As much as I love fall, this year’s is proving to be a bit more difficult than normal. You see, Sarcasmo is a senior in high school this year and that means it’s college application time.

Oh, yeah. You can bet that’s going well.

The problem, you see, is that Sarcasmo is like a lot of typical [...]]]> by Richard

As much as I love fall, this year’s is proving to be a bit more difficult than normal. You see, Sarcasmo is a senior in high school this year and that means it’s college application time.

Oh, yeah. You can bet that’s going well.

The problem, you see, is that Sarcasmo is like a lot of typical young dudes. That is, he’d like to do the least amount possible. For anything. Which means when he sees the word optional in a college application form, he thinks that means it’s actually optional. Instead of a one-word euphemism for “You must do this or you have no chance whatsoever of ever actually attempting to darken our doors, you scum.”

I might be overstating the case there. Slightly. But not by much.

The good news is that most colleges accept — nay, encourage — you to apply online. Those online applications are great, even if only for one reason: you don’t need to use a bottle of white out per page.

Back in the dark ages when I was preparing my college applications, I had to hand write or type every single bit. Which meant when I did make mistakes, and I did make mistakes, I had to either start over with a brand-new application, filling in all the stuff I’d already filled in, or I had to whip out the white out. Neither of which option was all that great.

Being a young dude, I compensated by only applying to two colleges. Fortunately, it was an earlier age and you could actually get into an out-of-state college fairly easily and, frankly, I got lucky.

Sarcasmo doesn’t have that first out and we can’t rely on the second.

Which makes working with him on all those short answers all the more fun. One leading question consisted of “My friends would be surprised if they knew what about me?” He had 250 words for his response. His answer, before I got out the whip and the chair, was nine words, including “My friends would be surprised if. . . ”

And the good news is I get to do this again next year when it’s Zippy the Monkey Boy’s turn in the barrel.

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So, there we were, She Who Couldn’t Believe Her Eyes and I, on a USAirways flight from Charlotte to Miami, waiting on the ground at the Florida airport while air marshalls and sheriff’s deputies congregated outside the plane to arrest a drunk Italian for smoking during the flight.

For starters, let’s think about that whole smoking [...]]]> by Richard

So, there we were, She Who Couldn’t Believe Her Eyes and I, on a USAirways flight from Charlotte to Miami, waiting on the ground at the Florida airport while air marshalls and sheriff’s deputies congregated outside the plane to arrest a drunk Italian for smoking during the flight.

For starters, let’s think about that whole smoking thing. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that there were actually smoking sections on airplanes.

They seriously thought that by segregating people by rows — inside a closed capsule full of recycled air, mind you — they could actually segregate the smoke from the non-smokers. I don’t know if you’re old enough to remember this, but I still have bad memories of staggering, coughing off of planes and having the smell of cigarettes stink to my clothes until I finally got them washed. It was, really, that bad. And even worse on international flights where the smoking just dragged on and on and on. Not even the free booze could compensate for that.

Although, you know, I did try. Passing out was a somewhat viable option. But that’s another story.

While I am an adamant believer that if someone wants to damage themselves they’ve got a perfect right to do it, I also believe that they don’t have the right to damage others at the same time. So, somke ‘em if you got ‘em, but not anywhere around non-smokers. Out into the rain for you, smokey.

Still, the change to a totally non-smoking air flight came and went and has not become the norm. When I mentioned the whole smoking section to my three young dudes, they looked at me like I was crazy and making things up again.

Which makes the fact that this Italian dude decided to smoke in the bathroom all that much more . . . odd. We, the other passengers near the back of the plane, were staring at each other in disbelief. I’d never seen something like this.

When we told our story to our friends, Docmo and Goliath, they said they’d also had something similar happen. During take off a while back the dude sitting next to them lit up, took a couple of puffs (directing the smoke down to the floor) and then doused the cigarette in a bottle of orange juice. Then he tried to act cool, like he’d done nothing.

When the flight attendants came around, though, it was instant rat-fink city, they said. Every person within about five rows just pointed the dude right out.

So, the lesson here is don’t be a drunk Italian with a nicotine jones on an airplane flight. No, wait. That’s not it. It’s don’t smoke and stay in school. No, closer though. Ah, right. Don’t smoke on airplanes. It’ll just annoy everyone and get you an impromptu proctological exam by the local sheriff’s office when you land.

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August is a busy month for me. I’ve got to content with young dudes suffering breakdowns because their school is getting ready to begin again, break out the swords and cudgels necessary to successfully navigate the school-supply crowds at Walmart, and find a way to help celebrates the births of the first two women in [...]]]> by Richard

August is a busy month for me. I’ve got to content with young dudes suffering breakdowns because their school is getting ready to begin again, break out the swords and cudgels necessary to successfully navigate the school-supply crowds at Walmart, and find a way to help celebrates the births of the first two women in my life.

Yes, today and tomorrow we celebrate my mom’s birthday and then that of my sister.

Today is a big year. My mom turns 70, which is something I find absolutely amazing. When I was younger, I always thought of 70-year-old people as so decrepit and old it was a wonder they didn’t just fall apart whenever they took a breath. My mom, though. . . Despite having multiple sclerosis for decades and going through breast cancer, my mom is an amazingly energetic and fun lady.

She’s able to laugh at anything life throws at her and then make sure the rest of her family is having as much fun as she is. She’s warm and funny and loves her grandchildren more than is possibly healthy. Just ask her. She’s also more adventurous than I can believe.

This is a lady who has to use a wheelchair to go any significant distances and must use a walker to drag her MS-damaged leg around her house. And yet. . . This Christmas she’s going on a cruise to Antarctica. Yeah, the land of permanent ice and snow. The most rugged place on earth and she’s headed there for fun. With a wheelchair.

It’s hard for me to think about my sister as anyone other than that little ball of annoyance who had a habit of biting her own arm and then blaming me for it. And yet. . . she’s grown up into her own type of amazing woman.

I only wish I had half her grace under pressure, half of her parenting skill, heck, half of her maturity. I never thought it would happen, but she’s definitely someone to whom I’ll turn for advice whenever I’m stuck.

She and her husband produced two of the five greatest kids I’ve ever met. Admittedly, her kids are probably ranked 2a and 2b (right after a three-way tie for first taken up by my three little dudes). . .

I am a lucky dude to be surrounded by three (can’t leave out She Who Must Not Be Forgotten) strong, intelligent, moral, loving, amazing women. Thanks to them, I know what real women are like. I see the best of femininity on a daily basis and I’m thankful for that kind of luck.

Happy birthday, Mom. Happy birthday, Leslie.

Thanks for everything.

Now get out there and enjoy.

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