I Done Got Played! - The Making of a Humor Writer (Part 1)

Skilled writers are made, not born.  Your DNA certainly provides some talent, but you do not exit the womb grasping a quill.  While what you write is a function of imagination, emotion and life experience, how you construct those thoughts is the result of teaching and learning.  Therefore, every one of your writing teachers had some influence on your craft.

I was reminded of this after my last post regarding the closing of Kenmore High School.  The post generated a record number of hits for my blog in the first week.  Many of the readers posted the names of their favorite teachers, a name mentioned often was that of one of my writing instructors, Miss Jameson.

In one of my high school years, I faced a scheduling dilemma.  The school had mistakenly offered the college prep math class and the college prep English class during the same time.  I wanted to take both that term, but I had to choose.  I reasoned the math class was more important, so I took the “mid-level” English Composition class for my other requirement.

There was a consolation in this. English Comp was not nearly as difficult as the class I wanted to take.  It was the mid-level course and I considered myself top-level.  I smelled cake! Ake was going to get some cake.  I anticipated cruising to an easy “A”.

English Composition was taught by Miss Jameson.  She was in her late 50’s, short, stocky, resembled a fire hydrant in an unfashionable dress.  She was everything you would expect from an aging high school English teacher, and less.   She had taught English at Kenmore since the 1950’s. 

We got our first assignment and I put my normal amount of effort into it.  Which means just enough effort to typically earn a “B”.  That was my basic strategy, I never really put much effort into school work until my junior year of college.  Up until then, I didn’t get by on my good looks, I got by on my good brains.  However, I did not expect to receive a “B” on this paper, I expected an “A”.  There is no grading on the curve in an English class, but I was confident that my “high-level” writing skills would be judged superior in this “mid-level” course.

That morning when Miss Jameson handed back my first assignment, is one of my most vivid high school memories. I looked at the paper and was surprised by the flood of red ink poured out on it.  I raised my eyes to the top of the page to see the unthinkable. My “A” paper had received a grade of “C-“.  What the heck?  What is this? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It would have been amusing to see my expression as I absorbed the reality of the situation.  I grabbed the paper in both hands and just stared at it, I’m sure I began to shake.

“Maybe she’s just a really hard grader on the first assignment”, I reasoned.  I whipped around in my desk and looked at the paper of the girl sitting behind me, incredibly it was marked with a “B”.  “Can I see that?” I asked. And then I rudely snatched it right out of her hand before she even had a chance to answer.  I quickly, but carefully, skimmed her paper.  It was well-written and fully deserving of the “B”.  However, I mean HOWEVER, it was not nearly as good as my paper. Which means I deserved an “A”, but somehow, some way, it got mistakenly marked with a “C-“.

After class, I bolted up front to protest the heinous injustice that had been inflicted on me.  I was prepared to argue arduously to get my grade changed.  However, I was not given the opportunity.  This conversation was bizarre, and certainly not what I expected. Miss Jameson didn’t explain my grade, she didn’t defend the grade and definitely was not going to change the grade. She was a real, she was a real bi….., okay out of respect I will use the word, “biddy”.  She was a tough biddy and this biddy, no budgie.  

However, without a valid justification for my grade, I wasn’t ready to give up yet.  I still had one card left to play, the “Mom” card.  As I mentioned in my previous post, my mother had been a secretary at Kenmore High School years before.  She knew Miss Jameson and they had been friends, a fact I had been made well aware of.  Somehow, I was able to persuade my mother to meet with Miss Jameson and question the grade.  I would like to believe she did this out of devoted, motherly love. Most likely she did it to end my persistent whining, but I’ll still go the love thing, yeah.

I was sure my mother would have success, but she returned from their meeting to inform me the grade would stand and that I better improve “because “C”- work is not acceptable”.  At this news, my intense anger turned into intense fear.  I had received a “C-”  on an “A” paper and not been given any explanation why or given much instruction on how to improve.  I was in danger of receiving a “C” or lower, in this “cake” course.

Even worse, I had not been paying much attention in class or to the textbook, because of course, I considered the stuff to be boringly easy and had expected to receive an “A” on the first paper, not a “C-”.  However, after that things changed dramatically.  I studied every one of those red marks on that paper.  I read and reread the textbook assignments. I took copious notes during class.

It was then time for the second writing assignment.  I wrote it, then rewrote it, reviewed it thoroughly, and then wrote it a third time.  I spent more time on this assignment than on my college-prep math homework, more time than I had devoted to any previous school assignment.  I tried to appear cool as Miss Jameson handed back the papers, but my palms were sweating, my heart was racing and I gripped the side of the desk so I wouldn’t quiver.  I nonchalantly took the paper from her hand, but as soon as she turned her back, I quickly flipped it over. It was a “B”.  Big sighs of relief.  I wasn’t even upset that it wasn’t an “A”.  This time I didn’t look at anyone else’s grade.  All I cared about is that it wasn’t another “C-”.

And this is how the class progressed, with me putting strenuous effort into each assignment and receiving a “B” grade in return.  I never received an “A” on any assignment.  I did manage to get “B+’s” on my final two papers.   This enabled me to cancel out that dreaded “C-”  and receive a “B” for the class.  I was still very bitter towards Miss Jameson when the class ended.  I thought Miss Jameson did grade on the curve, except she had a much more difficult curve for me.  I thought she didn’t like me for some reason, which was perplexing considering her relationship with my mother.  Miss Jameson smiled at all the other students, but she did not smile at me.  She was one tough biddy in my book.

For nearly 40 years, I regarded Miss Jameson as my worst high school teacher, by far.  The biddy had unfairly gave me a “C-” on my “A” paper and I had always resented that, but then something changed. Miss Jameson passed away in November 2014 at the age of 97.  The obit was posted on several Facebook Kenmore alumni pages.  I was puzzled by the large number of comments from former students lavishing praise on Miss Jameson.  Some even stated she was their favorite teacher at Kenmore, others wrote she was the best teacher at Kenmore.  Many similar comments were posted on the original obit.  People looooooooved Miss Jameson, they adored her.

“What is wrong with all these people?” I wondered. How could so many people love this stupid biddy? This caused me to reassess what had happened in her classroom so many years ago.  Only this time it wasn’t through the eyes of a naïve high school student, who thought he knew everything about life.  No, now it was carefully inspected by a much, older, wiser man. Someone who was putting together his first book  (Yes, I said “first”, big announcement soon) and beginning to appreciate all the people over the years that contributed to my work.

What you have just read is my new recollection of my experience in Miss Jameson’s class.  At some point in the narrative you smiled, perhaps even laughed out loud, when you realized I had been played. I had been totally played by a fire hydrant in an old flowery dress.  Miss Jameson was a playa and she had played me like a fiddle.

She had read my first composition and had perceived two things.  First, she recognized that I had potential. Maybe enough talent to one day be an author? Second, she saw that potential was in danger of being wasted by a pronounced lack of effort.  Some teachers would have marked my paper with an “A”, but lectured, “Donald, you have a lot of talent, but you need to try harder”.  However, that wouldn’t have had any effect, now would it?  Miss Jameson instead used what she no doubt called the “C- maneuver”. I wasn’t the first student to get this treatment and I suspect I wasn’t the last.  Long before that television commercial, Mrs. Jameson held that fishing pole with the “A” on the hook, taunting “Ooooh look, a B+, you almost got it that time!”

I had no idea that I walked out of Miss Jameson’s class a much better writer than when I walked in.  I realize now that I learned so much more in her class, than I would have in the upper-level English class.

I still don’t know how she was able figure me out by reading just one composition.  The word I use to describe such ability is brilliance. Therefore, I was privileged to study under a brilliant writing teacher.   So, Miss Jameson was not my worst high school teacher, she was one of the best.  She’s still not my favorite however, some bruises can’t be washed away.  

 

Oh Kenmore High Forever – Not Really

I started writing humor my senior year of high school in a monthly column titled “Giving The Bird”. Yes, they actually let me call it that because the mascot at Kenmore High School in Akron, Ohio is the cardinal. Or should I say, was the cardinal, because the school will be closing soon.

My friend Fred suggested I write a final “Giving The Bird” in this blog as a tribute.  I thought that was a lousy idea, but I have been following Fred’s outrageous ideas since we were young pranksters terrorizing the neighborhood.  If this post turns out to be terrible, you can blame Fred. 

Officially, they are not closing the school, but “merging” it with our arch-enemy Garfield High.  However, the new school building will sit on the site of the old Garfield High and they will bus the Kenmore kids in, so they are in effect closing my school. You bastards.

Combining these schools is a horrible idea. It’s like making the Greeks go to school with the Turks, the Hatfields studying with the Mc Coys, the Trumps playing ball with the Clintons. It just ain’t right.  We were taught in grade school that Garfield kids were stupid, smelled bad and had serious cooties.  This had something to do with football games and rivalries or such.  

The acrimony was drilled into us so deeply that it was still anathema to date a Garfield girl even after you graduated.  Even if she was cute, it didn’t matter.  You would be ostracized, and besides that, who wants to visit the medical clinic to receive treatment for a bad case of college cooties.  I have only had one friend from Garfield High my entire life.  Interestingly, she was a former Garfield cheerleader who I met through work.  I overlooked her heritage because she had uh, she was eh, - let’s just say she had a lovely personality. Did I mention she was a cheerleader?

Mixing these schools into one is just plain wrong. You bastards.  The school names, mascots (Cardinal and Ram) and colors (red/black and maroon/gold) are not easily combined for the new school.  Potential new names such as Kenfield and Garmore do not easily roll off the tongue. The worst combo would be Garken, which sounds too much like gherkin, where the school would be the home of the “Fighting Pickles”. Love that mascot! 

The school is closing since enrollment is now less than a third of when I graduated.  The environment inside the school has become more violent.  The mean kids beat up all scholars and the scholars transferred to the nearby suburban district in droves.  Now there are only a few students left and no one 

to beat up.

But don’t feel sorry for the mean kids, the plan is to transfer the Garfield students into the Kenmore building for a year while the new school is being built (the school will have some combo name for one year).  This means the Kenmore hooligans will have a fresh bunch of kids to beat up!  This should work out really well. You stupid bastards.  If the fighting is too intense, there may not be anyone left to attend the brand new Garken High. 

The conditions outside the school walls have deteriorated also.  The community is sliding downhill.  The potheads, turned into meth-heads, who turned into opiate addicts. Convenience store parking lots are  littered with used needles. There is a guy running loose who poops on people’s cars during the night (I am not making this up). In my day (used to hate this expression, but for some odd reason I’m using it more every day), you could walk the length of the main drag, The Boulevard, and feel safe at any hour of the day. Now, people get robbed at gunpoint in mid-afternoon.

My connection with Kenmore High School is tighter than most alumni.  My mother was a secretary there in the 1950’s.  It was a job she dearly loved, however she chose to give it up when she became pregnant with her only child (bonus points if you can guess his name).  She often lamented that her old high school had been closed in the early 80's.  I used to consider these comments as just the aimless ramblings of an old person, needlessly yearning for days gone by.  Ironically, I am now the same exact age as my mother was when they closed her school.  Suddenly, those ramblings are not so aimless and I yearn. Yes, I yearn.

Sadly, the first line of the alma mater is “Oh Kenmore High forever”. Well, now that’s a lie. Thanks, you bastards.  Now we need a new song.  Maybe one titled “My School Was Gone”. No, that sounds too close to “My City Was Gone” and that song was written about a totally different place, what city was it? Oh, Oh, Oh ….. Uh, Chrissie Hynde, could you please write a fourth verse, “I went back to Ohio, but my school was gone”.  

My gratitude to this school runs so deep.  I received a tremendous education there, of much more value to me than I could ever realize at the time.  What America provides you is opportunity and Kenmore High School gave me the opportunity to thrive, and I took it and ran.  First, at the University of Akron where I was the top Marketing student my senior year (“line up behind me, you suburban kids”) and then in the business world.  I’m not sure how high I stand on this corporate ladder, but be certain, the first rung is painted red and black.  Just as important, as mentioned previously, my humor writing began in a classroom there and ultimately lead to me being an author.

I desperately needed that great education, because as LeBron James said “In Northeast Ohio, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have.” You may understand what his words mean with your head, I can feel what his words mean in my heart.  And while LeBron is “Just a kid from Akron”, I will look out at the awesome scene from my hotel room, at a fancy resort where some group has flown me in to speak, and think to myself, “Not bad for a Kenmore kid”.

Now I have a deep, gut-wrenching pain.  The agony you feel at the funeral of an old friend.  A friend with whom you shared many great times, a friendship full of cherished memories.  A friend who departed much too soon.  The administrators who made this decision will claim the school died, I would argue they strangled it to death over many years.  But what these highly-paid, educational poohbahs will never, ever, realize, is when you close this school, you are closing part of me.  And for that, I will give you the bird. Rest in peace Kenmore High, rest in peace.

And three guys I admired it’s true

Senuta, Fortner and coach Wendschuh

They locked the door, the key they threw

The day the Cardinal died

And we were wailing

Bye, bye, school on Akron’s south side

Tried to study, got too bloody

And that spirit has died

Them Buckey boys passed the ball one last time 

Saying this’ll be the day that we cry

Writing Huge Checks Is Taxing – But Patriotic

I gasped as I signed the final check on the morning of April 15th. I don’t have to tell you what the check is for, because it is one of the few days that is so distinctive that we use the actual date to mark the occasion.  It is in effect a national holiday.  We should think of April 15th as America’s birthday, even more so than July 4, because on this day the citizens in the land send the government gifts, pay their literal homage to this great country.  And this year I paid dearly, very dearly.

I was extraordinarily generous this year, by writing four (one fed, one state, two estimates) ginormous checks, involving many zeros.  I know it’s wrong to complain, since the reason I owe so much is because I had a prosperous year.  It’s wrong to complain, so, wrong …. BUT I WROTE BIG F#*%!N& CHECKS! BIG, BIG CHECKS!  BIG ONES!

You may contend that I should have prepared for this better, but preparing for this extraction of funds is as futile as preparing for a root canal, there is still going to be pain, lots of pain.  Planning for this is difficult because my taxes are complicated. Why are they complicated? Well, I’m not telling you and I’m not releasing my tax returns, because people named Donald just don’t have to do that and that’s the truth, pbbtttt.  

Regardless of my situation, sending the all this money to the government creates feelings of intense dread.  I sit there numb after sealing the final envelope, as my bank account cries out in anguish: “Stop, make it stop!  Please, I’m begging you!  You’re killing me, you’re killing me …….”.

Some people claim that paying your taxes is your patriotic duty.  In that case, I feel like Paul Revere, Patrick Henry and Nathan Hale all wrapped into one! Oh, I am sorry.  I just compared myself to real patriots, many who fought and died to found this great country and provide these freedoms I enjoy.  And what were they fighting against?  A corrupt and greedy government that taxed them excessively ….. Oh crap, - let’s just forget I ever brought this up. 

Isn’t it interesting that politicians advocating this patriotic tax paying are always the one’s “making money off of other people’s taxes”.  They are strongly sucking off of the public teat and they won’t budge.  They are addicted to taxes as strongly as junkies addicted to crack. They wail and scream if someone tries to reduce their stash. They are filthy rotten tax whores, that’s what they are.  And they keep sucking that teat, yeah they suck. They really suck.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as painful if so much tax money wasn’t wasted.  If my money was used for something important, maybe I would feel better.  I fantasized that maybe I bought one of those Tomahawk missiles (why do they call it a miss-ile if it’s supposed to hit something?) that were fired off recently?  Yeah, kick a$$!  Yes, boom, boom! But then afterwards there was just a was just a hole in the ground, ehh that doesn’t quite do it. My daughter suggested that maybe my check was so large that I actually paid for the “Mother of All Bombs”, also recently dropped.  Now we are getting closer, except it feels as if they extracted that bomb from my rear orifice.

The taxes are collected by something called the Internal Revenue Service, which has to be one of the worst misnomers of all time.  Your great government has external revenue and we also have internal revenue.  We are so glad that you had such a prosperous year Mr. Ake and that you will be sharing some of your goodies with us! Remember, sharing is caring and we are so glad you care! 

You can take the term “THE IRS” and eliminate the space in between and you get “THEIRS”, because it’s theirs, whatever they want, it’s theirs.  A better name for the agency would be the Tax Bastards, because that is truly what they are. It might even help people feel better if they actually wrote the check to the Tax Bastards.  Of course, since my tax return has not been approved yet, please understand that I am using this term in a very affectionate, endearing, kidding-type way. I love you guys, I really do.

I do employ a tax accountant to do my returns.  I have to, or I would begin my 1040 in February and finish up around Thanksgiving.  I have noticed something peculiar when my accountant Tom delivers the much-anticipated verdict concerning my return. He always has the same big goofy grin on his face, no matter if I owe a lot or I am due (a rare) refund.  I think he does this with everybody as a defense mechanism, so people don’t shoot the messenger.  I bet someone, somewhere, at some time, has literally shot their tax accountant after getting the bad news.  I have never wanted to do that, but I will confess I’ve been tempted some years to kick Tom square in nuts. But I don’t, because he smiling so broadly and it’s difficult to do this to someone who seems so happy.  And Tom knows this, oh does he know this.

Regardless, it is not a good idea to ever kick your accountant in the nuts, no matter how much money you may owe.  Because you could get audited by the Tax Bastards (love you guys) and you desperately need a guy like Tom there to fight with you.

I can imagine sitting in the IRS office for the audit, wondering why Tom is so late, when his assistant sashays in:

IRS Guy:  Is this your accountant?

Me: No, she’s Bambi his secretary.

IRS Guy: Why isn’t your accountant here?

Me: Possibly because I kicked him in the nuts, sir.

IRS Guy: Bambi, how are you prepared to help Mr. Ake settle his dispute?

Bambi: Cash me ousside. Howbow Dah?

Moral of the story: Never kick your accountant in the nuts.

Well, I’ve complained more than enough for one post. I need to get back to work, so I can make more money, so I can pay more …… I’m such a patriot, such a patriot.          

Working Naked From Home

Everybody is freaking out about so called “Fake News”, but there is an even more serious danger lurking on the Internet.  I will call these the Pure Bullsh*t Advice Article (PBAA).  This drivel consists of some phony know-it-all advising you about a wide variety of topics. The writer’s argument sounds logical, practical and believable to the unknowledgeable, but in reality, it is pure horse hockey.

Recently I came across two PBAAs giving advice on the proper way to dress in certain business situations, something I have considerable experience in.  Sadly, I’m sure there are some poor saps out there that are actually following the advice from these ridiculous articles.

The first one promotes the idea that you should always wear a suit and tie when flying for business purposes, especially on intercontinental flights.  The reason? The writer always does this and one time he was able to close an enormous business deal because someone commented on his fancy duds.

I doubt that this story is even true.  Even if it is, it was pure luck.  If the clothes didn’t initiate the conversation, something else would have.  While there are situations that dictate dressing up on a flight, an important meeting soon after you land for example, for the great majority of flights, there is absolutely no need for this.

The two most important things when being jammed into a tight metal tube with a hundred strangers for a few hours, are to be comfortable and to not stink. These far outweigh any slim chance of closing some magical business deal with a random stranger.  No thanks, I’ll just wear comfortable, respectable clothes and buy a lottery ticket.

Besides that, based on the photo of the guy in the article, this guy is a real d*ck.  I can recognize a d*ck because I have worked with many d*icks over my career.  They dress so fancy and are always bragging about their house, their car, their wife, their investments, their travels, etc.  If you tell an interesting the story, a d*ck will immediately jump in with “That’s nothing, …… and then tell some d*cklike story.  The laughable photo shows this d*ck with his colleagues d*ckhead and d*ckster, all suited up, yucking it up in the front row on the plane. 

I think the real reason this d*ck dresses up for flights is to “chase tail”. Most of the d*cks I’ve known like to chase tail and business trips provide prime opportunities.  Some women (now I’m not saying all women, because that would be sexist) are very attracted to men dressed to the nines.  If you dispute this statement or find it offensive, I will refer you to the ultimate authorities on this subject, ZZ Top, who once proclaimed “They come runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cause every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man”.  

The other PBAA, but there are many articles on this subject, instructs people how to dress if they work from home.  The gist of most of these pieces is that you should dress like you would if you worked in an actual office and working in your pajamas is strictly verboten in all circumstances.

This is total hogwash and bullsh*t in its purest form.  These articles claim dressing up for work at home helps you maintain “professional perception” and boosts your productivity”!  

Now there have been numerous research studies (people seem obsessed with this subject) and all they all tend to conclude that office business clothes must be worn when working from home.  Why is this?  These “scientists” are extremely jealous of people who get to work from home. You see, the researchers work in laboratories and have to wear very uncomfortable lab coats, even in the summer, when the accountants won’t let you turn up the air conditioner and you sweat in your shorts all day and go home all stinky.  Yeah, these squinty, egg-headed nerds are very envious  of us work-from-home people, enjoying our comfy, casual work attire.  I can hear them yell as they finish their “scientific study”: “If I have to be this uncomfortable at my workplace, then everyone should suffer!”

Could be a productive worker? 

I will concede that “dressing up” will benefit a few work-from-home people.  The key word is few.  Every home worker must determine for themselves the best mix of comfort and productivity.  For me that means, sweat pants in the winter (no lounge pants) and canvas-type cargo shorts (no athletic shorts) in the summer.  Tennis shoes, (no slippers) but I often will work barefooted in the summer, with absolutely no impact on my productivity whatsoever, oh the audacity.   However, these are my personal standards. I will not judge anyone who can be productive working in their pajamas.  I will also not criticize someone who prefers to dress up, if they work better that way.  There are no universal rules.  That’s why all these articles and studies are rubbish.

Unfortunately, the shenanigans don’t stop there.  I found an article that gives recommendations on stylish, comfortable, clothes for work-at-home woman.  There are the cashmere sweatpants for $498 – “cashmere for comfort – the ribbing makes you look cool!”.  The Gucci sneakers for $695. The silk shirt for $153.  This article says these clothes have the powerful ability to make you feel internally professional and increase your productivity! 

One of the benefits of working from home is that you can spend less money on clothes.  To spend $1300 on one outfit that no one else will see, makes you look externally ridiculous and decreases your bank account.  And, oh, better not spill any grape juice on those cashmere sweats.

To prove how bogus these articles and scientific studies are, I did a little study of my own.  I decided to work completely naked for one day to prove I could still be productive without any clothing at all.  Hey, if I can work fine with naked feet, then I can go full monty, right? Centerfolds and porn stars work fine like this, so why can’t I?

My Naked Productivity Study

I log on my computer and begin the day.  I start working but get distracted by the feeling of my butt cheeks nestled against my leather chair.  Mmmm, ooooh, that feels sooooo goooood, sublime even. Ohhh baby  --- Whoa, snap back, let’s get going on that spreadsheet!

Mid-morning, I realize I have the curtains closed and the dark room is stifling my creativity. No one can see me while I’m seated, so I decide I can walk over and open the curtains ……  Oh, no!  Hello, neighbor Sue, out there walking her dachshund. Well, I got to see neighbor Sue’s wiener dog and she got to see my ……. I hope neighbor Sue doesn’t call the authorities because explaining the situation would really put a crimp in my productivity.

A few minutes later, my dog needs to be walked, guess I really didn’t think this one through.  I throw on my robe and sneak him out in the backyard.  But the dog doesn’t want to do anything in the backyard, even though the world is his bathroom, he prefers the front yard.  It’s rather uncomfortable outside because it’s a bit nippy, especially with that gusty wind.  The dog finds his spot and then … Whoa, holy Marilyn Monroe!  Sure hope the widow Cooper next door didn’t see that.  She’s been feeling rather poorly lately and a shock like that could push her over the edge!  Would hate to have people whispering and pointing at the funeral, “That’s the guy, the tall, bald one.” 

I put on a nice corporate business shirt for the big video meeting after lunch.  The boss is rolling out a big, important, corporate initiative.  At the end of his presentation he declares, “We need total buy-in on this. So I want everybody here and those patched in remotely, to all stand up in a show of solidarity!”.

“Ake! You’re not standing!”

“I’m standing in spirit, sir. I’m standing in spirit.”

After that unfortunate event, I run downstairs to grab a cup of coffee when the doorbell rings, but I don’t have time to go get my robe.

I crack the door slightly, stick my head around the corner, and see a nicely dressed man and woman.

“Good afternoon!  We are Jeneeva Watchneses and we need to talk to you about your spiritual condition.”

Me: I’m sorry, I can’t talk …

Woman: (trying to peak around the door - you naughty girl) Are you naked, sir?

Man: Is your wife at home?

Me: No

Man: Then who are you in there naked with in the middle of the afternoon?

Me: No one, I’m just working, really, I’m working.

Woman: I think someone as sinful as you needs to read every one of our tracts, twice!

Man: Here you go. (throws the literature through the slot) Make sure you read all these carefully and we will stop back next week to talk with you, when you are not “working”.

Alright, I learned that working in the nude is not a good idea and does hurt your productivity. I also learned you should never fart while sitting naked in a leather chair.  Regardless, I still believe that you are most productive, when you are comfortable (but not too comfortable) and people should not follow the fashion advice of these misguided know-it-alls.

I’m Scoring Every Night In This Bed

Recently I purchased a Sleep Number Bed.  I know these things are darn expensive, but I am not trying to impress you with this revelation.  I do not spend money on things to flaunt my status, however I can drop some serious coin on things which are important to me.  Because sleep is important and I spend over six hours a night on a mattress, I figured the cost was justifiable.

We should have replaced our old mattress years ago, but when you have two kids in college you tend to delay some purchases. By the time I wrote the final tuition check, we had become accustom to sleeping on our aging mattress.  It was almost like the mattress intentionally conformed to our bodies in order to extend its useful life and avoid the scrap heap.  But one night I felt a spring pushing against my ribs and it was time.

The Sleep Number Bed is basically a high-tech, adjustable air mattress. You can adjust the firmness on each side of the bed to your individual preference.  The company claims the mattress “contours to you for proper spinal alignment” and most restful sleep.

Now I really enjoy the bed and I am sleeping better, especially with no springs poking my ribs.  However, the most unique aspect of the Sleep Number mattress is the SleepIQ ® app (I am not making this up, see photos).  The app tracks and rates how well you sleep each night.  It records how long you sleep, how long it took you to fall asleep and when you are restless.  It also tracks the number and duration of your bathroom trips.  And it does this individually for each side of the bed. 

This app is truly incredible.  It even measures your heart rate and breathing rate while you are in the bed.  Using all these metrics, it calculates a SleepIQ® score for you each night.  The app even gives you advice on how to improve your score, for example:

Research suggests eating a healthy diet that includes a variety of foods can lead to more normal sleep patterns affecting your SleepIQ® score.

Welllll-doggies!  We don’t just have a bed – we got ourselves a “smart” bed.  I thought the Sleep Number Bed with this app was the greatest thing I had ever seen, until of course, my wild mind realized something extremely disturbing.

If the bed is this “smart”, then it would surely know when two people are occupying the same area of the mattress. Maybe, uh, one person is positioned right on top of the other, for some unknown reason.  It would also be able to sense when unusually strong pressure was being applied to the mattress during some undefined activity. It would be able to measure the duration of that activity, the frequency of that activity, the intensity of that activity, the position of the participants and even the quality of that activity, by measuring breathing and heart rates. It could even tell when and how many times the breathing and heart rate reached a, uh, reached a, reached …. a peak.  It could even produce a graph the entire “encounter”!

So, it would be possible to develop an app (one probably exists) to measure all of this and provide you a “score” for each “session”  I would call it ScrewIQ and the score provided would be an F-number. If your F-numbers aren’t high enough, the app could send you tips to improve your performance. For example:

Women respond well to non-sexual touch. Try giving her a backrub beforehand to improve your F-score.

The implications of this are troubling, however.  You and your partner would be generating more metrics than pro baseball players.  There would be more data on you than Masters and Johnson ever had.  There would be increased pressure on the guy to perform, knowing each time it was being monitored and scored.  Heck, it would be as if some chick in a lab coat was standing in your bedroom with a stopwatch. Wait, no, of course not a stopwatch. Maybe a shot clock, yes, in this case, a literal shot clock. Wait no, no, not a 30-second shot clock.  A timer, with a full 60 minutes on it. Yes, that would cover it, well, most days at least.

If this app became popular, it could change discussions about “bedroom activity” forever.  When women get together to talk about their guys, they would have actual proof of their complaints:

Woman #1:  Roger has not been very satisfying lately , look, a 37 F-score. And my graph is so flat!

Woman #2: That’s dreadful. Maybe you should try your landscaper.

Likewise, guys would not be able to brag so much if they couldn’t produce any proof.  It’s Monday evening in the health club locker room and the muscled neanderthals are bragging about their weekend conquests. Proudly, the pencil-necked accountant whips out his phone and sticks it in their faces:

“Hit an 87 F-score Saturday night. As you can see by the chart, I rang the bell three times, fellas”.

And like any app, it would have multiple uses.  You are sitting in a business meeting, when suddenly an alarm blasts out from your coworker Roger’s phone:

Roger: Oh crap!

You:  What’s wrong?

Roger: My bed alarm just went off.  My wife is doing the pool guy again.  Wait, what day is it?

You: Uh, Wednesday

Roger:  Wednesday? Oh no! It’s not the pool guy, it’s the landscaper! She’s in bed with the landscaper!

You: You have a landscaper?

Roger: Yes, I have some wild bushes that need attention.

You: Indeed, you do.

Roger: Sorry, they just blew past an 82 F-score. I have to get home right now!

Even more frightening, this data is transmitted over the Internet, which means it is vulnerable to foreign hackers, who could monitor your love life in real time.

Hacker #1:  Oh rook! She doin’ it again! Fif time dis week! She so rorny!

Hacker #2:  And dey no stop! She love you long time!

And your data could be sold to companies selling all sorts of aids, pills, devices and apparel.  I am concerned about this potential loss of privacy, very concerned.

Now I know what you are thinking. Don is just being his crazy, imaginative goofy, self.  He is just imagining weird things that could never, ever happen.  But noooooooooooooooo!  You are wrong!

While I was putting this post together, I saw the following headline on a website:

Vibrator Maker Ordered to Pay Out $5 Million for Tracking Users’ Sexual Activity

A Canadian company that sold a “smart” vibrator was caught secretly tracking customer usage through a smartphone app and then got sued.  This is not fake news and I am not making this up.

I do know my friend Carol (I have several friends named Carol and I don’t want the other Carols to be embarrassed, so we will refer to her as THAT Carol) was not a customer of this company.  If they had been tracking her activity, she would have received an award for “Customer of The Year” (prize includes a year’s supply of batteries).

Just knowing big brother, foreign hackers, and possibly everyone in the world could be tracking my bedroom activity has created so much performance anxiety that uh, err, eh. Let’s just say the missus and I have had to adapt to this most unfortunate situation.  On a related note, we will soon need to buy a new couch.  However, I can assure you, it will not be a “smart” couch.

Loose Threads From My Underwear (Posts)

There were some leftover threads from my underwear evaluation that I could not fit in.  In other words, my shorts posts were too tight!  So here they are:

I Got Fat Shamed

There were two, high-priced, designer brands which I could not include in my study because they did not make shorts large enough to fit me.  I realize that an aging baby boomer body has no business cavorting around in designer undies, and yet surprisingly, it did hurt my feelings a bit. To the plus-sized ladies who suffer the same fate with some designer clothes, I FEEL YOUR PAIN!  Before, I thought you were just whining, but now I get it.  As they say, never judge a rubenesque woman until you have spent a day in her und….. Oh my! Well, you get the idea.

Underwear Advice For The Young Guys

However, in doing more research, I found that the designer underwear was not rated that highly by other reviewers. One review claimed that the main reason  young, single guys wear designer shorts is to impress new chicks during their, first, uh, encounter, yeah encounter.  But there two things very wrong with this.  Allow me as an older and wiser man to impart some wisdom upon those young whippersnappers who may need some advice.

First, it is dangerous to try to impress young ladies with any designer-type apparel.  The type of woman who is attracted to this sort of thing, is the type of wife who will spend most of your money and then take half of what’s left.

Secondly, if your goal after that first encounter is for the woman to remember the brand of your shorts you wear, then you are doing it wrong.  Yes, literally, YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. 

I also mentioned that the pouch on one brand pushed your junk up and out and when combined with tight pants could be a good way to advertise your wares. Likewise, be careful young man, about the fish you might catch from casting that worm. You can’t build a relationship on just that.  Your worm will not always be that zesty and you will always be vulnerable to other fellows, with larger worms, who may try to fish in your pond.

Even More Underwear Choices 

After I made the four underwear purchases for the study, my Facebook feed was inundated with new, sometimes weird, underwear ads.  How does Facebook know what I am actually buying?  This is creepy, especially for this product.

The weirdest ad promoted boxer-briefs containing 11 magnets in the pouch.  I guess the magnets are supposed to increase circulation and energize your man parts.  However, I see some drawbacks.  It would be embarrassing to be walking through an appliance store and suddenly have your crotch stuck forcefully to a refrigerator.  The sales clerk would be all like “Sir, I can see you’ve taken a real liking to that one!  When do you want it delivered?”

Also, you could be on the dance floor and get too close to a woman wearing magnetic panties (yes, they do exist also).  Of course, it would be a magnetic attraction, but it would be very awkward to have your nether regions locked tight together in public, especially if this woman was undesirable is some way.  You might even need some help being pulled apart and it could hurt!

By far the most disturbing ad featured a broadly smiling, older guy proudly sporting some boxer briefs.  This brand was promoted as “functional underwear for incontinence”. They say it looks great and it is “go every wear”! A major selling point is how many times you can wash them. Wonderful.  Why does Facebook think I would even be interested in this product? Who have they been talking to? I don’t want, nor need, to go everywhere.  I’ll just continue to go where I’ve been going, thank you.

What About Underwear Morality

I never addressed the morality of spending $34 on a pair of underwear when some men in the world are running around nearly nekkid, meaning their man parts are exposed to the elements and to attack by wild animals.  Someone should form the “Save The Cojones Foundation” to bring decent men’s underwear to third-world countries.  So, the literal bottom line is that if you fulfill your charitable obligations, you can splurge a little on your shorts. That is splurge, S-P-L-U-R-G-E, splurge.

However, it is vitally important to find shorts that don’t bunch up during those long business meetings.  You can’t be grabbing your crotch at the conference table and you don’t want to be squirming too much in your chair.  Most importantly, when your boss asks what you think about the situation, you do not want to reply: “The competition is really squeezing us hard and pinching our profits. Still, we shouldn’t do anything rash.”

A Good Man Rule

Only a couple underwear vendors offered shorts in shades of brown.  A universal man rule is: Never wear brown underwear.  The reason why you shouldn’t do this is of course, ah, err, eh.  Well just don’t. Trust me on this.

These Shorts Stand Tall! (A Brief Evaluation – Part 2)

Review of Part 1 

When ads for expensive underwear began appearing on my Facebook feed, I wondered if these uber- shorts were really worth the high price. So, I purchased four pairs of the top brands to compare and I will review them here and now. 

It’s time to get down to the nuts and bolts of this issue, okay, mainly just the nuts.  The boxer-briefs will be judged on the following five factors:

1.   Overall Feel –

How do the shorts feel as a unit, including on your unit?  Maybe more importantly, how do you feel when wearing them.  This evaluation is complicated by the fact that a major selling point is that you are not supposed to feel the shorts much at all.

2.   Pinch, Bunch, and Ride-up Control

One of the drawbacks of boxer-briefs is that they can pinch your very delicate places.  They can also bunch up, which can result in painful chaffing.  In addition, you don’t want them riding up on you and causing an uncomfortable wedgie.  Bottom line: You don’t want your undies literally in a bunch.

3.   Odor Control

These shorts must literally be able to pass the “smell test”.  Unfortunately, I was not able to recruit anyone to help me administer this very critical and very scientific task.  My wife even declined and she runs scientific tests every day in her job!  This evaluation was the most complicated because it was difficult to hold conditions constant from day to day.  Just like commercials for certain female products proclaim, sometimes guys can experience a “heavy-flow” day.

4.   Appearance

Of course, this is not as important for a middle-aged, married guy like me.  Heck, my wife is impressed if I keep my shorts clean, which can be difficult some days (see note above).  However, I will still rate the briefs on this factor for the younger bucks out there who care a lot about this one.

5.    Breathability, Moisture Control, Mobility

This covers various other factors involving the coolness of the fabric, the ability to control sweat and the capacity of the undergarment to move with you during physical labor.  It does not have anything to do with the difficulty of people breathing when they are near you, the control of other “liquids” and the ease of dropping your drawers quickly when the need arises.

The Evaluation

I did not assign a scoring system because the importance of each factor will vary greatly among men.  Keep in mind these shorts were tested on an aging, somewhat overweight (but not fat!), baby boomer.  Your results may vary.  I could not find anyone willing to help me conduct this evaluation, however “my boys” will assist me, since they have intimate knowledge of the subject. The brands are reviewed in order of list price, from least to most expensive.

Me Undies

Men’s Boxer Brief ($20 List)

The shorts are made from a thin, stretchy fabric which has a pleasant feel.  Which is good, because you will feel these more than the other higher-priced brands.  Although they do move around some, they don’t pinch or chaff because the material is so soft.  They have a good waist band and they don’t ride up.  They look fine on me.   Because they are less expensive, there is no odor or sweat control features, although you won’t sweat much due to the light fabric.

The outstanding feature of the Me Undies is the pouch.  It lifts up and juts out the boys, similar to the concept employed by a push-up bra. It did feel a bit weird, but I do have to admit that I did take an extended time to view myself in the mirror wearing these briefs, including a couple “modelish” turns of the hips.  The boys seem to enjoy the ride!  Now while this feature is not relevant for an aging boomer body, if you are a young stud sporting tight, skinny jeans, this might allow you to package your goods for maximum effect.

The Skivvy:  Nice underwear tailored toward the younger set.  Not a great value, in that you can find better underwear for under $20, but you still would have to search for it. Me Undies makes ordering fun and easy and you can save 33% by subscribing to their underwear of the month club.  Plus, you won’t find a better selection of wild colors and patterns – if that is your style.  Me Undies also wants a close relationship with their customers.  I get an email from “Jen” every few days checking up with me about my underwear.  No woman has cared this much about my underwear since my mother.  I envision that Jen is a smokin’ hot, young woman and I think I might just be falling in love with her.

Duluth Trading Company

Buck Naked Performance Boxer Brief ($22.50 List)

These shorts feature a mesh-like material which provides superior mobility and moisture control.  You would think that you would feel this fabric more, but you really don’t.  The Buck Naked’s don’t pinch or bunch and the odor control is greatnt.  The appearance is more rugged, emblematic of DTC items.  I would have looked much better in these shorts sporting a large, manly, beard like my friend Erin.

The unique feature of these underpants is the large, roomy, pouch.  These are literally boxers encased in a brief.  They employ the same principle as having a large, fenced-in yard for your dogs.  They can run, frolic and play, but they remained contained and cannot escape.  The shorts provide the same type of playground for your boys.  After wearing these shorts, I know how a free-range chicken feels after being freed from the coup.  I guess in this case it would be a rooster, not a chicken. And another name for a roster is a … wait …. so inside my underwear I have a free-range c ….. okay, you get the idea.

The Skivvy: Good underwear that works well for the older guy or the labor-ing younger guy. If you’ve reached the age where you need to transition from boxers to boxer-briefs to ah, get more containment, this is your best choice.  These shorts can also be worn while exercising, but I don’t think they would secure the boys enough on the tennis court.  The appearance might be a draw back for the single guys.  I would recommend flinging these off quickly at “the moment of truth”.  No need to give her the first impression that you aren’t filling out that large pouch.

Mac Weldon

Boxer Briefs – Silver ($34 List)

At first glance the Mac Wedon’s appear to be average, ordinary, shorts and not worthy of a premium price. However, the looks here are very deceiving.  This underwear has a great waistband, makes me look kind of sexy, and is cool and comfortable.  You can feel these shorts a little more than some of the others, but when you do, the fabric is very uh, pleasurable.  The underwear didn’t pinch, bunch or move much, for the most part (more on this later).

A big selling point of the Weldon’s is the odor control provided by the silver in the fabric.  And the shorts pass the smell test with an A+.  After 17 hours of wear, they smelled just as fresh as when I put them on.  It’s enough to cause me to shout “Hi-Yo Silver, Away!”  (Who was that masked man in his underpants?)

The Mac’s are excellent shorts, however there was one issue.  The first time I wore them I did experience a wedgie. It was odd because it only happened once, it wasn’t like they were riding my crack the whole day.  I thought it may have been a fluke or due to “sticky buns”, but it happened again on the next wearing.  So, this was a black mark on them, but fortunately not a brown one.

Tommy John

Second Skin Boxer Brief ($34 List)

These briefs seem excellent right out of the box, literally, because they shipped in their own special box.  The fabric is fantastic, silky smooth and it glides unobtrusively with you.  “Second Skin” is a highly appropriate name for these shorts, they fit wonderfully.  They wick up the moisture and the odor control is excellent.

Still with all these plusses, my favorite thing about the Tommy John’s is the appearance.  If felt like the briefs were pushing and lifting my buttocks up into a more attractive position.  They made this aging baby boomer look darn good, and that is no small feat.  If I were permitted to post a pic modeling one pair (but I’m not, since my wife put the kibosh on this), it would definitely be with the TJ’s and if I could keep my belly out of sight, I may not even be embarrassed! Boo-ya!

The Skivvy: Unbelievably fantastic underwear, with no real weaknesses.  My boys give them two thumbs up, well they would if they actually had thumbs, but you get the idea.

The Final Verdict

The good news is there is something to love about all these shorts and there is not a stinker in the bunch.  If you are a younger guy, with a limited budget and want a fun, colorful, relational buying experience, then get yourself some Me Undies.  If you need a tougher pair of boxer-briefs for manual work and exercise, or that provides your boys with more freedom, go “Buck Naked” with Duluth Trading Company.  If you have a problem with odor, the Mac Weldon’s with silver are your choice.

My overall winner is the Tommy John Second Skins.  I actually look forward to wearing these because they feel so good!  My friend Norton agrees with this

The Winner! - Tommy John "Second Skin"

choice, although he prefers their “360 Sport” Boxer Brief.

Yes, this is the underwear of kings.  So excellent are they, that you will wipe one extra time, out of the respect for these shorts.

Next Time: Shorts left over from my underwear evaluation