Character Flaw

David Addison. You might remember Bruce Willis' character on the hit 80's sitcom "Moonlighting"? I was 16 years old, struggling to discover my true identity (not to mention burdened by the typical angst you would guess a 16-yr. old from the 80s might experience) and longing to be just like David Addison. Every Tuesday night I would tape the current episode. And, I'm not talking about VCRs or DVDs. No, sir, I'm talking about my boom box, a cassette tape and the continuous stress of encouraging my family to communicate only during commercials. Needless to say, they all became rather adept at lip reading and hand signals. But, I had to capture every quip, every sarcastic phrase that left the lips of Mr. Addison so that I would later be able to play back the tape, practice, and eventually deliver the same lines, with just as much impact (or so I thought), to my friends who were not as familiar with the show. Ok, so most of them had never even heard of it. But such is the life of obsession. Then, in 1990, my young life met tragedy for the first time, as the 5-yr. Moonlighting run came to a bitter end. Thus, I packed up my box of TDK 90-min. HD cassette tapes and appropriately dispensed of them in the nearest garbage can leaving behind my slightly insane, but entirely heartfelt, commitment to becoming a David Addison clone.

So, it is in that brief, yet frightening peek into my teen-age years, that I bring this question to the surface; and, no, the question is not whether or I am sane, but rather, what is it about fictional characters – TV, film or novel – that attracts us? Do we just find them cool and think, “hey, wouldn't it be great to be that way"? Or, is it that in happy-ending Hollywood, those characters always wind up with the things we want most in our lives, but currently lack? Perhaps they just simply strike some incomprehensible chord in that place inside our heads where the "I like me"/"I don't like me" battle rages on? I'm not sure. What I can tell you is that once that proverbial obsession magnet's is in your system, it's hard to shake it free.

Just found that out a few months ago when Fox announced its latest ER-inspired drama series "House" (of which I'm a huge fan, just for the record). Right from the pilot's opening scenes, I knew I was headed back down that road of identity crisis which imprisoned me 20 years prior. I'm older now, so obviously my resistance was much higher, and I managed to cruise through the first couple of episodes without any noticeable change in behavior. But, inside, I knew I couldn't hold back forever. It started small, as I found myself throwing out House lines, or "Housisms" as the show's faithful call them, when the right situation presented the appropriate use of such chatter. Shortly thereafter, it turned ugly, as I caught myself frequently daydreaming to the tune of "How would House handle this situation" whenever faced with crisis or a matter of confrontation. The final straw was when I began walking with a cane, a tribute to the ailment endured by the show's lead character. Actually, I'm kidding about the cane. Just wanted to make sure everyone was still paying attention. As fortune would have it, these split-persona tendencies were generally proceeded by a disappointing "Great, I'm 16 again!", as I slowly tumbled back into the land of the living, guilt-stricken, of course, realizing that 37-year old men don't go around pretending to be television characters. At least not the ones who are free to walk the streets amongst the rest of us. It was those conversations with reality that eventually led to my character-envy salvation, as I freed myself, my soul, from any further desire to be something I'm not, and made a solemn vow to take more enjoyment in who I actually am. So, while I'm no David Addison or Greg House, nor will I ever be, I like to think that I am an inspired “Planet Earth” version of both, and, for that matter, every other fictional character out there who has ever had an impact in my way of thinking (or behaving). And, in my healing process, I've come to this conclusion, and, ironically, my answer to the question posed earlier in this entry. Simply, we find in fictional characters the mirror-opposite qualities that we, ourselves, possess. It's similar to the old adage “We always want the things we cannot have.” But, for the few lucky ones, like myself, we eventually come around and realize that although “you can't always get what you want”, “if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need” just by being yourself.

Why Bo Bice is your next American Idol

Before I dive into the true purpose of this article, I'm going to give you a few seconds to release those giggles from your system over the fact that I actually follow American Idol. (brief pause) Ok, are we ready to continue? Good. Now I've never been one to place too much weight in so-called conspiracy theories, particularly when it's nonsense such as Princess Di faked her death to retreat happily into isolation or more currently, the Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes relationship (come on, you can just see they're in love…smirk). However, when it comes to the nation's favorite reality TV show, I have to admit that I'm a little skeptical of the results thus far. Now, for the record, let me just say that I have nothing against Bo Bice as a musical talent. Truth be known, I've been pulling for the guy ever since America made its commitment to relieve Constantine of his contestanal duties (even though I'm fairly certain that contestanal is not a real word). But, the fact that he is one show short of being the AI05 (that's American Idol 2005 for the acronym impaired), does suggest that perhaps his gender and race alone make him the natural choice in a society that makes every effort to avoid discriminatory actions, particularly in the media. Let me explain. The circle of Idol winners has followed an obvious (well, obvious to me, at least) pattern since the show began four years ago. Year One: Kelly Clarkson, Caucasian female. Year Two: Ruben Studdard, African-American, Male. Year Three: Fantasia Barrino, African-American, Female. Year Four: Bo Bice?…you fill in the remaining details. Everything's fair. Everyone's happy. And, more importantly, the show can easily refute any discriminatory claims that may pop-up, simply by referring those naysayers to its own past. While I'm sure that Bo Bice fans are probably cursing me for even thinking the unthinkable, some of you may also agree that I do have a point. And that point is, television is about making money. The way networks make money is by getting people to watch their shows. And, even the slightest hint of a topic so controversial as discrimination can affect the future of the show. Even one as big as American Idol (just ask Paula Abdul). So, when you sit down to take in the Idol finale on May 25, you have a choice. You can go on believing that the final tally is a direct result of you and every other Idol faithful that is willing to drop a small fee into the phone company's pocket in an effort to make your voice heard. Or, like me, you can take it with a grain of salt, and enjoy the moment for the sheer entertainment value alone. And, while you're at it, drop a few bucks on Bo in the latest Vegas line. I hear he's getting 2 to 1 odds.

Is it just me?

Am I the only guy out there that is struck with indecision when faced with the choice of tall urinal or short urinal upon entering the men's room? As an adult, I'm probably naturally supposed to run with the tall, but there's always something appealing about that pint-sized option. Perhaps I'm just putting too much thought into it, but one wants to be sure they're pleased with the real-estate when it comes to something so important. Don't you agree?

Popo Loco

Apparently, poverty, drought, disease and low mortality weren't enough to keep the good people of CHAKE CHAKE, Tanzania in line. They now must cope with the sexual hunger of the Popo Bawa, and apparently, have had to live in fear of the creature for a long time. According to a Reuters news article, the Popo Bawa, officially defined as a “spirit-monster” stalks the island's inhabitants in the dead of night, preferably when the unsuspecting parties are indoors. Reports indicate that it takes great pleasure in sodomizing its victims, leaving them cold, paralyzed and amidst a foul odor. Sounds more to me like a one-night stand with Marv Albert than a mythical monster, but, hey, I've never been involved with either. Some alleged victims have even declared that the Popo Bawa temporarily enlarged their heads or expanded their jaw openings. Ouch!

Popo has managed to go unseen since the inception of his legendary career, however, the ill effects of his presence have left a lasting impression on villagers. It has become so intense that a large percentage of the population has turned to sleeping outdoors in an attempt to tame the wild entity's vigorous libido. I'm betting that Popo's ex-wife had to use the same tactics at one time or another given this guy's sex drive.

Ironically, Popo seems to take a page from American politics. Not just because he enjoys sodomizing the tax payers, but also that he's much more active during an election year than any other time. Nonetheless, whether or not Popo can sway an election's results in one direction or the other remains to be seen. Personally, even though the Popo Bawa does not seem to have a preference in political parties, I think this could be an ace in the hole for someone come the 2008 election. I'm not sure how big a deal voting is in Tanzania, but I'm fairly certain that Rock The Vote and highly-publicized campaign trails are not prevalent in that community. Thus, old Popo might consider seizing this opportunity and get a little more bang for his buck (no pun intended) by taking more creed in America's vote. I mean if Barry Bonds can hold the media hostage over a leg injury, imagine what Popo could demand in air time. Maybe it's just me, but if someone can convince this thing to relocate, I'm thinking he can put the Democrats back in the White House. Just a hunch.

iBlog: What's on my iPod right now…

I see these passages all over the Internet now, most involving celebrities. So, I thought I would provide the world with some more useless information, the kind of stuff that one can forget as quickly as the words are muttered, and present the music that is currently thumping through my iPod. My collection has always been a richly diverse mix of personal favorites and family-inspired selections (primarily my daughter's need for Dora the Explorer or Sesame Street ditties), and, thankfully, these fall under the former category, as opposed to the latter. So, without further adieu, here are the “hot” tracks that my ears just can't live without…for the time being, of course:

“Begin” - Ben Lee
Unintentionally came across this on satellite radio on the ride into work, and I immediately had to have it. I downloaded it from iTunes as fast as I could get the application launched. It expresses everything about new relationships in which neither party is sure of where the other stands. It's always easier to give up on a relationship due to fear of it failing than it is to invest it what can be. Ben demonstrates the courage more of us should gamble on when we've found a person that just “does it” for us.

“Collide” - Howie Day
One of my favorites, perhaps all time. The innocence of one being conscious to love as it develops before his eyes mixed with the common fears we experience when faced with taking that plunge and risking heartache.

“Vindicated” - Dashboard Confessional
I love the selection of words and their poetic alliteration.

“Overkill” - Colin Hay
Acoustic version of the Men At Work classic. I've always loved this song, and the “Unplugged” cover seems to highlight the voice talent of the band's former front man.

“I Will Survive” - Cake
Does any band out there do better covers than these guys? Really.

“Stop Crying Your Heart Out” - Oasis
Haunting. First heard it during the closing credits for The Butterfly Effect and I haven't stop listening since (it was a rental).

“Hear You Me” - Jimmy Eat World
Another one off the “Butterfly” soundtrack. Not sure what grabs me about this song, but it gives me goosebumps.

“A Pirate Looks At Forty” - Jack Johnson
Brilliant! A cover version of the song, for which Jimmy Buffet is best known. One of those to which, for some reason, you feel a connection. Jack is fast becoming one of my favorite artists.

“100 Years” - Five for Fighting
My wife loves to share this one with my 9-week old son. How can it not make the list?

“More” - Bobby Darin
Call me sentimental. This is the song my wife and I shared our first dance to as husband and wife. I originally selected it because it sums up, in a nutshell, how I feel about her.

There you have it. The most popular tracks today according to Scott Counsell's iPod. A little juvenile, I know. But, still fun. For me, at least.

Drew Rosenhaus is an ass

Perhaps Jerry Maguire slightly tainted my perception of sports agents, but I don't think I'm too far off by saying that Drew Rosenhaus is a complete idiot. For those of you who don't know the name, Rosenhaus represents star NFLers Terrell Owens, Javon Walker, Anquan Boldin, Plaxico Burress, Santana Moss and about 80-90 other gridiron heroes. Coincidence that all the aforementioned players are WRs? Possibly. But, I don't think it's coincidence that all of them have been or are currently involved in contract squabbles with their respective team. Last evening on ESPN, I managed to catch Dan Patrick interviewing the intolerable Mr. Rosenhaus (lucky me, huh?), and not only did he fail to offer any respect to Patrick, who I deem one of the cornerstones of the ESPN network, but in the process he also came off looking like a total jackass. His frequent references of “buddy” to Patrick, not to mention that arrogant smirk, suggests to me that, while he may know a thing or two about draining dimes from owners' checkbooks, he doesn't understand a damn thing about professionalism.

Case in point, Rosenhaus went as far to imply that the NFL would be in shambles without the presence of sports agents. That would be like me explaining to my employer that the company would be in shambles without trainers (for those of you who don't know me, that's what I do for a living). Sounds good. Sounds credible. But, it just ain't true. Then, when asked about his prediction on T.O.'s contract, he guaranteed that the two sides would come to agreeable terms before training camp opens in August. Hmm, really, Drew? Just like your Yatil Green guarantee in '99? Here, let me refresh your memory, “I'm fully confident that Yatil will definitely make it back from his two knee injuries.” Sound vaguely familiar? Oh, and where is Yatil now? Exactly.

Let me just say, I'm all for athletes getting paid what is deemed fair value for their services. Hell, I'm for anyone getting that same deal. After all, being a pro athlete is a job, just like being a trainer is a job. Where my “coping” level takes a hit is when an athlete, better yet the athlete's agent, negotiates a multi-year contract and a year later wants to re-negotiate or draw up a new contract just because his client had a banner year. What, the agent didn't expect his client to improve over the course of a year? And, where does it end. Should an athlete be afforded the opportunity to ask for money every year? If so, then why do the leagues have contracts? Let's just toss them out the window and replace them with Pay Increase Request Forms. Give owners an Approved stamp in one hand and a Denied stamp in the other. Think of the wonders that process would work for eliminating long contract discussions and getting guys into camp on time. In the words of the Coyote, “genius, sheer genius.” Anyone have Paul Tagliabue's number?

Oh, my, how they change us

Even before I became a father, people used to tell me how much kids change your life. Friends, co-workers, my sister…even my parents (although I still firmly believe their motive was some form of reverse psychology encouraging me to actually take that plunge). Hell, I'd even come across the message in TV ads, magazine articles and the random Pampers or Huggies coupon inside the Sunday paper. But even when one enters into fatherhood armed with all this information, you soon realize that you never really understand just how true it is until you actually experience it. Now, a two-year veteran in Club Daddy, looking back I can distinctly identify all of those things I currently do that I would have never been caught dead engaging in prior to having kids of my own. Here are just a few of the better examples:

• Eating off the same utensil that your little darlin' just drooled all over while attempting to eat like a big girl.
• Willingly accepting a bite of your child's half-eaten fruit (or worse a food like ice cream or bread that only moistens faster when combined with the saliva of a small human being) because that tiny, magical smile far outweighs the horrible mushy feeling in your mouth.
• Allowing your child to throw up all of your sweatshirt just so she won't get any on the floor.
• Learning that baby poop on the hand is not the most horrific event one can experience in his or her lifetime.
• Freely engaging in public baby talk, knowing very well that while you may look like the “cat's meow” in your child's eyes, you sound like a complete idiot to everyone else.
• Singing out loud to Elmo's Song with the windows down while cruising to daycare.
• Getting teary-eyed every time you listen to Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses.
  
• Finding more satisfaction in buying new things for your kids than for yourself.
• Discovering that staying up late and sleeping in are truly overrated when compared to the satisfaction of rocking your child back to sleep after a 2:00 a.m. nightmare.
• Accepting the fact that the next 18 years are going to cost you money, freedom, your patience, and, more than likely. the color of your hair…early. But, knowing that what you're getting back in return is worth it all.

It's funny, all of those people I mentioned earlier, the “advice” people, in spite of all their warnings, when it came down to it, they all held the same opinion about being parent, and that is “I wouldn't change it for the world.” And, now that I've been through it all myself, you know what? They were absolutely right.

Auto DVD…friend or foe?

Last Friday, my wife and I began our new lease commitment, locking ourselves into a 2-yr. contract on a 2005 GMC Envoy with all the fixins'. Sadly enough, in our two futile attempts to “shop” for a new vehicle, our only requirement was the DVD entertainment system. But somehow, our sales agent (who shall remain anonymous) managed to load us up with leather interior, XM satellite radio, moisture-sensored wipers, and even the headlight wipers with, what we're told, a spray range equal to that of a Super Soaker Flash Flood Blaster. And who says American consumers are gullible? But the real prize, the gem that sealed the deal, was the DVD player. Why you may ask? Let's just say it was the primary tool in our plan to regulate our 2-year old daughter's energy level during those lengthy trips to daycare, grandma's house and any other journey that involved more than 20-minutes of sitting time inside a vehicle.

Which brings me to the main question here, and that is “Is an auto DVD player really a parent's gift from heaven or a corrupt brainwashing tool from hell?” I know, I've heard the arguments. The experts who claim television leads to obesity, poor eating habits and a lack of exercise in kids. And, while I do agree, that hefty doses of the “boob tube” can negatively affect the developing minds of our little ones, does that same evidence also apply to a 20-minute taste of Dora en route to the local Farmer Jack? Perhaps. But perhaps the real problem lies in our own hands, the parents. Now, I admit, in the four days that we've had this crazy gadget, my wife and I have been more than liberal in allowing our daughter to participate. After all, two eyes frozen on a 12x15 screen sure beats a struggling, screaming toddler. But, I also see our new little toy as more of a novelty right now than a long-term behavioral tool. I mean who wouldn't want to use an auto DVD player if you've never had one before? Hell, I'm tempted to escape to the garage, hide out for a while and take in a few hours of “National Treasure” when the household turns chaotic. But, I know better. Just as I know better for my kids. In a week or so, we'll tighten the reins on the traveling television access and return to the familiar lyrics of “Rubber Duckie” or perhaps just engage in a good parent-child conversation on the way home from daycare; relying on the DVD only for those severe episodes when our toddler behaves more like the Frankenstein monster strapped to an operating table than the sweet little girl she really is. And, eventually, our daughter will grow accustomed to this pattern, as well, and ease up on her requests for “Meet Diego” or “1-2-3, Count With Me”. Because, in the end, it really does come down to the parents, and this is just one, of about a million incidents I'm sure, where we have to put our parenting skills to work in order to ensure the best for our kids. After all, there are plenty of ways for kids to become obese, eat poorly and not exercise. In my mind, parents who do not take an active role in monitoring their children's life are at the top of that list.

The stronger gender? It's no contest.

Over the past eight weeks I've been more aware of wife's contributions to our family than I ever have. Now, I don't mean that as an insult or even to imply that she doesn't usually contribute (on the contrary it's quite the opposite). It's just that, until now, I don't think I ever realized just how much she actually does on a daily basis. You see, in those two months, she's been home, on maternity leave, with our newborn son, and, on more occasions than what I'm sure she would have preferred, our 2-year old daughter. A daughter that's anchored into the “terrible twos” in its purest, and most severe, form. During that time, I've watched her try on every possible “hat” I can imagine: mother, wife, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, sister-in-law; not to mention the less glamorous homemaker, chef, laundry master, grocery shopper, dog trainer, and even alarm clock (thanks, honey…6:30 gets here awful fast). Between the late-night feedings, diaper changes, and the wash and spin cycle of the washing machine (or dishwasher, take your pick), I've come to realize the one fact that first came to me following the birth of our daughter, and the marathon labor event that preceded it. And that is, women are definitely the stronger gender. Now, I know I was cast from the old boys' club the moment those words slipped past my lips, but come on, guys, it's true. Let's take a look at the facts:

Childbirth. Sorry, ladies, had to put it first. Not because I'm chauvinistic, but because, in my opinion, it is the one act that (a) men can never truly understand, beginning to end, and (b) one act I'm confident, given the choice, most men wouldn't even elect to try. Think about it, guys. Do you really want to carry, what amounts to, an extra limb around your waist when it doesn't involve mass consumption of beer? Didn't think so. Not to mention raging hormones that often made my wife behave more like Margot Kidder on one of her manic-depressive episodes than my loving companion. And, the capper, no alcohol for nine months. Yes, N-I-N-E months. No way, no how, not for me. So which of you guys wanna sign-up for this little adventure, huh?

Family and home. I know most men, myself included, like to believe we are king of our castle. Master of our domain. The mighty leader who always has the answers, doesn't panic in crunch time and keeps things running on a smooth schedule. I know, it's a man's dream. It's my dream. But, unfortunately, it's just that… a dream. Women take that role, as subtle as they may be about it, and just naturally run with it. And, they are effortless in maintaining it. Kids, pets, organization…they make it look easy. I know that if it wasn't for my wife, our house would run more like an understaffed daycare center who's cleaning crew just quit, than the semi-well-oiled machine it is today (sorry, nothing's perfect, babe).

Balance. I think women must attend a secret class sometime in their early years that teaches them how to balance all aspects of their life in complete harmony. Fact is, my wife never seems to get rattled by the occasional curveball that slides into our lives, while I seem to turn into Woody Allen at even the slightest sign of change. Unexpected bills (and unexpected amounts, too), home repairs, sick kids, layoffs at work. Women seem to welcome the challenge, find a solution and move on without a care. It really is quite impressive to observe.

I'm sure I could go on providing evidence to support my argument, however, this gender issue will continue raging on regardless of what any of us believe. Decide for yourselves. I relinquish my role in the battle both confident in my stance on the topic, and comfortable in my manhood. Call me “whipped”, call me a trader, call me crazy if you like. To me, it's more important to give credit where credit is due than to engage in such foolish machismo, letting my testicles form my opinion for me. Even more importantly is the recognition of my wife and what she means to our family. To be sure that she knows her efforts do not go unnoticed, though it may often appear that way. She is truly the rock in our nuclear family tree, and for that she has the highest respect and reverence from her husband. So, thanks, Moe. Not just for the warm meals, clean shirts, packed lunches, clean floors, fed dogs/cats, and everything else you do. But just for loving your family so much as to take the time from yourself to do all of those things for us.

I see dead people

I ran into two, count 'em, two funerals on the way back from lunch today. Isn't that some kind of omen? I mean all of us get caught in that random domino line of funeral inspired vehicles at one time or another, but twice the fun in one lunch hour? The only positive I could take is in watching the idiocy around me as various onlookers attempted to plot out a route that might carry them through the light and beyond the procession without actually interrupting the services or making them appear as a total ass to the rest of us. Needless to say, no one succeeded.