Metro-sexual: A straight man without a beer belly, likes to dress somewhat well, reads, travels, has a certain amount of empathy toward his fellow man, hits the occasional museum and doesn’t grab a woman’s ass in a crowded bar. Essentially it’s a man in touch with his feminine side but he doesn’t menstruate.

These are good traits to pursue. No one wants to go back to the John Wayne era of stoic masculinity. It isn’t healthy and it doesn’t lead to a very fulfilling life. So we men got in touch with our feelings and began expressing them. Before you think too highly of us- we only did it because we thought we might get laid a bit more often. But it turns out that expressing feelings is fun, therapeutic and might keep us from firing a high-powered rifle from a bell tower- and so we expressed away.

Here’s the problem; we didn’t stop. We wanted every thought, feeling and discomfort expressed. We wanted you to feel our pain. We wanted complete strangers to say, “Damn, that fella sure got the short end of the stick on that whole soy latte transaction.” We basically began to express as much as women express- and, no offense to women, but you all express a lot. Grown men began to believe, “I’m in a bad mood right this very moment- I know that it will pass in about a minute but before it does I want to tell you exactly why what you are doing hurts my feeling and makes me feel less than “

I knew men were gone when they started using the term “emotional affair”, which is a nonsense concept, which basically means I’m really jealous and insecure so I don’t think you should talk to members of the opposite sex at work. It is emotionally no different than buying an 8 ball of coke and getting a hotel room with her for the weekend. Trust me, it's different.

So men expressed their feelings- and unfortunately, their feelings are basically the same feelings as a 5 year-old child’s whose mom wont buy him candy in the checkout line of the grocery store.

I wonder if women realize how large a part they played in the ‘Pussification of the American Male” (trademark denied). A woman friend of mine, in a peak of frustration with her new, sensitive, feeling expressing boyfriend screamed “Metro-sexuality has no place in the bedroom!!”

Well ladies, it is here and here it shall remain. Sorry the sex sucks.

Does it sometimes feel as though we are moving in the wrong direction?

I have a pet peeve about some Americans abroad. I will admit that I am also guilty of this annoying habit so this is really a post to myself. Americans in Paris want to be accepted by the Parisians. We all understand this need to be loved; maybe Americans have this need more than other as I have heard suggested- I don’t know. The next time you are in Paris watch an expat or a tourist when they are first introduced to a Parisian. The conversation will begin politely enough- general conversation- “I love your city!”- “Wow, that is some tower you got there” “Is it true that there is a place in France where the ladies wear no pants?” You know, the usual icebreakers. As soon as there is a lull in the conversation watch the American. He begins to twitch and get excited. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know if it’s too soon. He’s trying to hold back the comment but he can’t. He’s going to burst- he must say it…. can’t….hold….out…much…longer…

“I didn’t vote for Bush!”

It spews from his mouth like projectile vomit splattering everyone within earshot.

Unable to restrain the flood the American will go on and on about how he doesn’t like Bush he doesn’t know anyone that voted for Bush, certainly none of his friends- the election was rigged. He will then roll into American racism, slavery, and freedom fries. He will have a new thought that politician's extra-marital affairs should not only be ignored but encouraged*. As the American discusses these woes they will laugh- a short “please love me” laugh. “American’s are so stupid. ha ha ha Aren’t they? ha ha ha”

It’s painful to witness. I cringe when I hear this- I cringe even more when I’m guilty of it. We can pretend that we are discussing politics but I think all we are trying to do is convince a complete stranger that we aren’t like all those “other” redneck, provincial Americans who don’t know diddly about squat. It’s a rather pathetic attempt to fit in. We assume that the Frenchman hates America or Bush and that they devote most of their day to thinking about this hatred. Essentially we are buying into a stereotype so that we wont be stereotyped by a person that may or may not stereotype Americans in that way. I can’t say that I am a particularly good or proud American but Jesus have a little loyalty for your homeland- don’t be so quick to sell out your country and perpetuate stereotypes so that you can be liked by a guy that probably supported Sarkosy.

*My thought regarding politicians that cheat on their spouses- If a person cheats on their spouse with whom they love and have made a solemn vow how long will it take before they screw over a complete stranger (you)- other than that I don't really need to know about who's sleeping with whom.

Something isn't right, I can't place it. I'm in the office/guest room. A red flag went up a couple of minutes ago. I retrace my steps. I'm ill at ease, what happened Ahhhh I remember.

I was sitting at the table- drinking a San Pellegrino- looking through the books to see what I wanted to read. The cat, Ponette, was walking around the table she put her face in my glass and drank some of my water. I looked at her and, withou thinking said, "No Ponettes, that's daddys"

Oh my god....I've become one of "them" and I don't think there's a twelve step program for that...at least not yet anyway.

Today was Kelly's first full day of school which goes from 9:00 am until 8:30 pm. I pondered this as the sun warmed my face at Deux Magots for several hours- a copy of Celines "Castle to Castle" on my lap.

Tacoma Girl and Aralena- Thanks for the great advice- you guys are rockstars!!!!

We move to Paris August 8th- If anyone has any suggestions or advice for moving to or living in Paris please pass it along.


I was late for my meeting last night. I ambled slowly up and down streets, taking the longest route possible, wishing I had worn shorts, listening to my Ipod. I saw Marty out watering his lawn. A few months ago I had placed an ad to sell chairs on Craig's list, all part of the great trimming down of possessions. I received a call for the chairs and recognized the southern accent.

"Marty?"
"Misplaced, I wondered if that was you- I saw your name and the neighborhood and figured it might be"

I didn't sell the chairs but we got to talking and I , having nothing else to show for my life, mentioned Paris.

"Well, you aren't going to believe this" Marty said, "but next June we are traveling around the globe for one year"

All the writing I've done about the mental dilemna of quitting a job, selling everything and moving suddenly I seemed like a whiney little bitch. Marty with his wife were leaving their jobs, his two young daughters were leaving there middle school (or is it high school I can no longer tell) and traveling around the world. Different visas for different countries, different currencies, just the paperwork required for Laos made my head spin.

Marty asked, "What is it, you suppose, that makes people like us do this? Not everyone can make this move and I'm not talking in a financial way. We are wired different than some of the others." Marty grinned. "You got time to talk more, I wanna keep watering the plants? It's funny my wife hates to water the plants, I love it. Most guys I know are sitting at a bar drinking an $8 martini and I get to water my plants and everyonce in a while a neighbor comes by and we get to talkin'."

I told him I was late for a meeting and we made tentative plans to resume our conversation. I moved on to my meeting where I'll be surrounded by people who have been given a second chance in this world. Marty's right, we are wired differently than others, for whatever reason. I walked slowly, still in no particular hurry.

Life is pretty spectacular.

This is a picture of the French Consulate in Chicago. I'm not claiming to be some arbiter of current fashion but I half expected Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda to come walking through complaining about Ted Baxter.

Two converstions before 9:00 AM on Tuesday

1.I told Penny that I was getting tired of the blog and was thinking of hanging it up and she responded “Your goal was to write every day, not write until you lost steam” Don’t you hate know-it-all teenagers...especially when they’re right.

2.Since I sold my cool car I’ve been driving a big old truck to work. As I pulled in today and climbed out of the truck, wearing a flannel shirt I said to my work buddy Ray
“Well, look at me driving a truck and wearing a flannel shirt, after 9 years you all have finally made me a man."

He responded. "You were always a man, we just turned you into a redneck”

We had a little gathering for K’s birthday this weekend- along with showing the house it was a busy time but very pleasurable. I bought balloons for both occasions and a little helium tank. What a joy balloons are! I think they, like flowers in vases, should be scattered around the house for splashes of color.

One of my helium balloons got away from me a floated up to the sky- where it is now I have no idea. The adult in me knows that it has deflated and has landed softly, a few blocks away, but the child in me is certain it is still flying; floating at its own pace toward some foreign land.

When I was a child, while on vacation with my family at the Gulf of Mexico, I put a note with my name and address in a bottle and threw it in the gulf. I was filled with excitement at the possibilities of the bottles journey. Perhaps I would receive a letter 50 years later from someone in China who had just retrieved my aged note. I imagined it bumping against a pirate ship- floating, unconcerned, along side a whale. The possibilities were endless.

An hour later I saw some lady walking down the street with my bottle and the note still jammed in it- she couldn’t get it out. That is the problem with endless possibilities the end result might be rather dull.

Could I be more remiss in posting on my little blog? My heart isn't in it. I thought that Sunday Scribbles might jolt me out of the lethargy but the topic was second chances so I, like a slacker that I am, gave an old post a second chance and resubmitted it. I even tried to play it off as an homage to mother's day when in fact I forgot mother's day was coming up and it was a complete coincidence. How lame is that?

K- had the laser surgery done on her eyes today- actually it was done about a month ago and had to be redone because it didn't take.

I'm being deposed by a bunch of a attorneys on Monday regarding a project we did 7 or 8 years ago and I'm feeling a little intimidated (but I'll get over it).

I have been on a low carb diet for a week and I've been dreaming about ice cream and oatmeal raisin cookies (I love me some oatmeal raisin cookies). I have also been very cranky.

Should it be this hot in May?

K- woke up one morning last week and she was angry at me. It was unclear why. It finally came out after an hour or so of short, sharp answers to very legitimate questions I posed. She was mad at me because in her dream I had an affair. I was at a loss for words- which is rare. So I said what I've learned to say in these circumstances I said "I'm sorry" I also commented that I probably didn't enjoy the affair as much as it might have appeared in the dream.

I was once asked if I'd rather be right or happy. K-'s father said it best when he responded to the same question, "just every once in awhile, doesn't have to be always, I'd like to be both happy and right" That's how I feel.

My French teacher recounted tales of pets dieing on airlines from the U.S. to Europe-I was filled with overwhelming sadness at the potential death of my cat. (yes the same one that puked on me while I slept). She sensed my sadness and was extra nice to me.

Sometimes, right before I fall asleep, I have a flash rememberence of something I said or did that was embarrassing. It doesn't matter that it may have been 20 years ago it still makes me let out a small groan. I wonder if K- knows about this, she must hear it.- I also wonder if that ever goes away. (I mean before death.)

I heard a great argument between two Construction Managers working for the same company. The argument got more and more heated and before it came to a full blown fight one said he was a blackbelt in martial arts and that the other fellow ought to step back. The other responded that he wasn't worried, he was a redneck and would hit him in the back of the head with a 2x4 when he wasn't looking. I felt blessed to witness this fight.

I had forgotten how important it is to step back from my world every once in awhile- to look at my life with fresh eyes. What seemed important no longer matters, what is truly important I've been taking for granted. I hope I wont always need to be reminded of this, but I suspect I will.

My goal is to look at my life with fresh eyes.

The day almost got away from me. The goal was to write Monday through Friday and I racked my brain, but I didn't have a solid thought. I have fleeting wisps of ideas that don't mean anything to myself, much less to anyone else.

I was walking downstairs thinking about a movie I enjoyed "Kiss, Kiss, Bang Bang" starring Robert Downey Jr. who, in my opinion, is an incredible actor . He's not only a great actor but he's also a drug addict. To do even one of those things is hard but to do both takes commitment. I then am thinking how I always confuse him with Morten Downey Jr, even though they can't be any more different and then I think, man, oh man I really like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So my thoughts are all over the place- it's been one of those days.

I didn't watch the Oscars, but I heard them because K- had the TV so loud while I studied French- she is apparently over her remorse regarding the "tax thingy". I did see the opening- Ellen Degeneris is hilarious. I've always liked her, even before lesbian was the new black, and buttcrack was the new cleavage, by the way her girlfriend is hot. Her girlfriend, who's name I've forgotten, was in one of my favorite TV shows of all time, Arrested Development- definitely rentable. That show was funny, over the top, and incredibly well written which would explain why the took it off the air.

So it's 7:55 PM Monday evening and I'm sneaking this post in under the wire. It was phoned in and I apologize that that but if you go to Daily Fix on the righthand side of your screen you will find several people who wrote wonderful things about- Art, Oscars, Puzzles, High School, Drunken Work Functions and much, much more.

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Literate Good Citizen You read to inform or entertain yourself, but you're not nerdy about it. You've read most major classics (in school) and you have a favorite genre or two.
Book Snob
Dedicated Reader
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Saying I'm a "literate reader" is an insult wrapped in a compliment. It is essentially saying "oohhhh look, he's tying his shoes".

I should probably let this go but I can't. Someone visited a post I wrote about Jim Morrison's bathtub and left a comment. I'm still surprised when someone actually reads what I have written and is kind enough to say hello.

I re-read the post and couldn't help but notice that it was looking a little ragged around the edges -as though it wasn't expecting a gentleman caller. Some modifiers were misplaced, participles dangled and a sentence ended with a preposition*. Surely this is no way to answer the door. It's as though the post opened the door thinking it was a girlfriend coming over to eat Ben & Jerry's ice cream and watch Sex in the City reruns. It turned out to be handsome new neighbor wanting to borrow eggs, because he loves to bake and he isn't gay. There the post was, in a house coat,dirty slippers and a mouth full of Chunky Monkey- quickly brushing a stray lock hair behind her ear and adding a comma where there hadn't been one before. Like Blanche Dubois arranging her hair before she utters, "I've always depended upon the kindness of strangers."

Well the post has pulled it together, it looks good and, more importantly, it knows it looks good. It tells the handsome new neighbor confidently to "run on down to the corner and fetch me a lemon ice." (must be said with your best southern accent)


* This is neither here nor there but as I wrote this I was reminded of something my sister said that still makes me laugh. She was telling me a story and ended a sentence with a preposition. And it went a little something like this...


Misplaced Sister: (telling a long involved story)... where's it at? he asked me
Misplaced: (interrupting) You really shouldn't end your sentence with a preposition.
Misplaced Sister: Good point, Where's it at ...asshole.

More Things I've Learned

This is really neither here nor there, but Barney Fife is the funniest character on TV. He once referred to Gomer as being "...as sharp as a bag full of wet mice" Still makes me laugh.

I'm 42 and I still think it would be cool to be a spy or a bank robber- is this suspended adolescence or is it normal daydreaming?