We were sitting at Regal Colonie Center waiting for Zombieland to begin. That’s when they showed an extended preview of the new Ray Romano show on TNT, Men of a Certain Age.

“I don’t really get what that show is supposed to be about,” my 14-year-old son said.

I consider it one of my most important jobs as a father to explain things and offer some context.

“Well, when guys get to be my age they start to worry about things. Their job. Their health. You know. Getting old. It’s basically guys being worried about getting old.”

He was listening.

“Your body changes, people pass away, there are disappointments. Disillusion. And sometimes you might you start thinking that your best days are behind you. You know, you can’t do all the stuff you used to do.”

There was exactly one perfectly timed beat before he responded.

“You don’t need to watch TV to see that, do you?”

Back in fifth grade me and my friends were in the boys room at Rushmore Avenue School in Carle Place. There we were lined up peeing when the principal walked in.

“Boys,” he announced, ” You should not stand so close to the urinals when you go to the bathroom. Back up so you don’t get splashed.”

We inched away until he told us to stop a foot or two from the fixture. This felt a little strange, but whatever. Who were we to question him? We figured he learned this in the military because all of our dads were WW II or Korean War vets and they were full of manly advice. After that he’d periodically stop in and do an inspection to make sure we were standing nice and far away when we peed.

OK, I’m not saying that Mr. X was definitely interested in looking at our little fifth grade units, but doesn’t this strike you as a little creepy? Imagine what would happen if your kid came home from school and told you this story.

We were just doing what we were told. And anyway, who wants urine splashed on their pants?

A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly,courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Culinary geniuses they ain’t.

After spending a weekend with my son’s Boy Scout troop on a tailgate camping trip I’ve decided that it will be my personal mission to see every one of these fine young men earn his Cooking Merit Badge. Hey, I’m not fussy -and I love bacon, hot dogs, hamburgers, runny eggs, potato chips, and donuts as much as the next guy- but it is my belief that an important measure of manhood is found in the kitchen.

Just stop by my firehouse if you don’t believe me. Cooking is a skill that’s rated very highly in the firefighting community. We’ve got plenty of guys who can throw a ladder or swing an axe, but if you can make dinner for forty people? That’s something special.

Boys it’s time to cook. And remember: this isn’t just about preserving the health of your adult leaders, it’s about impressing girls.

Men are blessed with the ability to relieve themselves almost anywhere: behind bushes, in bottles, between cars, seated in football stadiums, in the subway… you get the idea. But here’s a case where you’re trying to do your thing where you should be doing it and you’re in plain sight anyway.

The men’s room at my new office has an electric door opener for those with physical disabilities. Well, it seems that some men on my floor (like the lawyers down the hall) enjoy using the electric opener so they don’t have to touch the handle. Fine —but it just so happens that this leaves the urinal user exposed and in plain site for a very long time, like to the folks getting off the elevator. See for yourself:

That’s ten seconds of exposure.

Look, I understand not wanting to touch the door handle, but come on guys, can I get a little privacy here? If you’re a germaphobe or something just push the door open with your elbow —and when you’re done use a paper towel to pull the handle from the other side. That’s not unreasonable.

Even if you don’t believe in luck you have to admit it’s pretty lucky to find a full beer wash up on shore. This can of Lucky Lager made landfall on Wolfe Island, Ontario recently —slightly dented and tarnished but brimming with 355ml (Canada, remember?) of golden goodness.

Lucky Lager seems to be Ontario’s answer to Milwaukee’s Best or Pabst Blue Ribbon: a working man’s brew for folks with few airs and fewer dollars. Fewer Canadian dollars.

You can’t help but wonder how it ended up in the water, eh? Maybe it fell off a fishing boat or drifted away from a vacation cottage. And where are it’s five brethren, anyway? Maybe this can of beer was involved in some sort of Great Lakes maritime tragedy —a small scale Edmund Fitzgerald involving cheap beer, a small boat, and a terrible lapse in judgment.

One thing is clear: you don’t find a can of beer labeled Lucky Lager and not drink it. So drink it I did.

I’m happy to report that the Lucky Lager held up well to its indeterminate time spent floating in Lake Ontario —and had a taste as good as you might expect in an inexpensive canned beer.  Never found the other five. And believe me I spent all week looking.

This Facebook status update caught my eye:

Chris Rooney doesn’t like when cars drive too fast down his street.

Have you ever heard anyone complain that they drive too slow? Of course not. We all think they drive too fast —but what are you going to do chase after them and get all up in their grill, so to speak? That may have worked for T.S. Garp but it’s not a good idea these days.

In The World According to Garp, Garp gets into the habit of chasing after cars speeding through his neighborhood. In the book he’d catch up to them at the stop sign and give them a piece of his mind. It worked. Try that today and they’ll run you over.

Years ago the town showed up and yanked out the stop signs on the corner where I live. When I complained they helpfully explained that the signs created an unsafe situation and actually encouraged people to drive faster. I don’t know about that —but I do know that as soon as the signs came down the speed of the cars went up.

I decided to take matters into my own hands and request people slow down by yelling at them when they drove past. This did nothing to slow the cars but a number of people did return to yell back, threaten me, etc.

Now when they zip past I keep my mouth shut —instead seeking revenge by doddering along that road like an 80-year-old, driving a speed safe and reasonable for a place teeming with kids:  20 MPH.

A lot of paint cans are now made of plastic and if you try prying them open with a screwdriver you butcher the lid. That’s why I picked up one of those little metal tools for popping open the cans that you always see at the paint counter. Works like a charm —and I also discovered what the round end is for: opening beer bottles.

This makes perfect sense. Adding a little beer makes paint go on smoother and contributes to the overall quality of the project. And nobody ever cut off their fingers off while painting.

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Seriously, I really do try to act like an adult. You know, I go to work, pay my taxes, try to set a good example for my children —but sometimes the fourteen-year-old inside me cannot be completely suppressed. Like the other night.

I was sitting in church waiting for the May Procession to begin. This is where the kids from my son’s school recite the Rosary and put a crown on the statue of Mary. Thinking this would present some serious zone out time I chose a spot away from the crowd —but not so far away that it would look odd.

I got out my iPod and inserted only the left ear bud. This way no one in the church would see what I was doing. Then I took out my phone and started sending rude text messages to a guy I know who was sitting across the way.

While deep in the haze of the Felice Brothers and tapping out stupid texts Sister Mary Frederick stopped by my pew. She was the principal of the school when my older son went there and wanted to know how he was doing. As I fumbled with my headphone wire and tried to hide the phone I explained how he was finishing his junior year at college and preparing to spend the summer in National Guard training.

In other words, my son is getting an education and defending America —and his father is acting like an eighth grader.

If I were an actual eighth grader both items would have been confiscated and I probably would have gotten detention. Instead I just got to feel like an idiot.

Cub Scout Pinewood Derby has figured large in my life. Between my two sons, I have built many advised on the construction of many Pinewood Derby cars, worked on numerous Pinewood events, and spent countless hours at the races. That’s why this Subaru commercial sort of moved me. Mostly.

As you can see, the young lad who takes first place built his own car —unlike his rival whose car was obviously made by dad. It’s unfortunate when these events become a contest between the fathers instead of one between the boys —but what’s more unfortunate is that the scouts in this commercial are wearing Brownie vests.

Yes, Brownie vests. If you are unfamiliar with what Brownie vests look like, please click this link. Then look at the commercial again. And look at the link again. I rest my case. Brownie vests.

Is this someone’s idea of a joke, portraying the industrious boys in this commercial wearing girl uniforms? An underhand shot at the Boy Scouts of America, maybe? Call me a nut, but the truth is that scouting has been under assault for years.

Sure, I understand that maybe you couldn’t get permission to use a Cub Scout uniform —but it doesn’t take much imagination to come up with a knock-off. Putting the boys in Brownie vests? With all due respect to the Brownies, that’s just wrong.

UPDATE: Watch South Park’s take on Pinewood. It’s spot on!

I do believe that this video from The Ike Reilly Assassination  has almost everything that men enjoy: guns, beer, and stupidity with cars.

I kinda swore that I would never coach soccer again, but guess what I’m doing this season? The soccer club sent out an appeal for volunteers last week saying they’d drop a team if they couldn’t find another coach. I was afraid I was on their sh*t list after making fun of their logo, goofing on annoying soccer parents, and bragging about my losing record, but I guess all is forgiven.

What I’ve learned from being a wiseass is that people who take something seriously take it very seriously. Michael Kinahan of Scituate, MA learned this lesson a little too late.

Maybe you heard of the tongue  in cheek email Kinahan sent to the parents of his 7-year-old soccer players? It’s the one where he dubbed his team “Green Death” and said he expects the girls to play “like a Michael Vick pit bull.”

Here’s a sample of his letter:

I expect that the ladies be put on a diet of fish, undercooked red meat and lots of veggies. No junk food. Protein shakes are encouraged, and while blood doping and HGH use is frowned upon, there is no testing policy.

You can read the whole thing here. Bottom line is that some of the parents didn’t get that it was intended to be humorous and Mr. Kinahan ended up quitting.

In his resignation he explained that the email was  “Meant in jest and with the goal of giving the parents a chuckle while enduring yet another round of organized youth sports. It was also meant as a satire of those who take youth sports too seriously for the wrong reasons.”

He goes on: “While I am sorry some people failed to see the humor, I do not apologize for my actions; I wrote it, I think it’s funny and I do have a distaste for the tediousness of overbearing political correctness.”

You and me both, brother.

Network TV is so desperate that they’ve started using deceptive and unfair tricks to make people watch their stupid shows. Take Dancing With the Stars for example.

As I’ve written before, I flee from the room when that program comes on —and so does my 13- year-old son, Zack. But the producers have discovered a devious way to get me to watch: by featuring NFL players among the stars. How could I not watch former NY Giant Lawrence Taylor trying to do the cha-cha? Granted, it’s not as exciting as watching him break Joe Theisman’s leg, but hey it’s LT.

Last week both Zack and I were drawn into this insipid show because they not only featured Lawrence Taylor, but Steve-O from Jackass. And they put Apple founder Steve Wozniak on to appeal to the geeks. Hopefully it will not take long for natural selection to weed out the manly elements and we can stop watching.

It’s well documented that heart attacks kill more firefighters than fires, but I’ve been wondering  how many of those deaths are caused by pagers going off in the middle of the night.

You have never been jolted out of a deep sleep until you’ve been awakened by the Motorola pagers we use to tell us there’s an alarm. Maybe having an Australian Shepherd jump on your head is comparable , but that’s a story for another day. The video below gives you an idea of the sound you hear when there’s a call. Turn your speakers ALL THE WAY UP for the full effect:

That would get your sorry butt out of bed, wouldn’t it?

The good news: the second that pager beeps I am responding to a call. So if it goes off and I stand up and keel over dead or fall down the stairs or something it’s considered a line of duty death. In that case I’ll be entitled to the big fancy firefighter funeral —but unfortunately I’ll be way too dead to enjoy it.

You can buy a Zippo lighter for about $15 —but this one can’t be replaced. It belonged to my father.

He died in 1990 at 62-years-old. That’s too young. Smoking cigarettes probably had something to do with it and a lot of those cigarettes were lit with this lighter. You might feel that makes for an inappropriate memento, but that’s really reading too much into things. Believe it or not, smoking was once viewed as normal in America and smokers were not shunned, forced outdoors, or demonized the way they are today.

The lid on my dad’s lighter is a bit wobbly and I’m concerned it will fall off, so I’m thinking I might wrap it up and mail it back to Zippo. In Bradford, Pennsylvania, where they are are manufactured, Zippo has a special corner of the plant where they do nothing but repair their products. Unlike us, the Zippo Windproof Lighter carries a lifetime guarantee.

If my wife Ann made a list of things she does not ever want to see on our front lawn, light-up animated reindeer would be number two right behind junk cars. But if there’s one thing I love, it’s a deal and at $10 each how could I say no? And if there’s anything I love more than a deal it’s a surprise —so when she got home last night there they were grazing in the snow. See how they’ve dug it away to get at my lawn? Pesky deer! When I’m sent to live in the basement they’ll make nice decorations.

I’m hardly a big New England Patriots fan, but you’ve gotta love Wes Welker. 

The 5′9″  wide receiver went undrafted in 2004, made the Chargers but was cut, and finally got a slot playing special teams on the Dolphins. Since joining the Pats in 2007 he has excelled as one of the league’s hardest working, most consistent players. Regular guys can look at Wes Welker and see someone who’s living the dream. They all said he didn’t have the size or the talent, but personally, I’ll give you three Terrell Ownens for one Wes Welker.

Sunday Welker was slammed with an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty in the Patriots game against the Cardinals. Why? After scoring a touchdown he laid down in the end zone an made a snow angel. How seasonal.

When I was a kid one of our favorite games was the dirt bomb fight. We’d hide behind things and hurl clods of soil at each other, grenade style. They’d break apart and send up clouds of dust when they landed. The object? Take out your opponent. Over the weekend I realized that I haven’t really come that far since being nine-years-old, because Saturday was paintball day.

Out in the woods of Columbia County, me and some guys from the firehouse ran around hiding behind trees trying to shoot other guys running around and hiding behind trees. Our ragtag group thought we were bad until some of the other players showed up in full cammo and carrying guns that looked like sniper rifles. Mostly, we got schooled —but once or twice disorganization and haphazard tactics worked in our favor against a force of better trained and more heavily armed opponents.

I woke up Sunday with some angry red welts where I was hit, but it’s the shot I took to the head that really hurts. Good thing they didn’t hit anything important.

Yes, my G.I. Joe was ready for duty. He had the deck commander set, the firefighting suit, the space capsule. See those kids in the commercial? That was me —even if I didn’t have a pool in my living room.

The announcer was right: G.I. Joe was the greatest.

The nurse asked me, “How long will this take to grow back?”

She was shaving patches of hair off my body so she could attach EKG electrodes during my annual physical: three on the chest and one on each calf. How long to grow back? No idea —but certainly not in time for vacation on the beach.

Thanks to some bizarre brew of genetic happenstance, I am uncommonly hairy. No, I’m not real happy about this turn of fate, but what the hell? You play the hand you’re dealt. Oh sure, I’ve considered manscaping, but I don’t even like getting the hair on my head cut. Fortunately, Ann says she likes me just the way I am. If not for that -or if I were single or something- I’d be off to be waxed, trimmed, lasered…whatever it would take.

Last year on the beach a nearby family made no secret of their interest in my dog-like appearance. They gawked at me from their blanket, gesturing in my direction and chattering in amazement. Since they were speaking a foreign language I can’t give you a direct translation, but the inflection said, “Oh! Look at the hairy man!” They were obviously from a place where body hair is not the norm. My son Alex says, “Maybe they worship hairy people where they come from. Or monkeys.”

Anyway, the chest hair has mostly recovered from being sheared, but I still have two bare patches on my legs. And next time I go to the doctor I’ll be sure to do it in November.

The truth about women is that women rule the world. They are sensible and sane, and when driven to action they are extremely effective. Don’t cross them. The Glens Falls Post Star this morning reports:

FORT ANN — A 43-year-old woman has been charged with felony assault for allegedly beating a man with a piece of lumber, police said. Barbara A. Weaver, of Route 40, allegedly hit a man she knows in the back of the head twice, causing injuries that required treatment at Glens Falls Hospital.

Ouch. Wonder if she read our item about choosing the right wood for the job?

As for women being effective, watch this video of a woman catching a bat in her house. Yeah, that’s cool —but look closely and you can see her male companion cowering outside the door, handing her the bat catching supplies. Dude!

Father’s Day is to Mother’s Day as President’s Day is to Christmas: no big deal.

And that’s OK.

We dads don’t really expect anything on Father’s Day —and besides, most of the Father’s Day gifts you see advertised are things involving work: tools, grills, and other mechanical implements. Hey, thanks! Cordless hedge trimmers! I can’t wait to get out there and trim the bushes on Father’s Day. Nope. We dads are happy to go quietly about our work without anyone making a big fuss over us. A card? Sure, but don’t spend any money. Really.

However, if you insist on giving dad a gift, he might be interested in the Nikon 18-200 mm ED-IF AF DX VR lens. This is the glass that Nikon fanboy Ken Rockwell calls “a miracle,” and “life changing.” It would allow dad to take nicer pictures of your children and your dog, so it’s not really a gift for him, it’s a gift for yourself. Is it expensive? Absolutely, but what are your memories worth?

Paul Grondahl’s story in the TU today starts like this: “Jeff Powers died for love.” It tells how Powers, 22, fell thirty feet while scaling the outside of his girlfriend’s apartment building. They’d had a fight and she asked him to leave. He was determined to see her.

You don’t have to look far to find examples of men doing exactly the wrong thing. Last week, two Amsterdam men were arrested after the broad daylight murder of Jose Payano. Police Chief Thomas Brownell called it “a case of jealousy out of control.” In Washington County, a teen was released on bail after being accused of threatening to kill his girlfriend and dozens of classmates at Cambridge High School. A 62-year-old man was charged with unlawful imprisonment and attempted rape after allegedly holding three different women against their will. Yes, 62-years-old.

When it comes to trouble men have tremendous potential. And at the three way intersection of love, rage, and jealousy, some will get hurt, some will go to jail, and some will never go home.

My standard of quality for grass is that it’s more green than brown. I know this makes me a pariah in a neighborhood of men who carefully cultivate and manicure the lawn, but to them I kindly suggest it’s time to get a freakin’ life. Plus it’s dangerous. Don’t they read the paper?

PITTSTOWN, N.Y. — A 65-year-old town man died today when the riding lawn mower he was operating flipped on an embankment and caught fire, trapping him underneath, State Police said.

DULUTH, Ga. – - A 35-year-old Fayette County man was killed Monday in a tragic accident. James Osborne Studdard, 35, was killed instantly when the lawn mower he was riding flipped over and fell about 8 to 10 feet off a terraced lawn. Capt. Frank Huggins of the Forsyth County Sheriff’s Office said, “No foul play is suspected.”

PINCKNEYVILLE, Ill. – - A Perry County man is killed after a lawn mowing accident. Deputies say 70 year-old Bill Mohr had been trimming the grass on a steep embankment outside his home, using a zero-turn radius lawn-mower. Officers say it slid down the hill and rolled over into a small body of water in Mohr’s back-yard, pinning him underneath.

BURLINGTON, Ky. – – An 86-year-old man was flown to University Hospital Tuesday afternoon after he suffered second-degree burns during an accident while refueling his lawn mower, according to Boone County emergency communication reports. He suffered burns to his hands and legs, reports state.

I will not poison the birds and bunnies to make the grass green, and I will not die for my lawn.

Today’s Mother’s Day tip: make those brunch/lunch/dinner reservations.

All Ann ever really wants on Mother’s Day is to have brunch at the Gideon Putnam, so when I forgot to make reservations it was a pretty big deal. It’s a very popular day there, and if you don’t book a month ahead, you’re screwed. Having blown my one responsibility, I did what men have always done in a crisis: I obfuscated. She asked, “You made reservations, right?” “Hahahahahahahaha. Why wouldn’t I have made reservations?” Meanwhile, a cold bead of sweat ran down my spine.

Mother’s Day rolled around and the butterflies swarmed in my gut. We arrived at the Gideon -six of us- and I fake smiled my way right down to the Georgian Room. I approached the hostess and ratcheted the obfuscation up to boldfaced lying. “Hi! Madeo? Eleven o’clock…for six?” The woman scanned her book. She turned the page. She turned it back. She looked at me. She looked down. “Of course,” she said. “Just one moment.” She scurried over to someone who had to be the manager. She tapped the book and shrugged her shoulders. He made a face and gestured to a table by the window. I pretended not to notice all this, but I’ve never been more interested in anything in my life.

It was a great Mother’s Day. It could have been my last.

It’s really important to use the right cut of lumber for the job at hand. We can find an example of using the wrong dimension in this story from WNYT:

AMSTERDAM – Two adults and one juvenile were transported to the hospital Friday night after a large fight, according to Amsterdam police. They say the altercation happened on Green Street and Kimball Street around 6:45 pm. Police say a large group of juveniles and adults were fighting with 2 x 4 boards as weapons.

While a 2 x 4 is imposing, it’s very difficult to get a good grip on it. Why not use a 2 x 2 instead? It’s a lightweight alternative that you can easily wrap your hand around. Don’t forget: take the time to inspect your wood for flaws and knots, especially if you’ll be using it in a visible location —like out on the street in front of your house.