them? And why am I clutching a blood sausage?

Disturbing, but something tells me I don't want to know. Besides, it's time to get ready for work.

Minutes later, I cut my neck shaving. The sight of blood triggers something: a simultaneous dreading and yearning for the night, the full moon, my primordial self. I notice my reflection in the mirror; the fact that I still have one is comforting.

Mary Ellen is safe … for now.

On my way out the door, I open the freezer. The chicken thighs jump out at me. That’s dinner, I decide, tossing the package into the sink to thaw. After dinner, after sinking my incisors into dark meat, I promise myself a long, hot shower. Hopefully, that does the trick. I better nod off tonight before Mary Ellen stiffs me again at 2 a.m., or heaven help us all ... even if the moon is half-empty.

The REAL Story:

A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE
Duh-Nuh-Nuh-Nuh-Nuh-Nuh ("Waltons" theme song)
Born in '69, my memories of the Waltons are sparse: John Boy's mole, his secretive journals and, of course, all those "goodnights."
Bram Stoker's Masterpiece
As a rule, I DO NOT partake in the horror genre. However, the storytelling of "Dracula" and the character development is second to none. I picked up a $2 copy at a second-hand store, expecting a chapter or two of amusement. It did not disappoint. Seventy pages of amusement, giving way to compelling, and ending with a bang. Most fascinating: the good guys hunting Dracula, unraveling the mystery of the "un-dead."
Tribute to Strolling Tunes
My 2 favs: The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian," Katrina & the Waves' "Walking on Sunshine." Honorable mention: Johnny Cash's "Walk the Line." But why walk when you can "Jump?"

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

A Slice of Inspiration: the Welk Outhouse (Just off to Your Left)

2008-12-15T20:58:00.011-07:00

On the 12th day of Christmas, OPEC gave to me cheap gasoline. The $1.69-a-gallon carrot is being dangled, saying, “It’s safe for you SUVs to come out now and claim your lost summer vacation.” But with a fledgling economy, takers will, no doubt, pinch pennies … which brings us to soapbox Issue No. 10: visiting childhood homes of celebrities.

This train wreck always lurks between rest stops: You’re driving along, destroying dental work with Corn Nuts, washing it down ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

A Little Song & Dance with that Column?
CLICK HERE
"A One and a Two and ..."
Yep. I've driven past the Welk home ... more than once. Proud to say I was never sucked in. Nothing personal. As the article suggests, it's the principle of the matter ... I'm waaaaay too protective of my wallet.
Taking Swipes at the Tour Guide
Confession: I wouldn't mind being your tour guide for one day, then writing about it.
Tossing Dad's Socks out the Window
Guilty. Dad marched me outside, pointed to the polyester pile and said, "How did that get there?" He didn't buy the 'ol gust-o-wind-blew-them-out-the-window routine. My whoopin' that day was epic.
Orbit Maui Melon Mint Gum
Try it now and be forever changed. Really, really.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

No More Bedtime: Sending Kids to the Freezer Instead

2008-12-07T19:41:00.038-07:00

Found: happy place.
Theme song: M.C. Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This.”

“I love you,” I told my 3-year-old, grabbed her face, then smooched both cheeks Italian style.

She giggled, leapt into my chest, squeezed with all four limbs and whispered, “I love you more."

“Awww,” friends with teenagers say, before taking whacks at my toddler bliss with adolescent horror stories – texting, not talking, My Space, video game hangovers, shrink-wrapped clothes, body piercing.

“You’ll come home from work one day, your little angel will bat her eyes at daddy, empty your wallet and total your car while trolling for boyfriends,” they cackle.

“Buh … buh … buh .. buh-oyfriends?”

Thus began the nightmares:

She brings the leech home. He’s all smoke and mirrors: clean cut, dripping with body spray, the personality of a rice cake. Too obtuse to read my vibe, he stays for dinner: steak and potatoes. He wants it well done.

“Your college major?” I ask at the dinner table.

“Journalism,dad,” my princess answers for him. “He’s a writer … just like you. He’s brilliant.”

Brilliant? It’s a word she has never used to describe my writing – the writing that filled her belly, put a roof over her head, paid for her manicures, her designer handbags and her evil iPhone. Brilliant strikes a nerve.

Boy Wonder smiles, nods and, in raptures, shoves another $0.30 of charred meat down his esophogus. The urge to wipe the ‘this-could-be-the-beginning-of-something-beautiful’ look from his face is palpable.

“Delicious,” he says.

“Delicious” breaks my “brilliant” trance. Delicious? That’s the best Little Lord Hemmingway could muster after swallowing half my cow? Not succulent, epicurean, nectarous, titillating? I’m thinking journalism is a line – a vile plan to infiltrate the family.

Under the guise of a bathroom break, I excuse myself, slap water on my face and do some deep breathing exercises – returning to the kitchen in time to hear my daughter say, “Go ahead. Take it. Dad doesn’t need that.”

Are my eyes deceiving me? Is that leech actually removing the chocolate cake from my plate? My chocolate cake?

“Try that again and you’ll pull back a bloody stump,” I snap, picking up a steak knife and waiving it.

While I clear the table, he snatches my remote, sits on the couch waaaaaay too close to my daughter, surfs the channels and finds Paris Hilton. I suffer the offense by biting my lip.

“Come here, dad. Tell us what you think of the first chapter of his novel,” she says during the commercial.

“A novel? Really?” I’m almost impressed.

Within 3 sentences, I’m sucking air, digesting scenes inspired by the movie “Saw,” no longer underwhelmed. There, sitting not 10 feet from me, in my own living room, picking burnt meat from his teeth, ogling my daughter (I swear, if she uses the word “fate” and his name in the same sentence one more time, I’ll lock her up in the nunnery until death do us part) is the seed of Dracula, Edgar Allen Poe’s protégé: my future son-in-law.

That’s when I awake, baseball bat in hand, drenched in sweat.

I cope by Googling ‘cryogenically freezing toddlers’ every month or so – hoping science will throw me a bone. It’s my only hope: Thawing out the kids on my days off, sending them to the freezer instead of bed – delaying adolescence as long as possible. Maybe Dr. Frankenstein could make it happen … and take out Little Hemmingway while he’s at it.

The REAL Story:

A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE
Hammertime!
I am NOT a big rap music fan, but Hammer's 'Can't Touch This' brings out the bad dancer in me. My friend Shawn Hammes ... a.k.a. "Hammertime" pays the price. When his name pops up on caller ID, I answer, "Hey, Can't Touch This. Whazzup?"
The Maddie Python Hug
No lie. All 4 limbs. Big, heart-piercing squeeze. Then she finishes me off with her blue eyes. No one has to tell me: I am one lucky daddy.
The "Saw" - "Bloody Stump" References
Every "Saw" reference reminds me of one of my all-time favorite characters (and best friends) - the unforgettable Chad Reisenauer of "Honey, I painted the bedroom walls black" lore. "Bloody stump" comes compliments of classmate Wendy Crocker Bailey.
What's with Dracula?
I picked up a $2 copy of Bram Stoker's masterpiece at a second-hand store in Fraser, Colorado. I thought I'd read a couple chapters for kicks. Surprisingly, I find myself wildly captivated.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

You Got Your Soup Face On?

2008-12-01T14:51:00.007-07:00

It’s that time of year again: soup time. The living dead (among us) have survived another Black Friday free-for-all, and the all-you-can-eat turkey noodle soup lovefest is suddenly ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

Good Tomato Basil Trips (to Date)
Notable tomato basil hot spots: The Walrus (Bismarck, ND), The Rapids (Grand Lake, CO) and The Sagebrush (Grand Lake, CO). DO NOT under any circumstance buy canned tomato basil. Been there, done that. Lived to tell about it ... but just barely.
Sneaking into MENSA
Yeah, right. My IQ is only 140. According to a recent free, online test, I'm smarter than the president. Maybe. Maybe not. I know I'm not bright enough to be the water boy at any sanctioned MENSA event.
Regarding Nasty Films
Am I the only one who ever had to eat water-based tomato soup? The only survivor? Surely some other poor soul has a Campbell's war story or two.
A Little Music with That Column?
CLICK HERE

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Odds & Ends

2008-11-28T10:50:00.004-07:00

Dunno when it began, but I've always had a "thang" for a good story, a pithy phrase, an amusing word. I call it "the good stuff," and when somebody else wrote it, I am seized with writer's jealousy ... like D.C. Talk's - "Thinking of a way to explain-o, 'cause you know that I'm flowing like a bottle of Drain-o."

But the good stuff, the magic, surrounds us all - in cyberspace chats, in songs, in coversations overheard at Starbucks. Like Neil Diamond said, "It's the rhythm of life." So start writing it down all you wannabe novelists. I have. Here are a few nuggets from my growing word/phrase list:

24-hour surprise
bottom feeder
old charms
meat-ax approach
trolling for
scruple
suffered the offense with a ....

Got a word list of your own? Do tell! Mine has guided me through writer's block and helped make ordinary columns something better.

The Danger of Diner Napkins and Long Showers

2008-11-23T21:06:00.013-07:00

Somebody missed the memo: the one explaining that by now, at the dawn of midlife, my imaginary coffee shop - called "Coffee Snobs," "Cuppajos" or some other pithy revelation - should be what I call "the office." That RIGHT NOW, I should be ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

The Brilliance of Coffee Snobs
As far as I know, the term "coffee snobs" was first coined by Emily McKay. She graciously permitted me to use it some time ago in in one of my first column's.
Someday: the American Dream
Maybe my someday is not in the cards, and I DO worry about the future me ... if and when the dream finally dies. IF and WHEN that happens, there is a silver lining: it should keep a therapist or two in the black for quite some time.
Jelly Belly Bubble Gum
I DID make that call. I was put on hold forever. I'm sooo DONE with corporate America ... the publishing industry excepted.
The Simon Cowell Take
Can you picture "Idol" without him? I can't. I wouldn't even bother watching.
A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE for this week's theme song

Email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-11-21T21:57:00.003-07:00

Be thankful for a clean bill of health and good health care. Many would gladly suffer the momentary sting of a shot, the gritty deposit after a teeth cleaning, and even donning those ugly optometrist paper sunglasses. Uninsured stats (according to the CDC): 40 million Americans, including 10 percent of children. Got health care? If so, stop whining about a poke in the arm and be grateful that you don't have to choose between paying the doctor or paying for food.

- Dr. F.E. Minist
- Photo by JuLee Brand

Dr. Watch Your Back: Readers Respond

2008-11-19T19:32:00.007-07:00

Too many comments to post this week. Suffice it to say we ALL piled on in the afterglow of the "helping professions" bashfest. Below are just two voices who got in on the action:

"What's scarier than going to the doctor or dentist? Healthcare insurance. Making sure the doctors are "in network" and procedures are "covered." Otherwise count on a lame excuse why the insurance provider won't pay."
- Wicked Wendy, Sharpest Tongue in the North

"I'll say this: latrophobia is not your only problem."
- Chad, the Norwegian Moose Expert

Manly Man's Diet Update: I began at 183 pounds. I weighed myself again today after eating a McDonald's Southern Style Chicken Sandwich (not on the approved food list). Result: still under 170. However, I AM exercising almost daily now.

email me: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. You-Better-Watch-Your-Back

2008-11-17T16:04:00.010-07:00

It’s step one: admitting the problem. So, here goes: Iatrophobia. There. I said it. That’s my problem … fear of going to the doctor. Before you tell me to “suck it up,” call me a wimp and fling the Book of Macho at me, consider this ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

Your 1st Childhood Memory
It's true, mine was a nightmare. I recently conducted an informal survey of 10 people, asking them if their first memory was good or bad. Answer: 5 good, 5 bad. Most had their first memory at the age of 3.
RE: Dentists and Optometrists
Lately, my luck has changed for the better, thanks to Silk's Dental Hygiene and Winter Park Optical (both in Winter Park, Colo.). Last time I left the dentist, my bib didn't even have blood on it and they told me my gums were improving (I think someone missed the "don't forget to scare the crap out of him memo"). Last eye exam, I even talked the good doctor out of shooting air in my eye.
History Repeats Itself
Even if, personally, I didn't have a bad rap with the helping professions, history tells us that they used to bleed people, saw off limbs, prescribe laxatives for almost any ailment. Today's doctors/surgeons still occasionally amputate the wrong limb or "accidentally" drop a surgical instrument somewhere under the skin before sewing up patients. Yikes!
A Little Music with That Column?
CLICK HERE for this week's theme song.

email: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-11-14T19:31:00.004-07:00

“The best thing I have is the knife from Fatal Attraction. I hung it in my kitchen. It's my way of saying, Don't mess with me.” - Glenn Close

Feminist or not, women take pride in their homes. After all, the majority of the housework and cooking is STILL done by women. For those who like to cook, they are often very particular about their kitchen and their cooking utensils, they also consider the kitchen their territory. Coming home after a long day in the rat race and finding one's domain defaced and one's tools being mishandled can ... and WILL send any sensible woman over the edge. The best intentions can often be ruined when we fail to consider needs and expectations of our partners. Just as Mary doesn't want a dead dear in her kitchen being hacked up with her good knives, her husband probably doesn't want to find that Mary decided to use his hot glue gun to bedazzle the six-point rack.

- Dr. F.E. Minist
- photo by JuLee Brand

Oops! Dialing 9-1-1 ... with Regrets

2008-11-10T12:47:00.030-07:00

If Mary's life were ethically cloned, sectioned, quartered and packaged for public consumption, no one would envy the individual parts. But with platinum blond hair, real fingernails, perfect eyebrows and a killer... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

Something About Mary
Mary is the legendary Stick-Girl - eater of 1/2 a donut, able to call half a crouton a meal.Though the Mary in this story is not Stick Girl, Stick Girl DID feed me this story. For that, I am indebted. I am always on the prowl for something print-worthy.
Something About Bank Tellers
Some of the nicest people I have ever met, are bank tellers, especially the bank tellers at U.S. Bank in Granby. The free Friday cookies are also a crowd-pleaser. I always wonder if good customer service reps get tired of smiling, tired of being nice. The good ones will never admit it. CLICK HERE for one of my all-time favorite stories about a bank teller. Special thanks to Carolyn LaFavers, my financial guru, a former banker, for the inside scoop on the Dum Dums.
One Thing About Knives
Ben Franklin, perhaps, said it best: "There was never a good knife made out of bad steel." Funny. Charming, but personally, I'm more of a John Adams kind of guy.
A Little Music with that Column
CLICK HERE for this week's theme song.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-11-09T14:59:00.004-07:00

"I have a rule when I weigh myself: if I've gained, I starve myself for the rest of the day, but if I've lost, I starve too." – Anonymous quote from an Anorexic.

Throughout my life, I have been in contact with many individuals who suffer from eating disorders, from close friends to students in my classes. While we often associate eating disorders with simply the desire to look a certain way, they are actually about control. For many individuals, food is used a mechanism to control other forms of stress and anxiety in their lives.

Because of this, the idea of being sick to lose weight can be a theme for individuals with eating disorders or other body image issues.

It is perfectly normal to reach a point in your life where you need to lose weight or want to get in to shape. If you are having trouble with this, work with a professional to create a diet and exercise plan. Starving yourself will ultimately cause more harm than good. If you know someone who truly believes that being thinner will make them feel better about themselves, be a true friend and work to get them help.

- Dr. F.E. Minist
- photo by JuLee Brand

Manly Man's Diet: Readers Respond

2008-11-05T22:03:00.010-07:00

"We should really see if this diet works on a woman...my menopausal body has gotten so used to sitting that my feet, back, shoulders and neck get sore just a short stroll over to the kitchen...I spend enormous amounts of time think of the benefits of exercise, eating well and oh, I really should stop smoking...my son says things like..."remember when you were skinny?" Do I!!!" - Queen Carla (Minnesota)

"I'm going to Starbucks tomorrow: White Chocolate Mocha venti.. all the fat and whip you can cram into the cup please. And before I take that first sip I will toast your "Man Diet"...laugh my best evil laugh...and sip away. Nummmmy! If you want to go on a real manly man's diet try this on for size. Get pregnant...find out you have terrible morning sickness...vomit at any food (Dinty Moore was the worst and when I say food, I include dog food in the comment too) commercials for 3 months. With that plan, you can lose a whopping 40 pounds even after you give birth to a 7 pound kid! - Wicked Wendy Bailey

"I'm not willing to get sick for a new diet ... However, I can try the sleep deprivation. I'll get back to you in a few weeks." - Jon in Jacksonville

The Manly Man's Diet Plan

2008-11-02T19:21:00.008-07:00

New game show idea:
"Home Remedy Survivor." Viewers can play along at home, like I did as a kid. My father, concoctor of the vilest elixirs ever manufactured without a Hazmat suit, would, of course, be the host. A man of the cloth by trade, I am living proof that he missed his true calling ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

The Wonders of Revlon Lipstick
Bismarck, ND reader Michael Bain shared this "home remedy" ... one his mother was prescribed (by his grandmother) after visiting the dentist.
The Manly Man's Diet Plan
No yellow journalism in this column. I just dipped below 170 pounds for the first time in ... like ... forever. Dunno why, but when channel surfing, I frequently catch a few minutes of diet shows. My favorite: Paul McKenna's "I Can Make You Thin."
Punishing a Wad of Chewing Gum.
I highly recommend Orbit Maui Melon Mint.
A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE for this week's theme song.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-10-31T16:41:00.006-06:00

"Men don't know much about women. We do know when they're happy. We know when they're crying, and we know when they're pissed off. We just don't know in what order these are gonna' come at us." - Evan Davis

I don’t completely agree with this quote, but it is true that many women show emotions, which can, in some cases, be unacceptable.

In many societies, crying is taboo for men. What boy didn’t hear “big boys don’t cry,” “crying is for sissies,” or “I’ll give you something to cry about?” How sad is that? Crying can be medicine.

For women, showing negative emotion, specifically anger, is rarely acceptable. Girls are told to “be nice,” “be more ladylike.” Anger points to something internal, skeptics say - something uncontrollable, something biological. Therefore, society says women (especially in the corporate world) are not supposed to cry (a sign of weakness) ... and heaven forbid if they get angry (the B word).

But what is a human being minus emotion? If we all could show it without being judged, happiness would surely follow. For more information on gender and emotion, check out: http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m2294/is_1_40/ai_54250822

- Dr. F.E. Minist
- Photo by JuLee Brand

Beware the Gateway Movie

2008-10-26T21:01:00.012-06:00

For many hardcore movie buffs, "The Wizard of Oz" tops the list of all-time cinematic blockbusters. Others give "Gone with the Wind" the nod. Not me. My favorite blockbuster for 2 decades was "Star Wars" (which I saw at the age of 7). Was, I say, until recently ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

Jane (Austen) on the Brain
Yep. Still guilty. Reading "Persuasion" now, and, for the record, it is NOT as engaging as "Sense and Sensibility" and "Pride and Prejudice." Next up: "Emma" ... methinks.
Lump-in-the-Throaters
I'm guilty of lumping on all 5 movies listed in this article ... AND, of course, the play "You are a Good Man Charlie Brown."
Over-the-Top Lump-in-the-Throaters
Occasionally, Hollywood makes a movie so well, so realistic, so depressing, that I will NEVER watch it again, unless forced. For me, this includes: "The Color Purple," "Saving Private Ryan," "Schindler's List," and "Castaway."
A Little Music with that Column?
CLICK HERE
Sign Up Here for the Good Stuff
If you'd like the weekly column emailed to you, let me know at the email address below. Also ... check out my Facebook page by querying "Rob Taylor columnist" ... I'm the dude with the killer mullet. Free mugs & t-shirts for all fan club members when I get rich.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-10-24T10:27:00.002-06:00

Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. ~Joseph Conrad

Good relationships are based on equality. Of course individual perceptions of equality vary greatly. Is taking care of the outside chores equal to taking care of the inside chores? Why is one parent a caretaker and the other a babysitter when it comes to having the kids alone? Why does one person get waited on hand and foot when they are sick and the other person still manages to take care of everyone else first before themselves when they are sick? Who hasn't "milked" it a bit from time to time? I know many of my mother to be friends have! Only you can answer these questions based on your needs and experiences. And I certainly urge you to examine the equality in your relationship. For me personally, I have to say, if I had the chance to lay on the couch, watch the Bronco's play and get a 3-hour back rub, I would certainly say that equalizes a few things!

- Dr. F.E. Minist
- Photo by JuLee Brand

Football & Backrub: Readers Respond

2008-10-22T21:01:00.010-06:00

"Gee, I sure hope the pain subsides ... someday. Enjoy that TV!"
- New England Rambler

"Holy crap, Batman! I never even saw that one coming. Who woulda thunk that the perfect husband crap would pay off like that? A 50-inch plasma? Suddenly, MY life is 'forever altered'."
- Dude Who Knows Better Than to State His Name

"Wow! Some story. Hit by a Hummer? Just between us guys, I would like to ask him if he is still feeling the pain ... really."
- Joe for President

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Football & a Backrub? Somebody Pinch Me

2008-10-18T19:19:00.035-06:00

Found: the perfect husband. He does dishes. He makes tight beds. He vacuums and mops, sort of (using cleaning robots). He regularly attacks showers and toilets with latex gloves, bleach, Comet and Pop-Up Wipes. He does it all: cooking included. And, although he wouldn't voluntarily broach the subject, he has watched "You've Got Mail" and "Return to Me" more than once ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

The Perfect Husband?
A flawed concept to be sure, but if there is one, methinks it is my man Jon Braun. He truly DOES rub his wife's back during football games. The extent of which (if at all) he is milking his injury is a matter of debate.
The Perfect Omelet
Begins with the perfect non-stick pan: calphalon or one of its cheaper cousins. Pan must be heated thoroughly, greased with REAL butter on medium to medium-high. Add ingredients: 3 whisked grade A extra large eggs mixed with 2 tablespoons of milk, pepper bacon, Romano tomatoes, green onions, fresh basil, salt and sharp cheddar cheese. Important: keep pan moving while cooking. Flip omelet when no longer runny ... folding it like a taco. Recipe compliments of Chi-Town Cuppajo.
Most Accidents Happen 5 Miles or Less from Home
At least that's what carinsurance.com alleges. Jon's happened less than 20 feet from his front door.
Wake Up! It's Lunchtime
Before entering the Naval Academy, Jonno worked the convenience store graveyard shift: 11 PM - 7 AM. After work, he drove home, slept, set the alarm for noon, woke up for his mother's home-cooked lunch, then went back to bed. "What can I say? I like to eat," he said.
A Little Music With That Column?
CLICK HERE
Sign Up Here for "The Good Stuff"
If you'd like the weekly column emailed to you, let me know at the email address below. Also ... check out my Facebook page by querying "Rob Taylor columnist" ... I'm the dude with the killer mullet. Free mugs & t-shirts for all fan club members when I get rich.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Inspirational Peanuts: Readers Respond

2008-10-14T19:18:00.005-06:00

"LOVE the Peanuts holiday shows: The Great Pumpkin...the sad little Christmas tree... and that familiar song Schroeder played while all of the Peanuts gang danced. Even though I'm pushing 40, I still become a kid when I watch the shows. And, with my girls now ages 15 and 11, I also can see Pigpen in my kids...and their rooms, Linus when they sleep with their blankies and Lucy when they're oogling over that certain crush or hit a mood swing. Maybe Peanuts wasn't so much for entertainment purposes but to educate us on different personalities and how to all play nice together." - Wicked Wendy

"What's better than to watch an NFL Monday Night Football game with the reigning undefeated NY Giants getting beat by the struggling Cleveland Browns?? I didn't watch a single play ... my 7 year old asked me to read her a book ... having her fall asleep on my shoulder as I read her the "Dinosaurs before dark" is much better than any football game ... even the Superbowl! I agree with you Rob on the "Desperately Seeking Inspirational Peanuts" theme ... however ... my favorite comic strip growing up was "Beetle Bailey". Maybe I felt related to "Private Bailey" or maybe it was "Camp Swampy". So far you are batting 1000 ... your articles are World Series Material ... when you get syndicated please don't rename the title to "Dear Rob". - Jon in Jacksonville

Desperately Seeking Inspirational Peanuts

2008-10-12T10:48:00.014-06:00

Every day for half a lifetime, in black and white Monday through Saturday and in living color on Sundays, the magic of Charles Schultz landed on our front door steps, was savored between bites of cereal, and ultimately took up residence in our hearts ...
FULL STORY (10/14/08)

The REAL Story:

The Dao of Peanuts
Shultz's masterpiece was, perhaps, heavier on philosophy than slapstick humor ... Charlie Brown soliciting Lucy for psychiatric help, brick wall conversations with Linus, and, of course, happiness being defined as "a warm puppy." Peanuts brought out the child in all of us - that innocent, beautiful ankle-biter that still hopes, still dreams, tries to make sense of an impossible world and never gives up.
Regarding Theater ... Nothing Personal
I'm more of a movie guy. I would, however, if given the opportunity, go see "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" again and again, and find myself making frequent references to Charles Schultz. I suspect that I might also enjoy two plays that I have never seen: "The Lion King" and "Cats."
Dear Abby Delusions
Yes, I admit it. I would LOVE Abby's job. One hiccup that I forsee: my advice would definitely be laced with a lethal dose of sarcasm and wit. Not holding my breath on being offered the gig .... if only. *Sigh*
A Little Music With That Column?
CLICK HERE
Join the Hippest Club Around
If you'd like the weekly column emailed to you, let me know at the email address below. Also ... check out my Facebook page by querying "Rob Taylor columnist" ... I'm the dude with the killer mullet. Free mugs & t-shirts for all fan club members when I get rich.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-10-10T07:56:00.003-06:00

There is no shortage of quotes and misquotes about anti-family feminists. Yes, there ARE people living among us who oppose marriage and children, but most do not. Truth is: not everyone has the luxury of a traditional nuclear family - something feminists acknowledge. Throughout our lives the definition of family changes and grows - e.g. traditional families, extended families, step families, adopted families, friends' families, even support groups. Regardless of the definition, having people to turn to when you need support, love, advice and guidance is vital. No matter how we identify ourselves as humans, it is important to open our hearts and be a positive part of someone's family.
- Dr. F.E. Minist, Women's Rights Expert
- Photo by JuLee Brand

Godsent: Reader Response

2008-10-09T17:54:00.001-06:00

There are so many movies that employ that theme of "if I could only go back and relive that time", (too many to mention here, for sure). But I would have to say, repeating ANY part of my junior high or high school years would not be at the top of my list of things to do if I had a time machine at my disposal. Bravo to Nick for finding and appreciating the silver lining in the storm clouds of his past and inspiring us all with his story. Peace. - FazeHer, the Desert Rose

Reader's Response of the Week

2008-10-08T18:35:00.006-06:00

They are all around you if you look. Sometimes it isn't that hard to spot ... like a turtle crossing the road ... do you swerve and drive on or do you pull over and help. The "littluns" and "Piggys" (characters from Lord of the Flies) of our society get run over and squished all the time. You can be that British Naval Officer at the end of the book/movie that shakes the boys from what they were engulfed in "the darkness of a man's heart". It is possible to change society and stand up for what is just and right. We can be that Officer ... get your commission from God and he will show you your mission each day. - Bustin' a Gut in the Bayou

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

The Godsent House Around the Corner

2008-10-04T17:34:00.018-06:00

Nicholas, the second smallest boy in a class of 500, digested “Lord of the Flies” better than any high school freshman should have. This red flag went unnoticed by all the usual suspects ...
FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

Nicholas Who?
Not Nickelby. Nick asked me to write his story, not to reveal his name. Top secret stuff ... a la Deep Throat. The bullying he suffered injured his pride more than his body, he says, but he has recovered nicely - able to forgive, trying to forget.
Answered Prayers?
I have it on good word that this still happens, even today. Nothing like a broken and contrite heart to get the attention of the Almighty.

Palpable Happiness
One of my favorite quotes belongs to Tom Masson, who said, "Be yourself is about the worst advice you can give some people." Another of my favorites: Charles Schultz: "Happiness is a warm puppy" and "Being a little kid is tough." Whatever defines happiness, the Schweglers carried the torch and delved out angelic doses ... simply by being themselves, the best advice anyone could ever have given them.

This Week's Theme Song
Like a little music to go along with your reading. CLICK HERE for this week's song ... about the homeless and overflowing human kindness.
The Hippest Club Around
If you'd like the weekly column emailed to you, let me know at the email address below. Also ... check out my Facebook page by querying "Rob Taylor columnist" ... I'm the dude with the killer mullet. Free mugs & t-shirts for all fan club members when I get rich.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Hot Thighs, Classic Lit: Readers Respond

2008-10-02T21:55:00.011-06:00

"Thighs ARE meatier. And they get hot when they rub together. Is Nebraskan corn whiskey the same as Wedding Whiskey and Red Eye? Maybe I should have some too. I can't even remember Xanadu. All I can remember is Olivia Newton John in her "Let's Get Physical" gear. Leg warmers, if put high enough, could help with meaty thighs." - Wicked Wendy

Guys CAN talk classic lit. Want proof?

My last post stated: "When I bury my nose in a book, more often than not it is classic literature: Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, Tales of 'O Henry. Recently, I have immersed myself in one literary master's (who wrote ca. 1800 and who's character development is second to none) works ... who inspired the phrases "rapturous delight" and "suffered the offense with ..." Can you name that author?

Jon in Jacksonville, who rubs his wife's back during Jacksonville Jaguar games until she falls asleep AND, just to lay it on thick, tidies up around the house ... replied: “rapturous delight” and “suffered the offense with …” Jane Austen??

I answered: Bingo. Easy one, huh?

Jon: I was a rock in English lit ... Meaning I didn't do very well ... I watched some of the Jane Austen novels on PBS with my wife.

My reply: Only his love for his wife surpassed his fascination with all things masculine. She was ever in his heart - filling it equally with rememberances as with new engagements ... and nothing, save for his tidiness on the domestic scene, demonstrated his passion for her more than giving her back rubs while the Jags played out their weekly drama for 3 hours on Sunday afternoons.

Jon: I have to shut my office door because I'm laughing too hard. People are starting to stare.

Thus ended the manly Jane Austen banter ...

Discovering Your Thirst Pain

2008-09-28T19:33:00.037-06:00

Every artist has a muse. Dave’s was dead poultry – brought to life by a Weber grill, a 400-degree flame, a commercial-grade spatula and a little Springsteen in the background (sometimes the “Xanadu” soundtrack if the guys weren’t around). Almost every weekend ... FULL STORY

The REAL Story:

You CAN'T be Serious!
The real "pitcher incident" occurred during Superbowl XLI: Bears vs. Colts. While I was munching on a bowl of Doritos, the pitcher made its initial rounds, and the pitcher-barer (who's identity I cannot reveal) actually fell asleep ... DURING the game! I held my tongue and did not to question his manhood.
Shawn: Fact or Fiction
Shawn Hammes is flesh and blood, the real deal. His big screen TV did actually break down. He, alone (perhaps), read the infamous "water book" and could NOT shut up about it. In addition to reading, Shawn cops to liking the movie "The Breakfast Club" (an undeniable chick flick), the Minnesota Vikings and long weekends.

This Week's Theme Song
If you need music to accompany your to-die-for hot wings,CLICK HERE. Note the chick magnet 60s duds and doos.
I'll Take Classic Lit for $600, Alex
When I bury my nose in a book, more often than not it is classic literature: Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, Tales of 'O Henry. Recently, I have immersed myself in one literary master's (who wrote ca. 1800 and who's character development is second to none) works ... who inspired the phrases "rapturous delight" and "suffered the offense with ..." Can you name that author?
Hot Thighs Recipe
My recipe ... admittedly not as good as Dave's (I don't know the secret sauce)
1 - fire up grill to 400 degrees
2 - skin thighs and place face down in a canola oil-greased cookie sheet
3 - put thighs face down on grill for 7 - 10 min., then flip for 20 minutes
4 - saturate thighs with hot wing sauce (any brand will do)
5 - cook for 5 minutes, then serve with celery sticks & ranch dressing
NOTE: serve with Corona beer, Fat Tire Amber Ale or Long Island Iced Tea
Hot Thigh Recipe 2
1 - slice meat off bone and drizzle with MORE hot wing sauce
2 - steam rice with cilantro in a rice cooker (2 cups water, 1 cup rice)
3 - dice green onions and celery
4 - mix 1 tablespoon of butter in with each bowl you serve
5 - top with celery, onions and thigh meat
YUM, YUM! Serve with Corona beer, Fat Tire Amber Ale or Long Island Iced Tea

Hot Thigh Recipe 3
1 - put equal portions of cilantro rice, hot thigh meat and black beans in a burrito-sized tortilla.
2 - add diced green onions, celery and cheese (of your choice)
3 - drizzle with green salsa and lime juice
4 - serve with Corona beer, Fat Tire Amber Ale or Long Island Iced Tea
Join the Hippest Club Around
If you'd like the weekly column emailed to you, just give me a heads up at the email address below. Also ... check me out on Facebook by querying "Rob Taylor columnist"; I'm the dude with the killer mullet. Free mugs and t-shirts for all fan members when I get rich!
Desperately Seeking ...
LOL, ROF, PMP funny holiday stories. What's yours?

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-09-26T15:55:00.006-06:00

"I am woman! I am invincible! I am pooped!" ~Author Unknown.

As great as this country and its people are, we need to face the fact that sometimes American's have it wrong. A huge portion of us - women and men -are caught up in the idea that we have to and can do everything. We work our 40+ hours per week (often working through lunches and into the evening). We attend all our kids activities. We volunteer. We are there for families and friends. We work out and, quite frankly, we are exhausted.

Our attempts to do "everything" has serious side effects - obesity, antidepressants now the #1 US prescription drug, increased TV viewing ... and, perhaps most troubling, each technological breakthrough minimizes the need for verbal communication. Yet, so many of us are "fine." Guess what? Fine isn't good enough. Go home, turn your TV off, play with your child outside, eat ice cream and actually work to be happy!

- Dr. F.E. Minist, Women's Studies Expert
- PHOTO by JuLee Brand

How Ya' Do-in': Readers Respond

2008-09-25T16:17:00.012-06:00

"My hound has a major sweet tooth, too; if something "sweet" spills on the floor, he is right there. I could throw a raw steak down and he might glance at it as he snarfs the sweet stuff ... I would like to be Giana today. Do you have a magic wand? Zap me!"
- FazeHer, the 24-Hour Arizona Surprise

"LOVED the part about eating a Weight Watchers lunch with chopsticks."
- Chi-Town Cuppajo

"Inspired, yesterday I made myself a PB&J sandwich. Someone at work today asked, "How are you doing?" "Great!" I replied ... and meant it."
- Jon in Jacksonville

Desperately Seeking ....
LOL, ROF, PMP funny holiday stories. What's yours?

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

How Ya' DO-in' ... Really?

2008-09-22T08:47:00.036-06:00

It’s the stuff of fortune cookies, a nickel’s worth of psychiatric help and any noteworthy call to war: seizing the day. When’s the last time you did?

Been a while for me, but I remember what it looks like, thanks to Tuffy, a Boston Terrier with vision.

My landlord and I walked in on his creation one day ... FULL STORY

The Real Story:

Playing Sock with a Boston Terrier
Tuffy would clamp on to one end of a tube sock, and I would lift him off the ground by the other. THEN - suspended in the air - he would violently shake his head. Boston Terriers are often referred to as the "American Gentlemen" of dogs due to their pleasant personalities. I can't argue that. Tuffy loved to play sock, eat table scraps and snuggle up next to you on the couch for an ear scratch. I loved that dog.
The Sugar Canister Incident
Really happened. I ran down to the basement for an unrestrained chuckle, while my landlord screamed in anger and performed a room-to-room Tuffy hunt. When she found him shaking under the bed, she gave a spirited lecture (including a finger wagging) about his misdeeds and the sanctity of the kitchen.
Who's that Girl .... Gianna?
I have been sworn to secrecy. However, beware those who claim to have attained perfection.
Shenanigan Reality Check: True or False
Taco Bell - true. Camera borrowing - true. Fortune cookie routine - true (NOTE: fortune cookies are a recurring theme ... click here). However, these antics cannot be attributed solely to one person.
How Ya' DO-in .... REALLY
This story originally featured Granby, CO llama-owner Gretchen Reynolds, the inspiration behind the famous "bedsheets" column. Gretchen just smoked me this past week in fantasy football ... GRRRR. Gretchen is "marvelous" every day, except the day her McDonald's double cheeseburger lunch was late in arriving. In this article, I decided to focus on Gianna, Miss "Perfect", instead of Miss "Marvelous."
Join the Club
If you would like this link emailed to you every week, give me a shout at ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com. And feel free to look me up on Facebook ... query "Rob Taylor columnist" ... I'm the dude with the killer mullet.
Weekly Blog Lineup
Friday - Readers Respond
Saturday - Dr. F.E. Minist
Saturday - Wicked Wendy

Wicked Wendy Chimes In

2008-09-19T15:12:00.009-06:00

"My house is messy enough to live in and clean enough to be healthy. That's good enough for me but not for my husband. He thinks he does a great job of cleaning but he just straightens. For the deep down clean...I avoid ulcers by hiring a maid. Life's too short."
- "Wicked" Wendy Crocker Bailey

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-09-17T18:32:00.013-06:00

"Housework can't kill you, but why take the chance?" Phyllis Diller. There is an abundance of research that shows that women do most of the household labor and that marriage and children increases this work. However, research is also showing that men are chipping in more than ever before; however, no where near what women do. But, I am not going to solely blame the men for this and here is why. For many women it is an issue of control, being able to make things the way they want them is important and this is one area they can control. For other women they don't think their significant others can or will do as good as job so they tend to do it themselves. For those who do say that there significant others don't help out at all, you need to step up and delegate! Just because aspects of our society imply women are in charge of the domestic front, it doesn't mean things have to be that way. There is no excuse for one of the two partners, who both have full time responsibilities, to sit in front of the television or computer while the other one works. If you are truly in that situation, I would strongly suggest storing that mop in a location other than the closet!

- Dr. F.E. Minist, Women's Study Expert
(photo by JuLee Brand)

Readers Respond: Germaphobes & Starbucks

2008-09-17T18:32:00.012-06:00

"Soooo funny!!! I LOVED the .....hail damage on my butt and the insurance company won't return my call posting!!!!!!! The Starbucks column had me howling!"
- Ellen, Master Teacher of the Prairie

"Reminds me of the USA Network character "Monk" - who is the poster child for living a "99.9 percent germ-free life". People that like to clean have a special trait that many (like myself) have a hard time applying to our lives. We struggle daily to take out the trash or keep the kitchen free of dirty dishes." - Bustin' a Gut in the Bayou

Alternate Ending
Suzie, in Phoenix, one of the Germaphobes who inspired this story, preferred the alternative ending (which I could not publish due to a 700 word limit). Taking Suzie's advice, here is the alternative ending (picking up right after you read the doctor's note):

... The next morning, he (Joy's husband) kicked her out of the house. At 10 AM, while she hovered over a latte and read a magazine at the corner Starbucks, he swept, mopped and vacuumed without complaint.

“What a nice surprise,” Joy said with a less-than-sincere smile. That afternoon, when he went to the hardware store, she cleaned the floors again until she heard the familiar squeak. Her husband caught her in the act, mop in hand. He threatened to tell her doctor.

Instead, he resorted to Plan B. One week later, he waived 2 Michael Bolton concert tickets in her face, cleared his throat, grabbed the broom handle and belted out “When a Man Loves a Germaphobe.” When the laughter subsided, he handed her a shopping bag. Gift-wrapped inside were 2 robots: a vacuum cleaner and a floor tile cleaner. Diamonds could not have excited her more.

She fired them up immediately, saying only, “I … I … I can’t believe it.” One year later, the floors have never been cleaner, and, according to the doctor, her ulcer is in remission.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

When a Man Loves a Germaphobe

2008-09-12T20:53:00.033-06:00

“What a waste of ink,” Joy Allday mumbled, closing the Oprah Magazine, carefully avoiding the fingerprints on the cover. The deal killer? When the “Confrontation for Sissies” article deteriorated into a Latin root word analysis - an exercise that she had avoided since college ... FULL STORY

The Real Story:

Joy Allday: Fact or Fiction
While trolling Facebook for friends, acquaintances and potential readers (you too can be my Facebook bud, find me under "Rob Taylor columnist"; I'm the dude with the mullet), I happened upon the greatest name since Snow White: "Hope Allday." Can you think of a more perfect name? I can't. I don't know Hope, but her surname was far too good to pass up.

A Tale of 2 Germaphobes
Joy Allday is a composite of 2 readers: Suzie in Phoenix and Angela in Chicago. Both married. Both Germaphobes. Both fighting the good fight with an array of cleaning products. They introduced me to their bizarre and amusing worlds.

Hamstrung by the Word Limit
There's SO much more to this story. It nearly killed me, but due to column length restrictions, I had to leave out Suzie's "hovering technique." My guess is that it will surface sometime in the future.

Feeling the Love for Michael Bolton
What do Bolton, Celine Dion and Barry Manilow have in common (other than extraordinary noses)? They seem to fall in love within 10 seconds of every song ... just my take.

Pop Up Wipes ... Da' BOMB
According to Suzie, there's nothing better on the market. Her passion for the wipes inspired me to post her remarks on my Facebook page. One of my Facebook friends TOTALLY agreed with Suzie's assessment and echoed her sentiments.
Chipping Away ... a Final Thought
One reader wrote, "LOVED the article last week. It made me laugh - mostly because you pay more for coffee than I pay to fuel up my pink motor scooter."

CORRECTION:

P.S. RE: My Financial Guru
IRAs are "funded", not purcased, she pointed out, correcting the egregious error in last week's column. Like I said, she's good. So good, in fact that she, Carolyn LaFavers, belongs to NOWIB (Network of Women in Business).

COMING SOON:

How Ya' DO-in'? Really ... Answering Life's MOST Essential Question

Dialing 9-1-1, Living with the Consequences
It's Me, Your Thirst Pain Talking, Saying, "Feel the Burn"
Train Wrecks, Interventions and the FREAKING Dairy Dip
Warm Memories of Hot Soup
When "Thank You" Doesn't Quite Cut It

Join the "If Guys Could Talk" FAN CLUB. Don't miss out! Email ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com to join, and I'll email you the link to EVERY NEW story. Life-changing free mugs & t-shirts for ALL fan members when I get rich ...

Dr. F.E. Minist: RE: Coffee

2008-09-12T13:05:00.005-06:00

Betty Friedan, a founding member of the National Women's Political Caucus (1971), said the NWPC was organized "to make policy not coffee". Unfortunately there are still a lot of women making coffee. Of the 20 leading employment areas for women, as identified by the US Dept. of Labor, the majority of them are low paying clerical, child care and service work areas. While women make up 46% of the workforce, the median weekly earnings of women who were full-time wage and salary workers were $614, or 80 percent of men’s $766.

On a bright note, women outnumber men as financial managers! Statistics available at the U.S. Department of Labor website: http://www.dol.gov/wb/stats/main.htm

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Chipping Away: Readers Respond

2008-09-09T11:59:00.021-06:00

"Absolutely right! I have NEVER bought a Caramel Macchiato Frappucino, BUT, I am ashamed to say, I have bought for both my daughters---those hideously expensive fraps--- on numerous occasions. I griped about it every time too. I, myself, love Starbuck's iced teas and am very perturbed when they cannot make my favorite: blueberry white iced tea."
- Carolyn LaFavers, Legendary Financial Guru

"My coffee is something you may or may not have heard of: it's called F O L G E R S, ground, black, one splenda. Yum yum!" - Chi-Town CuppaJo

"I could go for a Java Chip Frappaccino Grande right now, wouldn't mind 'chipping away at the 401K' ... a good song title with the right genre of music ...I reluctantly gave up caffeine about a month ago ... I would get these raging headaches from lack of the C-Drug and could only calm them down by drinking a bottle of M-dew. This story is funny on many levels ... for me the funniest is that my family and I met a grandfather in church 2 Sunday's ago and his name ... "Socrates". He originally was from Columbia ... "Bendiciones" a quote from Socrates ... isn't it fun being a gringo!" - Bustin' a Gut in the Bayou

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Chipping Away at the 401 K

2008-09-07T15:31:00.017-06:00

It’s 6:35 a.m. Monday morning.
I’m next in line at Starbucks, salivating like Pavlov’s dog.

I drove here on autopilot, I think, in my “shock-value green” Mazda. It’s even greener than people think: 40 MPG without a drop of ethanol ...
FULL STORY

The Real Story:

Name that Barista
Mum's the word RE: the Starbucks barista who offered me "a cup of spit." Surely, her "Legendary Service" pin would be at risk. Her legendary staus is safe with me ... she ALWAYS gets my coffee right.
Starbucks: Take 2
This is my 2nd column about Starbucks. One reader was so disturbed by the first Starbucks column (Coffee Snobs) that he emailed me and told me that I was ruining my daughter's brain development every time she snuck a sip. He included references to scientific journals in his email.

Got Financial Advice?
Indianapolis financial guru (and Minot High School Class of '87 alum) Carolyn LaFavers inspired the character in this story. Her mantra: "People tell me they can't afford a financial advisor; I tell them they can't afford NOT to have one. She has worked for Edward Jones for 6 years and change.
Behold the Man Purse
I was accused of toting one 5 years ago. It looked like a growth trying to burst out of my back pocket. Back then, I carried photos, every discount card imaginable, spare car keys and sometimes even money. I caught heck over the "man purse" in the locker room though and eventually downsized to a money clip.
Laugh-Out-Loud, Pee-My-Pants Funny Stories
Do tell! PUH-leeze ... I am ALWAYS scrounging for new column ideas.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Dr. F.E. Minist Chimes In

2008-09-04T11:11:00.010-06:00

“I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn’t itch,” said Gilda Radner. Fashion is an elitist notion that serves only to oppress women (frequently by other women) and promote hierarchy in our society. For many women, fashion is based solely on what they can afford, what is on sale or what can be found at a second hand store. For those slaves to fashion, the only people that truly appreciate their style are the merchants and designers who profit from their vanity.

Kudos to Konnie! Enjoy homemade Thanksgiving dinner and you wear your white shoes and pants proudly!

- Dr. F.E. Minist (photo by JuLee Brand)

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Blacklisted Whites: Readers, Ratter, Ratted Respond

2008-09-02T19:13:00.029-06:00

"I'm totally against white pants in any season. It seems I have hail damage on my butt and upper thighs and the insurance company won't return my calls!"
- 'Wicked' Wendy Crocker Bailey

For the record: yesterday, the day after Labor Day 2008, I packed up the white pants and white shoes ... truth, whole truth, nothing but the truth. Nothing but winter whites for me until Memorial Day 2009."
- Konnie "The Ratted" Rask

"I’ll make sure I let you know if she wears white again before next summer…hee hee. I offered her $20, but she’s not having it!"
- Carol "The Rat" Macy

"White kitchens went out of style in the early '90s. Now I am told that white kitchens are on their way back into style. If someone decides to purchase a kitchen with white cabinets ... they will have to live with it ... right?"
- Jon in Jacksonville

"I was wearing a white shirt yesterday as I read your article. I felt so liberated!!!!"
- Pam Loomis, 'The Candy Jar Keeper'

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Post-Labor Day Litmus Test: Blacklisted Whites

2008-08-29T14:48:00.031-06:00

No one saw it coming: Konnie Rask, Colorado’s former self-anointed fashion police chief, losing her way? Forget the election. This is THE story of 2008. Konnie Rask was sighted wearing white pants out of season.

Gasp. UFOs, Bigfoot and Elvis. Now this ...
FULL STORY

PHOTO: www.zappos.com

Backstory:

Konstance Withdrawals
Konnie Rask made Grand County, Colo. laugh and see that the cup was usually half full. She ALWAYS called it like it is. Colorado misses her dearly.
Fashion Queen Encore
This is Konnie's 2nd appearance in my column. Her first appearance featured game show legend Nipsey Russell - one of my grandmother's favorite '70s game show personalities.
Mail Order Thanksgiving Dinner?
Konnie NEVER cooked Thanksgiving dinner. It was shipped to her, pre-cooked, every year that she lived in Colorado. The fact that she is now cooking it herself is even more troubling than the Memorial Day violation.
Even More PMP, ROFL Gems
Readers Responses: Thursday, September 4
Dr. F.E. Minist's Expert Analysis: Friday, September 5
Coming Soon
"Chipping Away at the 401 k", "Happily Married, Living the 99.9% Germ-Free Dream", "Dialing 9-1-1, Living with the Consequences", "Warm Memories of Hot Soup"

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

"The College Roommate": Dr. F.E. Minist's Analysis

2008-08-28T17:42:00.021-06:00

Author and “Bohemian” Katherine Mansfield wrote: “How idiotic civilization is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?” Many feminists and hippies, believe that being unclothed makes individuals less afraid of their bodies and better able to express themselves. Feminists preach that we should love our bodies and not be ashamed of them. Francois, of college roommate lore (see "Death Becomes Him: the College Roommate" post BELOW), certainly seemed unafraid of his body.

- Dr. F.E. Minist (PHOTO: by JuLee Brand)

"I laughed so hard at the college roommate story (see story in post below) that I had to close my office door."
- Busting-a-gut in the Bayou

EMAIL: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

"Spirit of Party": Readers React

2008-08-27T16:59:00.017-06:00

"88 years ago women finally got the right to vote. My guess is that the women who fought so hard for this would be disappointed that the election process has turned into a battle of money, scandal and popularity. Woman did not march, dodge objects hurled at them and risk going to jail for the divisive political environment that we currently have." - Iowa Scooter Girl

"Killer article last week! But politics makes my stomach churn."
- Granby Jones

"Your point about George W is right on. I recently finished a 13-disc audio biography and found it very interesting. He seemed to demonstrate wisdom and insight far beyond the "Common Man" of his day....actually, he would probably surpass most people (certainly politicians) of our present time."
- The Napoleonic Wrestler

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Readers' Choice, Special Edition

2008-08-24T16:22:00.000-06:00

WARNING: my 2nd, and perhaps last, political column. Don't like politics? Scroll down to "Death Becomes Him: the College Roommate" for your weekly laugh.

Today's Column: Beware the "Spirit of Party"
Our Olympic host, the “People’s Republic,” had its game face on: looking dignified, tolerant, civil. But underneath the plastic smiles, memories of ... FULL STORY

Backstory:

My 1st political column "made the fridge", or so one reader told me. Write more political columns, she urged.

Politics isn't 24x7 for me - a la CNN, FoxNews, MSNBC, etc. I can only handle about 5 minutes of it before my ears turn red.

Thanks to my friends Chet, Pam & Frank, my brother Mike, my mother and Stick Girl for their 2 cents on this piece.
The Democratic National Convention is 67 miles away from where I sit; the RNC is even further; I won't be attending either. I might watch a few minutes of each ... IF I can stomach them.

Why can't we strive for the country of our forefathers - a United States that was created on ideals, not "realities"? I hold out hope for that America. Am I alone?

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Death Becomes Him: the College Roommate

2008-08-24T14:11:00.000-06:00

Saturday morning. No class, no reason to set an alarm clock. However, I was jolted awake by the sight of my college roommate, Francois, stark naked – pouring a bowl of cereal in front of the window. The penetrating sunshine outlined his hulking frame. Seconds later, he strutted across the room, sat in a chair and attacked his cereal.

That’s okay, I thought, trying to endure the sound of whole grain being mashed and forced down his esophagus. He’ll get dressed soon. Afraid that his breakfast pose would permanently be burned into my brain, I rolled over and faced the wall next to the bed – the only sight line available that did not include his morning glory.

When the crunching, slurping and belching finally subsided, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him stroll across the room – still unclothed – and sit down in the other chair.

“Do you THINK you could put some clothes on?” I said, disgusted that both chairs were now tainted.

“Why? This is the way God made me.” The smile on his face begged to be wiped off.

Several days later, I opened the dorm room door and was greeted – once again – by the narcissist. He sat in a chair, in the buff, poking his thigh with a needle.

“WHAT are you doing?” I demanded, quickly closing the door before anyone in the hallway got an eye full.

“Oh, nothing. I just have a little ingrown hair.”

“This has got to stop … NOW!”

He chuckled and grabbed a drumstick from his Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket. After taking a bite, he licked his fingers, said, “Umm, umm, finger-licking good,” then went back to poking himself.

It was “the defining moment.” The line was drawn: death became him. I had the motive, but lacked the means ... for a while.

A few days later, time and chance dealt me the hand of a lifetime. Francois had just finished his evening shower and stood in front of the mirror – naked again, not even a towel covering his strapping loins and flanks – closely examining his complexion. He leaned forward, scanning every pore. His face was no more than 2 inches from the mirror.

The steam from his shower traveled through the open door as I sat at my desk, taking a study break, munching on peanut butter crackers.

“Niiiiiice,” I said, after a sideways glance at his latest pose.

It reminded me of Rodin's "The Thinker." Rodin probably never had to live with it, though, like I did. Too much humanity is a bad thing, I decided.

That's when the light bulb went off. And, when it did, it looked like I had been struck by Parkinson’s: I could hardly keep my hand steady as I caked Peter Pan on that ominous Saltine. Somehow, I spread extra creamy on both sides of the cracker and sneaked up behind him – undetected – as he continued his facial exam.

In the blink of an eye, I slipped the Saltine up his butt crack, violently swatted both of his cheeks, threw open the door and bolted out of the dormitory.

Thus ended Francois’ Nudist Phase.

Every Holiday Season, when "The Nutcracker" rolls into town, I wax nostalgic about that magic Saltine with a chuckle, then scratch my chin. I’m no ballet fan, but I hope to live to see the day that the Broadway marquee lights up with “Taylor & Francois present: The Buttcracker.” No dolls. No toy soldiers. No mouse king. Just a modern-day tale about how David defeated Goliath with nothing more than a Saltine, gobs of peanut butter and a twisted mind.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

"The Buttcracker" - just a taste

2008-08-23T13:20:00.000-06:00

While roommates use the college years to ‘find themselves’ – since their professors won’t find them in class too often – the rest of us discover how little things chip away at our sanity … little things like:

‘borrowing’ toothbrushes and deodorant sticks
sleeping in a coffin, not a bed (this really happened)
blasting “Guns & Roses” at 6 AM, dancing in front of the mirror and expelling gas
cramming a semester’s worth of dirty clothes underneath the bed
eating your food, stealing your money, ‘borrowing’ your clothes (including underwear) and taking your car

FULL STORY: Monday, August 25

Pick Your Poison

2008-08-22T22:15:00.001-06:00

Monday's column will be a double whammy: politics, humor or both? You decide. At the urging of several readers, I will - at long last - run my 2nd (and possibly final) political column in the Sky-Hi Daily News.

I will simultaneously run a blog-only humor column, something I call "The Buttcracker" - a sad glimpse at college dorm life (roommates come with no warning). "The Buttcracker" is too over-the-top for the newspaper, but not for slightly demented readers.

Got college roommate horror stories of your own? Let's hear 'em ...

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Insomnia: Readers Respond

2008-08-20T17:00:00.000-06:00

"If my husband pulls that crack-of-dawn-must-see-wildlife crap on vacation - well - mmmmmBUH-BYE. No interrupting my beauty sleep (preferably in a Sleep Number Bed set at a perfect "55") ... Sleeping children? Nice! Especially teenagers."
- Wendy "Oprah-Better-Watch-Her-Back" Bailey

"Left the house this morning 10 minutes late, again. My daughter was 1 minute late for her 2nd day of school. SOMEONE put in OT this morning in the ladies room ... I won't loose sleep over it, but probably have a gray hair or two. What's the solution, ladies?" - Exasperated in Florida

"Insomnia? Tell me about it!!!! The "Golden Girls" (andLucille Ball if I can find her) are my best friends in the middle of the night!! I want to see the wolves too!!! When is it my turn to see such creatures???Once I hit a badger with the car!!! Does that count?"
- Ellen the De-Caffeinated

THIS WEEK's COLUMN -
in case your priorities are
messed up and you missed it -
(CLICK HERE)

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

No Nightmares, Just Wide-Eyed Regrets

2008-08-18T18:42:00.001-06:00

It’s 1 AM. Sleep defies me.
It’s the pillow, the cotton-poly bed sheets, the stupid Sleep Number Bed. I’m not a 11 or a 37 or an 86. Fat chance I’ll ever win the lottery. I can’t even pick the winning Sleep Number. Ten more minutes tick off the clock ... FULL STORY

Backstory:

My Version
My wife doesn't remember this ... or so she says. Wildlife adventures have created much drama in our 13-year marriage.
Exhibit One: The Girl Who Cried Wolf
Got Insomnia?
Me too. Not sure if it's restless leg syndrome, the bed, the pillow, the imperfect sleeping temperature, the itchy sheets, the fridge (amazing how loud the compressor gets at 1 AM).
Midnight Tea
Nothing tops Organic Throat Coat (R), but don't buy it if you don't like licorice.

Things That Go Bump in the Night
Somewhere in the past decade, I turned into my dad: I now walk around the house, turning EVERYTHING off. My greatest accomplishment in the past year is outfitting the hallways and kitchen with LED night lights. Before then, my wife left the light on above the stove ALL NIGHT LONG. 100 watts illuminating the nothingness for 8 hours a night. It nearly killed me.

Sleeping Angels
I remember being a kid ... Being a Little Kid is Tough. There are too many naps when you are a kid and not enough when you are an adult.

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Feng Shui: Readers Respond

2008-08-13T16:42:00.000-06:00

"Oh My Gosh... I see the history of the Taylor hair now. It all makes sense, finally."
- Carey Bittner

"OMG. Are you serious?????????? That mullet is the real deal? I am in complete and total shock of its magnitude. I'm numb with disbelief right now."
- Mary "Stick Girl" Klecker

My Response
What's wrong with you people? This article explores the possiblity of overcoming your guy-with-long-hair prejudice, not indulging it. Jeepers!!! This ground-breaking journalism focuses on the North Dakota accent, the Elmer Fudd cap, etc. I only received one comment about that, but 4 comments RE: the mullet.

Email me: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

No Denying the Feng Shui of Mount Baldy

2008-08-11T18:09:00.001-06:00

WANTED: Village Idiot. Said idiot must exhibit stereotypical tourist behavior with ignorant bliss. Bizarre cultural background a plus. No experience ...FULL STORY

the story behind the story:

PHOTO (Above)
Me at age 22 in Taiwan with 2 English students at a Japanese restaurant. In my humble opinion, Japanese food should come with a warning ... it goes right through me

On Mullets
I blame mine on tennis player Andre Agassi (when he had hair) AND my good friend Tyler Bacon, who has very strong hair opinions. As for me ... nothing gets in the way of my hair appointment
Don't Mess With North Dakota
OK, so it doesn't have the same ring as Texas, but NoDaks take offense to outsiders ridiculing them. Don't believe me? Check this out: National Geographic writer eating crow in Bismarck ... for calling the prairie "empty"
I once tried to help a friend (Mary) get rid of her ND accent. We practiced saying "Minnesota" about 20 times. Her problem: she hit the "SO" extremely hard. She was a good sport, an eager student, but I ended up ROFL anyway

Mount Baldy (PHOTO: left)
The crown jewel of Grand Lake, CO - a vacationer's paradise. No trees on this mountain. Local legend that states that in the summer/fall, when the last snow on Mount Baldy melts, it will snow again in a couple of weeks (i.e. winter is on the way).

Email me: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Now why didn't I think of that?

2008-08-08T08:22:00.001-06:00

As a writer, I have been advised to use quotes sparingly. "Don't tell us what someone else said. If you don't have anything original to say yourself, then don't say anything at all." This is sort of like Thumper (from Bambi) advice. Still, I find wit irresistable. Below are some of my favorite quotes.

"If at first you don't succeed, don't try skydiving."
- t-shirt in Winter Park, CO

"Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair."
- George Burns

"Culture is what your butcher would have if he were a surgeon."
-Mary Pettibone Poole

"The best substitue for experience is being 16."
-Raymond Duncan

"Be yourself is the worst advice you can give some people."
-Tom Masson

Classic, one and all; however, my favorite quote this week belongs to Wendy (Bailey) Crocker ... see below.

Battle of Sicily: Readers Respond

2008-08-06T18:22:00.000-06:00

"Tiramisu is by far one of the best desserts...EVER! No sharing. Not even one bite. Try it, and you'll pull back a bloody stump! Ugh ... I'm sounding like Jenny Craig's worst nightmare. - Wendy (Crocker) Bailey

"My wife kissed me at 12:01 AM today ... a gentle reminder that it was our 13th wedding anniversary ... I've had good tiramisu and bad tiramisu." (Here's to the good stuff!) - Jon in Jacksonville, FL

Winning the Battle of Sicily LINK

HEADS UP!
Looking for anyone with a Elmer Fudd cap photo for next week's column!!! Topics I'm stewing over: Yellowstone wolves, cleaning robots, cleaning obsessions, messy eaters, hunting tales. Everyone's got a story. What's yours?

Email me: ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Winning the Battle of Sicily

2008-08-04T18:32:00.000-06:00

At a table for two, young love huddled close, enjoying fine dining and better company. They stared out the window, at the mountain stream rushing over the rocks and let their minds wander. Twice their eyes met ... FULL STORY

The rest of the story:

SHARING DESSERT?
Just to clear the air ... Ahem! If I (or anyone else who has developed a taste for tiramiu) EVER want to share, I'll let you know. "I'll just have a bite of yours" ... Dem' be fighten' words.
SETTING
The Historic Rapids Restaurant and Lodge in Grand Lake, CO. The scene in this week's column is compromised slightly: the Rapids does NOT serve tiramisu. However, Caroline's Cuisine does ... just a hop, skip and a jump down the road.
Other column featuring "The Rapids"
SICILIAN TIRAMISU
My 1st & last exposure of "the good stuff" (Sicilian tiramisu) was at the Stagecoach Inn in West Yellowstone, MT. No other tiramisu is even in the same ballpark. The recipe must be a secret ... I can't find it anywhere.
Tiramisu recipe (sadly, not Sicilian):
Is cooking, truly the way to a man's heart? What's your take?
COMMENT OF THE WEEK:
Class of 1987 Minot High School alum Wendy (Crocker) Bailey wrote, "Life is too short for half a donut." Touche and amen, sister!
Last Week's Column

ifguyscouldtalk@hotmail.com

Coming Attractions: August - September

2008-08-02T10:03:00.001-06:00

PHOTO (left): Mark Abusamra's moose masterpiece, which hangs in my office and is available for sale at the Grand Lake Art Gallery.

"If Guys Could Talk" - the weekly column - is usually posted on Tuesdays, Wenesdays, sometimes Mondays. Here's the upcoming article lineup:

August 5/6: "Winning the Battle of Sicily" - an embellished testamonial RE: the dangers of fine dining

August 12/13: "No Denying the Feng Shui of Mount Baldy" - written particularly for all my North Dakota peeps

August 19/20: TBD ... maybe tatoos, maybe hot soup, maybe McDonald's double cheeseburgers

August 25 (Special Monday edition): "Beware the Spirt of Party" - 2nd installment of my "Taking Back America" series. This article is a follow-up to "Searching for the American Soul" (some readers' favorite column ... see links below).

Sky-Hi Daily News version

Bismarck Tribune version

September 2/3:

"You've Been in Nebraska Too Long When ..." - the other bookend to the Konnie Rask fashion queen story

Konnie Rask Saga - PART I

Name That Candle ... the Saga Continues

2008-07-31T14:33:00.001-06:00

and so the Candlepower saga continues ...

Original Story

The two main "Candlepower" characters wandered in to a Bed, Bath and Beyond store recently. There, they spotted what is believed to be a "B. Smith Lodge" candle. According to Brenda, the brown candle smelled like a Swisher Sweet cigar.

"Mmmm," she said (photo left), nearly shoving the thing up her friend Mac's nose.

"I can't smell a thing, but it sure makes me want to light up," Mac said.

I am glad that I was not along. I am a bit gun shy around candles after my notorious "Cotton Sheets" announcement. One whiff of that thing and who knows what would have escaped my mouth.

The High School Reunion Diet: Readers Tell All

2008-07-30T22:18:00.000-06:00

For "The High School Reunion Diet: Rest of the Story" Scroll down to previous post ...

Time for you, the readers, to spill the beans. There are all kinds of co-workers: odoriferous, fashion disasters, a walking cologne headache, etc. I can't wait to read about your most memorable co-worker.

Confession: although "Bad Toupee" in my column was fictional, the sniping nose hairs at work was not.

The Reunion Diet: The Rest of the Story

2008-07-30T06:59:00.000-06:00

For the Record: The original title is "The High School Reunion Diet"

How do you follow up a story about Chad Reisenauer ... Dr. Phil's Next Project. Can't be done. All we can do is move on. Chad's story: http://www.skyhidailynews.com/article/20080721/COLUMNISTS/772911317/1069

Stick Girl is my good friend Mary Klecker. She did, indeed, make the now famous "Half-Donut" announcement at an employee meeting

Hypo is based on a character described by Annette Olson, Miss ND 2007. The Boy in the Bubble bit was an embellishment; More about Annette: http://www.capitalelec.com/News/member_profiles/Miss_North_Dakota_competes_for_Miss_America.html

INFAMOUS THERMOMETER STORY:

http://www.skyhidailynews.com/article/20080408/COLUMNISTS/797020639&parentprofile=search

Bad Toupee is no one in particular, but it reminded me of the Minot, ND milkman who grew 1.5 feet of hair on the back of his head, then swirled it around on top to cover his bald spot. On windy days it flopped around like a pancake on hinges

There is no Judy, although my wife Missy did lose her lunch once and later discovered that her co-worker ate it. The guilty claimed, "Oh, I thought it was my lunch."

Readers with allergies: don't worry, the anchovie allergic reaction thing never happened

THIS WEEK's COLUMN - The High School Reunion Diet: http://www.skyhidailynews.com/article/20080729/COLUMNISTS/407214678/1069