LONGWALKABOUT

Captain’s Log- Snow Day #3, 2018

7:34- Wake up to find oldest son watching Youtube videos of his favorite gamer. (If someone would have come to me when I was a kid and said, “Hey, you want to watch some VHS tapes of guys playing video games?” I would have said, “No! What do I look like, some kind of weirdo? Let’s play Tecmo Bowl. And, no, you can’t be Bo Jackson. That’s cheating.)

8:00- Everyone having breakfast. Snow is falling.

8:43- Things remain calm. The boys are playing video games. Granny is completing her lottery scratchy. My wife is working upstairs in the office.

9:45- Snowfall rate is picking up.

10:17- Inform the boys that it is time to do homework. First signs of unrest emerge.

11:00- Homework complete. The boys and the dog play in the snow outside. I make cookies for the family. Granny watching The Price Is Right. Granny visibly upset when the Showcase Showdown is interrupted for a weather report.

11:47- The boys and dog have returned from the backyard. Visibility dropping as snow piles up. Increasingly likely that we will be snowbound. I inform the family of this. The information is met with assorted grumbles.

12:15- Lunch.

13:00- I tell the boys that they will have to clean their room before playing any more games. They are hostile.

13:38- Snow totals increasing.

14:00- Wife chastises the family for being too loud while she is on an important international phone call. I make ill received joke. (This happens often.)

15:00- I suggest we watch a movie. Granny unhappy because movie would preempt her second favorite show, Caso Cerrado. Am beginning to think that family is getting stir crazy.

15:37- I tell the boys that they have no more video game time left. They quietly retreat to a corner where they whisper to each other and stare at me.

16:30- My wife comes downstairs from the office. I am relieved to have reinforcements to assist me in dealing with increasingly unstable family.

17:00- Dinner. Eaten in silence.

17:30- Inform children that there will be no more screen time for the day. They descend the stairs into the basement.

18:40- Have not heard any noises from the basement. Wife begins to browse amazon.com. I inform her that the snow day budget was depleted during the first two snow days of the year. Wife angrily shuts computer and joins the boys in the basement.

18:50- Granny is napping.

19:00- I cautiously open the door to the basement and suggest that we watch a hockey game together as a family. Silence.

19:15- I fear that repeated snowstorms have finally driven family mad.

19:17- Granny wakes up from nap looks out at the snow and hurls an empty Malta bottle at the window while yelling, “CASO CERRADO!” Bottle does not hit window. Luckily.

20:02- Snow still piling up.

20:05- Distracted by the hockey game, I fail to hear my wife and kids approaching stealthily. They rush me using wooden swords made from table legs with amazon packing tape wrapped around the handles. They are yelling about snow and slush and the color gray and how this is somehow all my fault. FULL SCALE MUTINY!

20:07- I barely escape and barricade myself in the master bedroom.

20:13- All power goes out. I look out the window and see that the neighbors still have power. Suspect that family is now using psychological warfare.

21:00- All is darkness and silence and I am beginning to hallucinate.

22:17- I look out the windows and see sun and palm trees but know this is not possible. IS IT?????

23:00- SO cold. Sooo COLD> ljjfalsngm,…ssdf

Am going swimming in nEighBors pOOL..  This iS LasT ENTry………………asdclkjojfoj…

 

 

Seven years ago, my sister and her husband moved from the Baltimore area to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Being the helpful brother that I am, and also being in need of a road trip, I volunteered to drive one of their cars to their new home. I am still unclear whether the service that I offered was actually required, or if my sister was just enabling my road trip. If she was just enabling, then God bless her. Either way, early one morning I loaded myself and my five year old son into their trusty Honda Accord and we headed west.

I know. You’re probably saying, “Wait wait wait. His wife let him take their five year old son on a trip across the country?”

Yes. Yes she did. Because my wife is better than yours,,,,,,, at praying and trusting the Lord.

Maryland. West Virginia. Kentucky. Tennessee. We wound our way towards the southwest hitting some sights along the way. A long second day of driving brought us to the outskirts of Memphis where we picked a mid-range national hotel chain to stay at. We always picked our hotels based on whether they had a pool or not. This one had a pool and a free breakfast. The kind where you could make your own waffles. Score! Some people may stick up their noses at the make your own waffle bar, but I’m here to tell you that those people are wrong. Also, those people most likely have psychological problems that, untreated, will manifest in them shopping at Neiman Marcus and driving a BMW.

Sorry. I got a little off track.

Our hotel experience quickly went downhill after picking up the key at the front desk. We parked in front of our ground floor room. A  long-haired shirtless guy walked past as we unloaded our gear. When I opened the door, our room was empty, but I could still feel the presence of the thousands of travelers who had come before us. Call me crazy, but when I check into a hotel room, I like to feel like it’s just been remodeled and I’m the first one using it. I don’t want to have the sneaking suspicion that if I pulled the entertainment center out from he wall I’d find an carving that says “Ted Bundy slept here. Try the waffles.” I put down our stuff, shook off the uncomfortable feeling, and we got dressed to go swimming.

On the way to the pool the shirtless guy passed us again, heading the other way. The hotel pool was old and had seen better days, but it was open for business. A few other families, one of whom had apparently named all of their children after virtues like Justice and Truth, paddled and splashed as my five year old hurled himself into the deep end from the crumbling cement edges time and time again. Our shirtless friend wandered past again. For some reason the hotel staff was congregating in the pool’s pump house. Once in a while one of them would step outside looking worried, like maybe the pool pump was broken, or the latest water test had come back positive for flesh eating bacteria. Eventually my son got tired and hungry. We traipsed back to our room, again passing Mr. shirtless, who always seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe he was retracing his steps in hope of finding his shirt or maybe he had misplaced his meth. After a shower and a trip to get some fast food we returned to our room. Before settling in for the night, I went back to the car and retrieved some dress shirts that my brother in law had hanging inside the rear passenger door. After all, there was someone in need of a shirt wandering the parking lot. How would I explain a broken window and stolen dress shirts?

That night my son fell asleep pretty quickly. I laid there and worrying about bedbugs and scratching imaginary bites.

In the morning we ate waffles and it was glorious. I even got to share my waffle machine operating expertise with a waffle bar rookie. Our friend from the parking lot didn’t show up for breakfast, cause you know,,,,, No Shirt, No Shoes, No Waffles.

If you ever find yourself in a run down hotel east of Memphis, pull the entertainment center out from the wall. You just might see a carving that says, “Marc slept fitfully here. Try the waffles.” It’ll be right below Ted Bundy’s.

I live near Philadelphia. If you have been in a cave for the last three weeks, you may not be aware that the Eagles just won their first Superbowl. Traffic light poles all up and down Broad Street were torn down, because the last things that excited Eagles fans want to deal with are traffic laws. Celebrations lasted for most of the week. A week during which Eagles fans bought the most championship gear that any fan base has ever bought. It was something to behold.

I’m not an Eagles fan, but I can appreciate the passion and the release of energy that comes with a championship because I am a sports fan. I understand the emotional roller coaster ride that is a football season. Non-sports-fans don’t get this. Maybe they never will. That’s fine, however, they really should avoid commenting on sports.

The phrase “it’s just a game” is demeaning to people who care about sports. It takes something we are emotionally attached to and belittles it. This may come as a surprise to the rest of you, but we are aware that sports are a game. They are also more than that. They are what we bonded with our dads and best friends over. They are the radio broadcasts that kept us company during long hours at work or lonely nights on the road. I used to fall asleep listening to baseball on my AM clock radio when I was a kid. They are the escapes we got to take after a hard week. They are one of the things that most effectively join together people from infinitely different backgrounds. We grew up playing and watching these “games” and they are a part of us.

For those that may still not understand the importance of sports to us, I am going to attempt a simple exercise.

Non-sports-fan: “I’m so depressed. All of my boy band autographs were stolen.”

Me: “Oh well. It’s just ink on paper.”

Non-sports-fan: “The power went out and the fancy cheese collection I had in the fridge went bad.”

Me: “It’s just coagulated milk protein.”

Non-sports-fan: “My favorite magic themed book series just concluded. I feel like I’ve lost a friend.”

Me: “He was just a muggle.”

Non-sports-fan: “Looks like I’m not going to make it to the Star Trek convention this year.”

Me: “It’s just an average sci-fi show.”

Non-sports-fan: “The pet parakeet that I’ve had since high school just died.”

Me: “It was just a bird.”

Non sports fan: “Blah blah blah… career …blah blah blah… politics.”

Me: “It’s just a game.”

It may now be painfully obvious that I have no idea what people do if they’re not watching sports. That’s not the point though. The point is that when we belittle what people care about, we belittle the people themselves. I could go on and on about this, but lucky for you, there’s a hockey game about to start.

I have spent much of my life in the northeastern United States. (I’m not real happy about that, but there you have it.) I don’t necessarily consider myself a “northeasterner”, in fact, when fillng out forms I prefer to say that I am from “parts unknown”, like a masked wrestler. Some people, however, proudly advertise that they are from this region, going so far as to slap a bumper sticker on their car that advertises which Garden State Parkway exit they like to vacation off of. To each their own I guess. One thing I have become aware of is that we in the northeast have a rep. Here is a conversation I have to endure from time to time when I travel to other areas of the country.

Them: “Hi, where are you from?”

Me: “Pennsylvania, outside of Philadelphia.”

Them: “Why is everyone from up north so mean?”

Me: “Why don’t you just shut your face?”  JUST KIDDING, JUST KIDDING.

My usual response is: (Laughing) “Things are just different up north.”

In the remaining three hundred and twenty words of this post (give or take) I would like to try to explain why other regions’ perception of the northeast is slightly misguided.

You know how some people have recurring sore throats and then eventually have to have their tonsils removed? A similar thing happens in our part of the country. We have recurring run ins with other people, leading to the removal of our patience. Twenty nine of the top fifty most densely populated areas of the country are in the northeast. There are simply too many people. We don’t have the time to stop and have a polite conversation with every one of them.

Another thing that makes us seem grumpy? The weather. People in other parts of the country have much better weather than we do. Our winter is too cold. Our summer is too short and humid. Our spring is cold, wet, and muddy, except for a two week window. Fall, or raking season, as I like to call it, is also miserable, except for a two week window when the leaves on the trees get really pretty. Like I’ve told my wife. I’d be perfectly happy to live in a place where the leaves never change. Seeing it once in a lifetime is enough. So, you see, we all continually have Seasonal Affective Disorder. We aren’t mean, we have a diagnosable environmentally-induced condition.

Our dialect up here is also different and easily misunderstood. A conversation overheard can be misinterpreted quite easily without having someone to put it into the proper context for you. I will provide an example for people from other regions.

Person #1: (Drops glass jar on the floor, shattering it into a million pieces.) “AAAGGH, what idiot left the door open, it made me drop this jar.”

Translation: “I am embarrassed that I didn’t see the door and now I’ve broken a jar of my favorite pickles.”

Person #2: “Maybe you should just watch where you’re going ya moron. What’d the door do, swat it out of your hand?”

Translation: “Are you okay? Be careful of the broken glass. Sorry I left the door open.”

Person #1: “Shut up or when I’m done cleaning this up I’ll break another jar over your head.”

Translation: “I accept your apology for leaving the door open. Could you please bring me a broom and a roll of paper towels.”

Person #2: “Whatever, moron. Here’s a broom.”

Translation: “Here’s a broom. I’ll be right back with the paper towels.”

Person #1: “Thanks.”

Translation: “Thanks.”

Do you see how someone who isn’t familiar with our dialect could have easily been alarmed by that conversation? It isn’t so much that we’re mean up here, it’s just that we are misunderstood, there are too many of us, and we all probably have psychological issues due to the change in seasons. So, as an unofficial representative for the northeast, I’d like to request that the rest of you losers to stop referring to us as mean or we’re going to have to smack you around a little.

 

It’s going to be so cold here this weekend that I’m considering adding extra insulation to my basement windows. All of this seems completely unnecessary. The cold, the snow, winter in general. Winter has to be one of the worst things about the fall of mankind. Winter and t-shirts that aren’t tagless. I don’t think there was any winter in the Garden of Eden. There may be something legitimately wrong with people who like the cold. I could be mistaken about this, but if we all got together and paid for every eskimo to take a Caribbean vacation, I bet only twenty percent of them would return home. Half of that twenty percent would only be going back to get their pets. The other half are just psychopaths like people who prefer black coffee. When I go off about this subject my wife will undoubtedly say something wise like, “It takes all kinds of people to make up the world.” Begrudgingly I have to admit that, in some areas, she’s right about this. I mean, there have to be some people who like weird things, otherwise the bottom of my freezer drawer would be full of orange popsicles forever.

As I sit here bundled up, I’m looking out the window and wishing that I could hibernate like a bear. Seriously, do you know how skinny I’d be when I woke up in the spring? Right in time for swimsuit season amiright? One of the things I do to deal with the fact that I can’t hibernate is listen to lots of music. All kinds of music. I enjoy finding a new band and listening to them until I’ve literally driven them into the ground like I did our first Subaru Outback. (If I’d only changed the timing belt I might still be driving that thing.) Music is an area where my wife’s wise “it takes all kinds” point is definitely true. I’ve reached the point in this rambling post where I will drop some good advice of my own. Music is completely subjective. Never read anything written by a music critic. Listen to the music. If you like it, like it. Dave Grohl once said, “I don’t believe in guilty pleasures, you know. I believe you should be able to like what you like.” He’s right. And I don’t even like the Foo Fighters. It takes all kinds of people to make the music world go round. Most art is like this. Subjective. (Except for modern art which is complete and utter nonsense.) It’s healthy to form your own opinions about music and how it makes you feel.

In Conclusion.

• If you prefer the cold, you are still probably a psychopath just like people who don’t watch sports.
• Music is a good way of passing these dreary days.
• Don’t let anyone tell you what kind of music to like.
• Orange popsicles are kind of gross.
• Wegman’s Romano is my new favorite shaky cheese.
• My wife is wise.

Whew. There was a lot in there today. Now I’m going to sit by the fire with my coffee and listen to Taylor Swift, Metallica, John Denver, Mandy Moore, Def Leppard, P.O.D., Good Charlotte, and Bob Seger. In that order.

Now that we are past Christmas (the best holiday of the year) it’s time to gear up for New Year’s Eve (the worst holiday of the year). That’s right. New Year’s Eve is officially the worst holiday of the year in my Indispensable Guide to Life. There are other bad ones too, and I am here to make a countdown of the five worst. I realize that I already gave away my number one worst holiday and that was probably poor planning on my part, but if you’ll bear with me, when we get to number one I will give you some ridiculous reasons why it’s the worst. Let’s begin.

THE FIVE WORST HOLIDAYS OF THE YEAR

5.  Groundhog Day– This will be an unpopular opinion in my state of residence. While I will acknowledge that rodents are more qualified meteorologists than the ones on TV, I don’t need them to tell me that the weather is going to continue to be awful every February 2nd. I already know that simply because I live in Pennsylvania. If rodents really wanted to share useful information they should have spoken up in 1346 and said something like, “Hey I just saw my shadow, that means the fleas that I’m carrying are going to kill somewhere between 100 and 200 million people. Oh, yeah, there will also be six more weeks of winter.”

4.  Boss’s Day– Really? If you’re the boss, isn’t every day boss’s day? Just seems a little redundant.

3.  Valentines Day– I’ve already done a big write up on Valentines Day and its links to the Greeting Card industrial complex. I almost put Labor Day here because it is the unofficial end to my favorite season and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with communism. (I’m right about that by the way)

2.  Black Friday–  Yes. In 24 states it is actually an observed holiday. The only good thing about Black Friday is that every year we get to watch new Youtube videos of people fighting and being trampled at Wal-Mart. These are obviously the only people left on earth who haven’t heard of Amazon.com. I would like to suggest that we keep them in the dark because I could watch people throw punches over a Power Wheel all day.

1.  New Year’s Eve–  This is the biggest let down holiday on the schedule. 5-4-3-2-1, yay, the ball that they claim is brand new but looks exactly like the one they’ve been using for the last twenty years has reached the bottom of the flag pole. What now? Do I get a present? No? So you’re telling me we went through all that build up just to welcome Monday? And it’s still bitterly cold? I should have gone to bed hours ago. I’m going to fall asleep watching the bowl games now. Great. This has totally messed up my meal schedule. Who gave the kids noise makers? New Year’s Eve is the worst.

 

Watching Stranger Things with my wife and her grandmother was really fun. (I’m pretty sure that if you asked Granny what the show was about she’d say there was a monster in the woods and then ask you if the little bald kid was a boy or a girl.) The storytelling was good, it was perfectly cast, and it was set in a time that people my age remember fondly. I grew up in the eighties and early nineties. The days before the internet. The good old days. If you drove somewhere, you needed to know how to read a map. If you wanted to argue about politics, you wrote a letter to the editor of your local paper. If you wanted to know what an acquaintance you made in sixth grade had for dinner that evening, you had to go to the phone, which was attached to your kitchen wall with a cord (gasp!) and call them. There was something nice about all of that. But was it better?

There are some good arguments to be made in favor of life before google maps and social media. When I was a kid, I couldn’t text my friends. There was no instant connectivity. The closest I came to that was a barely audible walkie talkie connection with a friend who lived across the pond from me. The result was that we spent more time outside. We got together and did things. Rode bikes, built forts, went camping, caused mischief. It was nice. I also do not remember getting any Candy Crush requests in the mail when I was a kid. Back in the day people talked smack face to face. This meant that there was a real danger of a fight breaking out, so the smack talking had to be worth it. Today if you want to  run your mouth you can grab a hot drink, get comfortable in your favorite chair, grab your phone, and type. Everybody’s brave when they’re separated from their opponent by a hundred miles and a fake screen name. We were more civil to each other back when we were less connected. (On a side note, back then Hollywood lacked the technology to constantly assault us with soulless superhero movies. We didn’t know how good we had it.)

But what about the positives of modern life? I’m glad you asked. First off, social media has enabled me to keep in touch with my family. I can share pictures of my kids and in turn see what they are up too. Secondly, I can now run a background check on anyone who wants to befriend me. It no longer takes three or four outings before you figure out that a potential new friend is completely nuts. Now you can meet someone, friend them on Facebook, check out their page, and immediately go “Nope, nope, Noooooooppppe.” Turns out, people are more than willing to expose their insanity for the world to see. Our new interconnectedness can also be motivational. How many times have you gotten online and seen that a friend ran three miles that day? I would guess that it happens a lot, because people are really proud of themselves when they work out. Then you go grab your running shoes and begrudgingly run a couple miles because there’s no way you’re going to let Joe look better than you at this year’s reunion. Later you’ll realize you have nothing to worry about, though, because Joe will post a picture of himself eating a giant cheesesteak all by himself.

My general conclusion is that life is no better or worse because of our constant state of connection. It’s just different. This spring I am going to plan a few 80’s weekends with my family. We’re going to unplug, watch John Hughes movies, break out my old Nintendo games and teach the boys how to blow into them to get them to work, and then we’ll actually leave the house to do something. Don’t worry, I’ll post pictures on Monday to let everyone know how it went.

 

I have two boys. One of the most fun things about having kids is that you get to dispense important life advice. Here are some of my pearls of wisdom.

• “Never play with bear cubs in the wild.”
• “If you’re speeding, make sure there is at least one car going faster than you.”
• “Don’t ever put fruit on a pizza. That is a sin.”
• “When you go to college, pick a major and see it through. You know, like your mother did. Your father is still picking a major.”
• “Never befriend anyone who prefers Hunts ketchup. They’re probably a psychopath.”
• “You get more guacamole at Chipotle if you ask for it on the side.”
• “Always be kind. It will never come back to haunt you.”
• “If someone says ‘trust me’, it’s because there is a reason that they shouldn’t be trusted.”

As you can see, I have gained a lot of wisdom that I am more than willing to pass along to the next generation. That’s not really true. I’m winging it like our parents did before us and their parents did before them. That reminds me of another piece of advice.

• “Always act like you know what you’re doing.”

All of that aside, there are two rock solid pieces of advice that I will give to my kids that I know they can count on.

1. “If you anchor your life in Christian principles, the storms won’t shake you.”
2. “A good attitude is essential in life.”

They’re good with number one. Number two I have to keep reinforcing. A good attitude changes how problems are approached. It increases your likelihood of solving those problems. It increases your likelihood of being successful in general. People who say, “Oh no! We’ll never make it” usually don’t make it. Attitude is fifty percent of life. Have to clean the bathroom? Do it with a good attitude. Have to do a job you hate? Do it with a good attitude. Have to eat your veggies? Do it with a good attitude. Found your passion in life? Pursue it relentlessly, with a good attitude. I recently went to see Sammy Hagar in concert. That guy has a great attitude. He’s seventy years old and still doing what he loves. You never hear a negative thing come out of his mouth. (Unless it’s about the Van Halen’s, who he referred to as “the devil and his brother”) His career has had ups and downs, but he’s still here. Attitude is fifty percent of life.

One last piece of advice that I almost forgot.

“Always eat one less piece of pizza than you actually want to.”

Christians have a funny relationship with Halloween. Some are dead set against it.  “It is the devil’s holiday and I will spend it watching reruns of Highway to Heaven and Touched By An Angel.”  Some are all in.  “I’ve been planning my costume for six months and I’ve spent three hundred dollars to look like Thor.  I even contacted a costume department in LA to get some tips.”  A lot of people are in the middle.  “Yeah, so, I’ve gotta get the kids dressed up to go trick or treating.  They’ll get a bunch of candy, then I’ll go through it after they go to bed and pull out all the Sweet Tarts and Butterfingers.”  I find myself squarely in the last group.  This makes for awkward conversations with the first group.

Them:  Hey, what are you guys doing this week?

Me:  Well, Monday is Halloween, so I guess we’re going trick-or-treating.

Them:  (Judgemental pause   1,2,3,4,5………)  Doesn’t it make you a little uncomfortable, you know, because of the origins of the holiday?

Me:  Nah.  I’m not sacrificing goats, I’m just dressing the kids up like Obi Wan Kenobi and The Karate Kid so they can get some candy.

Them:  (Another judgmental pause)

Me:  (Just an awkward pause)  Well,,,, I guess we’ll see you next week.

It’s okay.  I understand people who don’t want to participate.  To each their own.  We can all live in harmony.  Who we can’t live in harmony with is the person who spends three hundred dollars on a costume, that’s just nuts.

Every year when I take the kids trick-or-treating we inevitably come the house where people hand out apples, or small bags of pretzels, or, GASP, a toothbrush.  Look folks, I know that handing out apples may make you feel really good about yourself, but at my house they will not get eaten.  We have principles.  Trick-or-treating is not about you feeling good about the things you hand out. It’s about my kids collecting candy that we otherwise wouldn’t have in the house. (Again, Sweet Tarts and Butterfingers are much appreciated.)  The clue is in the word “treat.” Pretzel people.  No.  Stop doing that.  The kids are looking for treats, they are not on a Southwest Airlines flight to Denver.  Pretzels are a last ditch snack.  When you’ve consumed all the good stuff in the pantry, there is always one lonely bag of pretzels left saying, “Please eat me.”  Last but not least, toothbrush guy.  We get it, you’re a dentist.  All that we ask is that you stop looking at Halloween as the enemy of teeth and start looking at it as job security.

I know I’m two weeks early for a Halloween post.  Sorry about that, but I just wanted to give the people above a chance to make things right by running out to pick up a couple of those mixed bags of Hershey’s miniatures.  That way, they can avoid my wife and I egging their houses.

Happy Halloween.  ?

 

I love James Bond movies. All of them except those abominations starring Pierce Brosnan. As a kid and young adult, I would watch each adventure unfold in a different exotic locale. Sometimes multiple exotic locales. And when the credits rolled, the phrase would scroll down the screen, Filmed on location and at Pinewood Studios in England.  Filmed on location.  I thought that was the coolest thing ever. Someday I was going to be James Bond. I would travel the world with a beautiful woman on my arm and have adventures in service of Her Majesty.

Fast forward.

I am now a somewhat older adult.  I have been blessed in my life to be able to travel some. Not as much as I would like, but hey, if I actually traveled as much as I’d like, I wouldn’t have a real home. I have also been blessed to do this traveling with a beautiful woman on my arm. I have not, however, had any adventures on behalf of any spy agency. (The ball is in your court, CIA) So I feel I am falling short of the true James Bond experience. Just once I would like to be chased around the pyramids at Giza by a giant with metal teeth. Unfortunately, recent considerations have led me to question if I’ll ever be Bond material.

• I really don’t like to wear suits. This seems to be a requirement in the spy world. While it’s nice to dress up and pretend civility once in a while, pretending is all I’m really doing.
• I have been unable to get Pennsylvania to issue me a License to Kill. This license is much harder to get than a fishing license. When I call Harrisburg to inquire, they like to pretend that it doesn’t even exist.
• My hair. Unless I pay attention to it every twenty or thirty minutes, my hair will end up looking like I’m a toddler who just woke up from a nap. This is not a good look for a spy. My oldest son could swim in the ocean, wrestle his brother, go through a car wash in a convertible, and still look perfectly styled. But he can’t drive yet, so no spying for him.
• I get jetlag. On a recent trip to Europe, my wife and I hit the ground running after our overnight flight. We took an hour’s train ride from our arrival city to see a Unesco World Heritage site. It was great, but on the train ride back, I fell asleep hard. Head tipped back, mouth wide open hard. My wife reported that during my nap, local teenagers found my sleeping pose hilarious. This would also be unacceptable in the spying world. I’m guessing that vodka martinis would make this problem worse, not better.

So, regretfully, I’ll probably never realize my secret agent dreams.  Guess I’ll have to go with my backup plan.  Fighter pilot who likes to play beach volleyball.