Maybe at that OTHER discount store.....

One day a few years ago, on my regularly scheduled trip to Target, I made my regularly scheduled trip to the bathroom in said Target. I don't know about you but there are certain places that just make me have to go to the bathroom. My basement, my garage and quite often, Target. But anyway.

Upon entering, I noticed three girls huddled around the sink. As a mom, my first instinct was to demand to know what they were up to, but I reminded myself that none of these girls are on my mothering list, so...no. As I entered a stall, I did register their general look--mid-teens, a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, jeans cut a little too tight and a lot too low, wacky hair colors with three inches of roots and a whole bunch of visible ratty bra straps.

Sadly, I did kind of judge them by their appearance, then harshly reminded myself that I have known many spectacular girls who presented themselves in a not so spectacular fashion at that age. So, mental hand-slapping on my part.

At the sink I could hear the rustling of paper and some random comments:
"Here, use this part."
"Yeah, it's right here."
"Don't worry, there's more than one."

Then the closing of a stall door and:
"I can't pee."
"Well, don't waste it. Let's go get you something to drink."
"No, she can't drink a lot. It won't work."
"She can drink a little. It'll be okay."

As I washed my hands, the girls packed their paraphernalia into purses and moved towards the door. The last one smiled at me as she held the door open. I thanked her and wondered how many teen aged girls find out they're pregnant in the bathroom of a Target store.

Real men....

Real men wear pants....or shorts. Maybe sweats. Sometimes kilts, depending on where they live.

Real men hold the door open for the person behind them. When they are behind someone holding a door for them, they say "Thank you."

Real men watch sports like football and baseball and hockey on TV...if they like those sports. They might also watch sitcoms, softball, cheerleading, movies or musicals. Sometimes they just watch what the rest of the household wants to see. Or they can read a book or do the crossword. Whatever.

Real men wear pink. Sometimes a real man doesn't like pink, so he wears something else, depending on his current needs and wants. These include but are not limited to the man's comfort level with the color in question, its level of attractiveness on him, its current state of cleanliness and its ability to hide stains. It could also be at the top of the pile. For some guys, dressing is not rocket surgery.

Real men eat quiche. Unless they are on a diet, or don't like quiche, or are lactose intolerant, or are allergic to eggs, or have no quiche available. Then they eat something else.



Real men cry. Especially when someone they love dies or when they're really worried or frightened or when they have something stuck under their contact or when they have a broken limb.



Real men fight for what they believe in. A real man can do this without ever throwing a punch.



Real men vacuum. They do dishes. Sometimes while their spouse is mowing the lawn.



Real men raise kids who grow up to be real men and women.

Go Team Go!

It's mid-October and we are well into college football season. I am not a big time sports fan by any means but to me, college football is a phenomenon unto itself. It's such a cliche but the total experience is just so darn fun, I can't help but love it. Of course it doesn't hurt that mine is a Big Ten team. I don't know what I mean by that because every fan loves watching their team, tailgating before their team's game, cheering for their team. Who ever says, "Yeah I love MY team but there are so many others that are so much better. Other conferences are much better as well. We're really number 47 at best among schools of our size and frankly our conference is maybe the 14th best"? No, it's WE'RE NUMBER ONE! and that's okay. You gotta love what you love.


Really when I think about it, the idea of 70,000+ people crowding into a stadium to watch a bunch of kids (who are the same age as my kids) play a sport is a little absurd. The guys who sit near us who know SO much more than the coaches would probably pummel anyone who spoke about their kid the way they scream about the kids on the field. But that's all part of it. I get that.


The beauty of it all is that there are so many things that occur in every stadium, sometimes in every section of every stadium. Like the guy who wears the same thing, down to the face paint, every single game. That guy has probably worn the same underwear to every game since 1985.

There's the shrill-voiced woman who knows every word to every school song ever and wants everyone to know it.
There's the guy who wants them to "Run it again!" Every play. Every single play.
There is the couple who brings stinky sandwiches and eats their way through the game.
There's the guy who doesn't think the section is properly fired up and instructs us en masse how to be better fans.
There's the cute chick who knows NOTHING about football and thinks that right now is the time to learn.
The gorilla in a referee shirt.
The blue or green dudes.
The college guys (and girls) with their chests painted in an encouraging manner.
The rich alumni who are too rich to stand up for anything but the national anthem.
The person who should have stopped drinking one and a half beers ago, and...
The unfortunate person sitting in front of them.
And then there are the 48 people (in a row of 40) who have to pee and/or visit the concession stand within minutes of kickoff.
Did I miss anyone? I'm sure I did...sorry! But we love you too and the game just wouldn't be the same without you. Even if you are annoying.
RUN IT AGAIN!
So, yeah, football season is a good time. Hanging out with friends and family and maybe running into old college pals. Good times. So when events unfold as they did at last weekend's game, good times become spectacular. Check this out:

This is the second year in a row that we've striped the stadium...it was so cool last year and this year was even better.

Then came the card tricks:

It's even better here
And finally, because it was our only home night game of the year, I guess they had to cram all the awesome they could into one night. Every time we scored:


I know, I know...of all the several people who read this, some of you are not going to be Iowa fans! I get that and it's okay. But if you have any affection in your heart for college football, you have to admit that this stuff is pretty flippin' fantastic and we'll probably be seeing more of it. Just remember who you have to thank for it! Go Hawks!

An Open Letter to the Whistler on My Floor

Please stop whistling.

You wander up and down our hall whistling non-stop the entire time, and you know what? You’re not great. While I can definitely make out certain melodies every now and then, I can assure you, this does nothing to help your case, as knowing the song you’re attempting to recreate just makes it all the more cringe-worthy when you fail.

That being said, I’ve still only recognized two of your songs, and those were “Pirates of the Caribbean,” and “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” You even included the piccolo solo, and while I do appreciate that as a piccolo player myself, it was still unwelcome. It was unwelcome mostly because the Hawkeye Marching Band had just finished playing that song in a three-week show, meaning I’ve been playing that exact solo for three weeks straight. At this point, I don’t think it will really ever be acceptable again.

“Pirates” is where I start to think this is a personal thing. You know why? Because you whistled that the day after we performed that show in HMB, so I know now there has to be some connection, be it mere coincidence, aliens, or maybe you’re just in band too, but I know something’s up. How else would you know just the right song to whistle to get on my biggest nerve? I don’t have a song that’s annoying me this week? No problem! You just fall back on that safe strategy of whistling whatever random series of sound-notes pop into your head.

But I don’t think you know you’re bad at whistling. I think you think you’re good because of the sheer amount of volume you can achieve. I’ve never heard someone whistle that loudly with any semblance of a melody before, and I would applaud you for that, if you weren’t so incredibly annoying about it.

On top of that, you use the outside hand dryer. Let me just say, those hand dryers are loud. Very. Loud. They’re annoying when you use the ones that aren’t in the hallway, so my question to you is, why use the one single dryer that is? There is a sink and dryer in every bathroom on this floor, why the hell not use one of those? What makes you think it’s a good idea to fire up the thing three feet from my open door while there are quite clearly seven people in my room trying to watch Arrested Development? Because of you we can no longer hear the hilarity, as we’ve been keeping the volume down in an effort to be considerate to our neighbors, it being 10:30pm and all.

But no, you whistle on down to the bathroom, do your thing, and then open the door with your still unwashed hands as you go for the sink, and then the inevitable dryer. By the way, the rest of us touch that doorknob after we’ve washed our hands, and you’re just making the whole process pointless by opting for the outside sink.

The worst part is, I’m not even entirely sure who you are. I thought you were the one I know only as “Hipster,” but then it appeared as though you were “Totally Normal Guy” who lives on the other end of the hall from Hipster. So I don’t even know who to blame for all of this pointless agitation.

Frankly, I’m afraid it might be both of you.