Big Daddy's Corner

Holding grudges like I hold beer

2011-10-25T04:08:00.000-07:00

Some people say I’m stubborn.

Well, duh!

Yeah, I hold grudges.

I have a long memory, and when I decide that I don’t likesomething, I will turn my back on it, and possibly never return. I am alsofiercely loyal, so if you’re in my good books, chances are good that we’ll bepals for life.

Sometime after Jared lost a linebacker’sweight by wandering around the continent eating sandwiches, I was offended by aSubway advertising campaign featuring some smug bastard taking beautiful modelsto Subway, and then slamming dorky on-looking teens for thinking they, asSubway customers, could date models too.

Stoopid advertising.

Yep that’s me,petty, fickle, and full of resolve.

As a previously frequent customer ofSubway, I didn’t set foot in a single one of their stores for years. Recently Iforgave Subway for their advertising misdeeds, and have enjoyed a fewsandwiches, but our relationship remains tentative.

If you know me, you know I drink beer, lotsof beer. I am a patriot, a proud Canadian.

In the year 2000, when Molsonunveiled their I AM CANADIAN advertising campaign, I was right there waving theflag, and downing cans of John Molson’s legacy, like it might really keep theYanks from invading my Great White North.

I was a Joe Canada.

When the companymerged with Coors in 2005, and promptly dropped I AM CANADIAN, I, in turn, droppedMolson no-longer-Canadian. Not sure if I’m bragging, or admitting to something,but I am a prolific beer drinker, and in the 6+ years since, Molson would behard pressed to crack my top 10 for brand choice.

When Kokanee beer introduced their ineptRanger, seeking out an "elusive" Sasquatch (Dude! He’s right behind you!), Iwas on the verge of boycotting another beer. But then, some advertising hotshotintroduced the Glacier Girls. Who knew you could sell beer via images of buxomyoung ladies in shiny spandex uniforms?

GENIUS!!

I have a longstanding love affair with thetelevision from the days when I had to get up off my preschool ass to changethe three channels of programming we got on a 26 inch screen encased in a piece offurniture the size of a Datsun. (WTF is a Datsun? Google it.)

Over the decadesI’ve loved and hated many series: Hawaii Five-O = loved (twice now); ALLdaytime soaps = hate; The Flintstones & Gilligan’s Island = I can tell youwhat happens in any episode, as well as IMDB.com might.

I despised Little Houseon the Prairie, cringed at the Lawrence Welk Show, and wouldn’t miss HockeyNight in Canada (Go Habs, Boo Leafs).

But few times have I felt so disappointedin the glowing red/green/blue light as when I watched the first season ofSurvivor – watching Richard Hatch “Outwit, Outlast, Outplay” a bunch of otherclowns.

I vowed to never let the show soil my cerebral cortex again.

Guesswhat?

I haven’t.

In general, the “Reality-TV” bullshit has done little to amuseme, and much to convince me that we’re watching Rome fall. Generations of kidsare growing up wanting fame and fortune, without striving for any underlyingskill or talents.

F@ck you very much, Simple Life and Jersey Shore.

The things I like, I tend to like a lot, andprobably for a long time.

My last 6 vehicles, over a period of 15 years, haveall been Dodge and Chrysler.

I've had satellite TV with Bell for 10+ years.

Telus Mobility has had my business for over 16 years, though recently we’ve hita rough patch, and the jury’s still out on that relationship (props to Annain ‘executive client services’ for trying to make things right).

Based on customer service experience, I flyWestJet without so much as checking Air Canada’s prices or schedules; I visitHudson’s Taphouse weekly, but I will never again, set foot in The Pint; I willoverpay for Starbuck’s, but would go without coffee before being a patron ofthe local Second Cup.

Yes, we’ve already established that I hold grudges.

Similarly, I love the Nintendo brand (yesplaying the games too), because they’ve treated my kids very well with repairissues; I’m a Fountain Tire fan, because even when they did mess up, theypromptly took responsibility and made things right (though truthfully thebumbling spokesman – “going to Winnipeg” – should just stop).

I love theFairmont hotels, because they paid attention to/respected my kids.

Goodcustomer service earns my loyalty. Seems simple, no?

In recent years, it’s become a growingpersonal mission of mine, to let the businesses (and people working there) thattreat me well know that they’re doing a great job.

Most people don’t hesitateto bitch when things could be better for them personally, but it seems thatcompliments are few and far between.

As paying consumers, we have a right tocomplain when service or products fail to meet realistic expectations, but Ibelieve that we also have an obligation to let folks know when they’re doing agood job.

Doesn’t take much effort to say good job, andgive someone a smile, does it?

Coincidentally, did I mention what a greatjob you’re doing?

I think we could be friends. So, what’s for supper?

EcoBoost, you naughty girl

2011-07-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

My first encounter with the 2011 F-150 EcoBoost was earlier this year at a Ford F-150 Round-up event. The folks at Ford were proudly displaying their engineering prowess, focusing on an innovative approach to solving the problem of how to combine horsepower, torque, AND fuel economy. Their answer came in the form of the EcoBoost V6, a 3.5 litre engine with a pair of water-cooled turbochargers. From the first time

I stomped on the accelerator (and yes not only was I allowed to stomp – it was encouraged), I could tell this engine would make driving a truck fun.

So when I was given the opportunity to drive this highly touted truck for a few days, and then follow that up with a F-150 with a 5.0 L V8, to give an apples-to-apples comparison, of course I jumped in the cab.

Someone told me that driving a new vehicle is like going on a date with a new girl. Well, I suppose there are some similarities, so let’s go with that analogy. From first looks, the Platinum Edition F-150 EcoBoost, would certainly be considered a beautiful girl – big chrome wheels, sharp distinct body lines, power running boards that descend and ascend with the opening / closing of a door; But it’s when you slip behind the steering wheel, that you discover this stunning girl has a PhD. Equipped with GPS, satellite radio, the high-tech features of Sync (www.ford.com/technology/sync/), an in dash touch screen monitor for the back-up assist camera, automatic climate controls, and the list of brainy amenities goes on and on.

She’s pretty and smart, and we’re off to a good start to this date, but I haven’t told you the part that’ll really dilate your pupils; She’s an Olympic gymnast, that may (or may not have) appeared in some of your favourite films (Nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Say no more).

This truck has astonishing power over a wide range of situations – accelerating from a full stop, or passing on the open road (at any speed) is a snap, thanks to those two little, highly effective, turbochargers under the hood.

Graceful and refined aren’t words that most people would assign to a pick-up truck, but are people that haven’t driven a Platinum F-150 with an EcoBoost V6. Make no mistake, this is a big truck, but one that feels very comfortable to drive. With power adjustments to just about every angle the seat, pedals and controls can be exactly where you want them. Steering is precise, and controlled; even bumpy roads are smooth and quiet. Hmmm… Maybe driving this truck is better than dating a hot looking gymnast? Nevermind.

Okay, we’ve established that I like the EcoBoost, but to know where it deserves to be in the Ford F-150 heirarchy, you need to drive a good old regularly aspirated V8. OK, not exactly old, the 5 litre is a new engine too, full of technology like twin independent variable camshaft timing.

Dropping off the Platinum EcoBoost did come with a twinge of regret, but tempered with optimism for the next truck (akin to dating a new girl?). I should note that Ford has done a fine job of finish on their 2011 F-150 series trucks, and the 5.0L powered FX4 model is no exception, though in comparison to the Platinum Edition, it is a modest step down with respect to bells and whistles.

The real questions are:

1.) How does the V8 perform versus the V6 EcoBoost?

And 2.) How do the two engines compare on fuel economy?

Here is the appropriate place for a little disclaimer: These highly refined technologically adept driving machines are trucks. Drivers of a Yaris or Smartcar will sneer at the fuel economy of either of these beastly vehicles, but without much hyperbole, they could carry your car home for you, after driving over you.

OK, to the numbers:

I drove each of the two trucks for a week, commuting roughly an hour per day, to and from my office, and on a pleasure trip an hour down the highway, for my 2 kids to visit with Grandma and Grandpa.

With the EcoBoost I achieved an average fuel consumption of 14.7 litres per 100 kilometres; and 15.9 litres per 100 kilometres with the V8. (I drove the V8 an extra day)

Currently, the price of regular gasoline is $ 1.11 / litre; and based on my somewhat informal testing, the EcoBoost displayed better fuel economy, by 1.2 litres per 100 kilometres. In poking around on the Ford Canada website, I found that on a Platinum Edition, the EcoBoost is an option costing $1,000 more than the 5.0 L V8; telling me that IF this performance difference is representative of these two engines, then purely from a mathematical perspective, the breakeven point on additional cost of the turbocharged engine is at 75,000 kilometres.

In similar conditions and under similar stresses (meaning how I normally drive), both trucks performed quite well. However, a definite edge goes to the EcoBoost when it comes to acceleration. Immediate delivery of near maximum power with the turbocharged engine is the difference, and you can feel it. Yes the V8 has plenty of power too, but it sort of has to wind-up to delivery.

My conclusion: If you’re in the market for a Ford F-150, go for the EcoBoost, it offers performance and fuel economy, and a bit of hold onto your hat fun too.

Editor’s note: Big Daddy is not allowed to buy a new truck without permission, nor date Brainiac-pornstar-gymnast-supermodels, but his opinions are definitely his own.

When I Was Just a Little Biggie: Lessons I learned from my dad about being a father

2011-06-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

BECOMING a father isn’t much more difficult than buying a few rounds of Margaritas on ladies night, and proclaiming how important family is to you.

However, BEING a father requires either a commitment, a desperate need for a place to live, or a woman with good tracking skills.

Being a GOOD father is another matter, entirely. I’d like to think I’m a good dad, and if you were to ask either of my kids (most of the time), I think they’d agree. I’m fair, I’m fun, and I do my best to take care of them.

For me personally, I don’t have to look much further than my own Dad, my Big Poppa, to find the elements that make a good, no, make that exceptional father.

When I was just a little Biggie, and long before I was a Daddy, my father (through his example) showed me the way to be a good father. I don’t think it was an intentional lesson, but more of a fortunate set of circumstances for me; When he was a child, my dad was subject to some pretty strict discipline, and ridiculous punishments. My grandfather seemingly thought that a whack across the skull of a child, with the bone handle of a carving knife, was an appropriate correction of a misbehaving child at the dinner table.

The lesson my Dad took from this sort of “discipline”, was that he’d never treat his kids the same way. That was a fortunate decision for me (and my brother), as we’d likely have had permanent dents in our heads, if subjected to the same standards.

At the same time, please don’t think that my upbringing was without it’s share of FAIR discipline. There were a number of occasions that apparently required an element of corporal punishment. I can’t say that I’d ever argue the point as to whether I deserved a spanking, because my Pop always made sure to explain to me what I’d done wrong, prior to ever smacking my butt. If legend has it correctly, there was a day where I actually asked if he couldn’t “just get it over with and spank me”.

By the time I was 15 years old (and for the next decade, or so), I figured I knew it all, and had done it all. Today, I shake my head at that punk kid (me), and recognize that I often took the hard way, as opposed to listening to a man that had lived it once (or twice?) and lived to tell the tale. It took a while, but over time, I learned a LOT from my Dad; Most of it still remains with me today. He has a knack of telling you what’s on his mind, and in a way that’s memorable. He’s told me many things that have shaped my life; Here, I’ll share just a few:

“If it has tits or tires, it’s gonna be trouble.” - Before you get your fine mail order panties in a bunch, just think about the simple brilliance of this statement… Essentially, women and cars will cause problems for men. Do not argue this point, the more you protest, the deeper the truth. Over the last 10+ years he’s added the phrase “or a computer” to this little gem. Again, don’t argue. Ssshhhh!!!
“There’s a difference between scratching your ass, and tearing it all to pieces.” – I’ve always thought this to be a more colourful version of “everything in moderation”. Simply put, more is not always better. I don’t think we need to argue this point either.
When I call my Dad on the phone, as I often do, and ask him how he’s doing, his reply is usually “As good as it gets anymore”, or maybe “as fine as frog’s hair”, which suggests to me - about as fine as can be; He’s always been a man that can focus on the good things (which, over the years, has been of significant value to me and my bro). As he’s aged, and faced arthritis and some significant heart problems, he’s always kept it all in perspective.
“You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em” – OK, truthfully, Kenny Rogers is the guy that explicitly said these words, but it’s not a lesson that’s lost on my Pop, nor on me. He says, in reference to my Mom (whom I also love dearly), that (paraphrasing) “sometimes you just gotta hush, and let her say her piece & after a while, things’ll be OK”. Translation: Not every little thing is worth having a big battle over. Thanks Dad; thanks, Kenny.

There are many more lessons to be learned, but I won’t overload you with a lifetime’s worth of knowledge, crammed into a few short moments.

My message is simple; I have a great deal of respect, love, and admiration for my Dad; having taught me that through love, patience, and understanding, a man can have a hugely positive impact on the life of a child. Today, my two little demons / darlings benefit from this insight.

So, maybe instead of buying your Dad an ugly tie for Father’s Day, just let him know that you were listening, as he shared a life full of experience and lessons learned with you.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

Vrrooom vrooom goes the Ford!

2011-04-26T10:02:00.000-07:00

So, when you get invited to an event sponsored by a particular manufacturer you’ve got to understand that it’s not a double blind test with 100% objectivity – that’s sort of a disclaimer to prove to you that I ain’t just falled off the turnip truck.

Recently, I went to “2011 Ford F-150 Round-up 2”, an event held on behalf of Ford to garner exposure for their new line up of engines.

Yes there was some corporate rah-rah, yes there was a little bit of swag, and for the people that say it doesn’t exist, there was so a free lunch. Don’t worry, my love and admiration cannot be bought via roast beef and baseball caps.

This little truck rodeo did allow for some hands on time with the new 2011 Ford F150 trucks, each powered by one of the available engine options, offering experiences of towing a loaded trailer, highway manners / performance, and some time trial passes on the drag strip.

Yes, drive it like you stole it. There were a couple of competitor trucks as well, each of which may or may not have compared well to the shiny objects with the blue ovals on the grill.

I will give credit where credit is due, and Ford is due plenty of credit for the Ecoboost V6, a new 3.5 litre twin turbocharged engine, that delivers an impressive combination of power and fuel economy. Turbochargers aren’t new, but the application is a novel one, on our North American truck landscape, in a gas (not diesel) engine. I am a born skeptic, and as such I view the torture test video series with a hand full of “yeah but”s; again to be fair, the videos are kind of fun. You can check them out on www.youtube.com/fordtrucks and searching EcoBoost Torture Test.

The one thing that impressed me most about the whole event was an almost unmentioned application of technology, and one that I think is deserving of some discussion.

It is also something that would’ve pissed me off as a teenager. I’m talking about MyKey, which acts as a bit of a nanny for the unsupervised teen driver.

You, the adult can program the MyKey key, limiting the automobile’s speed, and audio system volume, combined with nagging reminders of seatbelts and fuel levels. My fascination with this little device likely stems from the fact I have two children (not yet old enough to drive), and vivid memories of growing up in rural Alberta (but that’s a different story). Why don’t all new vehicles have these parental governors? I think they will in time. It is such a logical safety measure. See ford.com/technology and watch the MyKey video.

So did an afternoon at the raceway turn me Ford blue?

No, the throaty rumble of the Hemi hasn’t been displaced, in my heart, by the whine of EcoBoost turbochargers; And my favourite truck is still the 18 wheeler backing up to the beer store delivering it’s precious liquid cargo. But a sincere tip of my hat goes to Ford for continuing to raise the bar in the race to outdo each other that has characterized the automotive industry in recent years.

Consumers are the winners here.

I'm a high roller... In Monopoly, anyway...

2011-04-08T11:41:00.000-07:00

One day, the folks at EA.com offered me a copy of their Monopoly Streets game, for Wii; and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it.

I have a confession: when I was a kid I’d scoop up all the Monopoly money and imagine what I’d do with the cash, and often I’d follow it up by launching all the bills into the air and watch it rain down like oversized multi-coloured confetti.

I remember spending hours playing Monopoly, shuttling the race car or top hat around the board, building grand hotels, and trying to dodge my opponent’s crappy shantytown developments, in a quest to bankrupt them and become the ruler of Monopoly-town.

Like most things in life, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose; occasionally mom would step on a wayward little green house and things would get really interesting. It was always a battle to establish supremacy before the game would get interrupted by bedtime, or someone would ‘inadvertently’ knock the board askew (usually a player on the verge of losing). Finding a trustworthy and competent banker was often a challenge too.

In the videogame version of this classic game, Monopoly Streets, much of the excitement of the board game is retained, add in fun graphics, a range of game play –original rules to various fast-play options, and throw in an automated and honest banker, and this digital version of Monopoly is better than a sandwich with an extra slice of bologna.

Oz, 9, and Lola, 5, both loved it from the first pass of Go. The kids have previously been introduced to the concept of Monopoly through the Crazy Cash board game, so the point of the game was already understood. They found numerous giggles as we watched our characters drive, sail, and stroll down the streets, buying properties, paying rent, and collecting salaries.

My kids are highly competitive with each other and the ongoing graphic displays of gains and losses in the height of the players towers fed their egos, as the battle raged on. As bedtime approached, little bums squirmed in their chairs, and their attention spans were eclipsed. Amidst halfhearted protests that they wanted to keep playing, I assured the kids we could save their progress and the game could be completed another time.

All involved parties were happy.

In my seldomly humble opinion, Monopoly Streets is truly a family video game; it’s easy to play, keeps the kids engaged, and for me, offers a link to my childhood memories. If only it came with a bundle of actual Monopoly money for the winner to fling about and shower in.

You've bitched enough about Tiger and Jesse. Now listen up...

2010-03-25T10:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve been trying real hard to just Live and Let Bitch, but the bitching is hurting my ears, my eyes, and my sensibilities. Time for another talk (a.k.a. my turn to bitch).

Let me make this clear to you:
1) You do not have a personal relationship with Tiger Woods, and
2) Tiger did not cheat on you.

It is as simple as that, and as such, your interest in his private life should end there. But no, there’s a seemingly endless stream of press devoted to personally dismantling him; Guerilla photography, stalking his family, berating newspaper & magazine articles, interviews with alleged mistresses, blogs, tweets, on and on, ad nauseum.

His wife, Elin, is the only person he owes an apology to; Not you, bitter woman, because your husband / boyfriend once cheated on you, and now men are jerks; Not you, holier-than-thou parenting experts, citing what a terrible role model he is; Not you, media whores (sorry, I mean journalists), because … tell me again why you should care?

When this “BIG news story” first broke, courtesy of the intrepid journalists at TMZ.com, it catalyzed an all too familiar cycle within the supposed credible, mainstream, media. It was an opportunity to tear down a celebrity façade, initially built up by the same folks. Whether it’s to impress your sponsors, by pushing traffic to a website, sell newspapers, or just show off the product of cosmetic dentistry as you read from the teleprompter; apparently, someone needs to tell you:

THIS IS NOT NEWS.

Too much time, effort, and too many resources are put into such twaddle. I am not defending Tiger Woods here, his recent media tsunami is only an example of what is bothering me. (For the record, I don’t condone cheating in a marriage / committed relationship, but I have no business judging him, nor do you.)

I don’t give a RAT’S ASS about Tiger’s personal life, not his sexual proclivitiy, his aversion to carrots, nor his dream of owning Uranus (the planet for clarification). You see, when it comes to our personal lives, Tiger and I have an informal arrangement, I don’t care who he sleeps with, and he doesn’t know I exist.

I have the same relationship with Jesse James, and also with you, and hope you will adopt a similar position.

I respect Tiger as a talented athlete, one who has elevated his sport; and even if he were to star in a Tijuana Donkey Show, that wouldn’t change.

A recent opinion piece by an otherwise credible sports columnist suggests, ”At some point he’s going to have sit at a press conference for longer than five minutes and answer really tough questions from a room full of media.”

Seriously? What hard questions could you possibly have,

that are even remotely newsworthy?

The unwelcome, and UNNECESSARY, media exposure Tiger Woods and his family have had to endure, did expose a dark and destructive side of his life, one that I’m sure he is not proud of. But, I’ll go so far as to say that none of you would enjoy it either, if your personal life were subjected to that level of scrutiny.

Yes, he cheated. He apologized.

Back in the 80’s you’d often see a guy in the background at televised golf events holding up a sign, usually with a Biblical reference like “John 3:16”. I hope that someone revives this act, maybe a guy with a “Matthew 7:12” sign?

Get over yourselves, this is no scandal.

The only thing truly scandalous about Tiger, is how the media continues to dredge up this drivel, day after day, under a thin guise of news.

Are we done here?

Good.

Big Daddy is the Villain of MOM Magazine. Email him directly, we don't want his hate mail

Make her VD Special

2010-01-14T08:54:00.000-08:00

It has been said that Valentine’s Day is the most romantic day of the year.

Huh?

Whether you want to subscribe to the belief that it started with a pagan fertility festival (Giggity, Giggity) or that it is in honour of an obscure/ indeterminate Catholic Saint unwilling to renounce his love, or that it was Oprah’s idea, I have one question:

How does this holiday make any sense?

Marked by overpriced flowers, cinnamon hearts, saucer-eyed plush animals bearing heart-shaped proclamations of love, and sappy cards full of saccharin sentiment; Can’t we do better than that for a holiday supposed to be celebrating love?

Tips for the guys

It shouldn’t take a greeting card holiday for you to tell her you love her, hopefully you do it every day; but if you feel compelled to do something extraordinary, you might want to use my recipe for a most memorable Valentine’s Day.

You can start with bringing home a traditional token Valentine’s gift. I suggest a roll of “Sweethearts” candies - they’re cheap, but the gesture might just be interpreted as thoughtful - if you play it right.

Next, feed the kids and get them to bed early, whether it takes a bag of cookies or a shot of cold medicine, the point is to be alone with your honey.

Invite her to slip into something comfortable, while you light a few candles to set the mood, and pour her a nice glass of wine.

Take her by the hand and lead her to a comfortable seat with a good view of the television. (Don’t worry, we’re not watching The Notebook)

How about a little interactive “role play?”

Sure, she’s got her favourite character, a princess maybe? You’ve got yours too - you don’t have to explain what it is about being a plumber that works for you, I don’t really care to hear it. Listen to her squeal with delight as you proceed to…

Drive her off the track, throw banana peels, or bomb her with a red shell.

That’s right, I’m talking MarioKart.

Quality time. Wii! Laugh together, and run each other off the road into a pit of lava, mud, or even into outer space. Jostling for position, testing your skills, against your greatest Mushroom Kingdom rival and one true love - what could be better? I didn’t say romantic, I said memorable.

It’ll have to do until I get my own holiday, then we’ll really celebrate love.

Big Daddy’s Big Holiday

I can see it now - BIG DADDY DAY - no, make that BIG DADDY WEEK. Feel the love. Parades, gambling halls, KY wrestling, 24 hour beer gardens, rock concerts, midway rides, sexy puppet shows, and super sized slip’n’slides.

It’ll be like Mardi Gras and Superbowl got freaky and had a baby; with the hedonistic abandon of a rogue choirboy loose on the Las Vegas Strip, combined with the excitement and anticipation of a US presidential election, but with more meaningful dialogue: “Why yes, Britney Spears, I would like to join you on the tilt-a-whirl and drink tequila from your navel. How considerate of you to ask. Would you kindly hold my lemming, while I tie my skates?”

What? At least my holiday makes sense.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

I'm Awesome. But You Already Knew That.

2009-11-23T11:44:00.000-08:00

It's not often that a man gets a meaningful compliment from his spouse, so I was more than a little surprised when my wife of nearly 10 years told me that I am the most powerful man in the universe. OK, so she didn't come right out and say those exact words, but I know that's what she meant.
The Mrs. And I were having a discussion regarding our young children (4 and 7), including some talk of how she felt that in the last few days they'd shown a bit of a lapse in their behavior - little things, like occasionally forgetting their manners and not playing well together.

She should talk to my brother and maybe she'll understand that our kids could be a lot worse. I'll never forget the time when we were playing hockey in the neighbour's garage; I caught him between the eyes with my goal stick - there was enough blood to make Freddy Krueger nauseous - and that was on a day that we were getting along.

But if he says anything about me breaking his nose for taking one of my cookies ignore him - sometimes he lies.

Understand that normally, our kids are very polite, conscientious, and responsible - traits that my wife unapologetically takes full credit for; Stating that she is the primary caregiver, and that she has almost single handedly shaped their commendable behavior, while I hang out with the other four-fingered husbands, swilling beer, down at Moe's.
All right, I'll concede that she does spend a bit more time with them during the work week, but I do my part in helping get them settled for the night, and reading bedtime
stories.

Bonus parenting tip: While a bowl of Smarties icecream may be delicious, it is not necessarily a viable tool in encouraging calm and quiet behavior in children preparing for bed.

In our conversation, I suggested that maybe the kids were battling the flu, just tired, or having an off day.

That's when she said, "It's your fault for spoiling them."

What? Was she was saying that in the "brief" time I spend with the kids each day, I was effectively negating the many hours of hard work she'd put into making our children into a little lady and young gentleman, and that their falter in the please and thank you department could be traced back to me? Some husbands might think that such a statement is inflammatory, or even defamatory; my interpretation was that she had admitted that I am the superior teacher, guide, and mentor. If I can erase all the good she does, and turn our kids into selfish little cretins, without so much as trying; maybe it is because, as a man, my influence over the family (and beyond) is greater.

Why, could it be summed up as simply as
"Men are superior to women"?

To ascertain the veracity of this hypothesis, one might argue that we need to look no further than the fact that women continuously seek equality with men; Makes sense that the inferior seek equality, while the superior have no need for equality because they possess superiority. True or not, to actually flaunt such authority would be counterproductive to the goal of peaceful co-existence.

I appreciate peace and quiet, try to avoid controversy, and that's probably why I don't rub her nose in it. The silent knowledge that I am the more influential parent (read powerful) is sufficient for me.

As for spoiling the kids? I don't think so. Yes, occasionally, I take them to the toy store, ice cream shop, bookstore, videogame section of the electronics store, movie theatre, or for some fries, and I always make sure they say please and thank you.

Why, just the other day the girls at Hooters were telling me how polite and charming the boy is.

If you had your housework done you could come too.

And as far as that goes, just by taking the children out of the house while you're cleaning, I'm doing my part in the housekeeping, ensuring the kids aren't underfoot while you mop or whatever.

No I don't expect any special thanks, I just thought I'd mention it.

Truth be told, we have two of the nicest, well-mannered children that anyone could ask for.

Extending beyond well practiced please and thank yous, both kids possess a polite charm beyond their young ages. I am proud of them, wherever we go; rarely having to offer any reminders of how to behave. Now, if I could just get their mother to act as maturely, I truly would be the most powerful man in the universe. M

Rules of Engagement: How us men deal with you

2009-10-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

You play dirty, pout, cry, bite scratch and cry some more. Put your big
girl panties on and suck it up buttercup!

It started just like any other Saturday morning - I was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, leafing through the weekly allotment of flyers, checking to see if there just happened to be a 56 inch HDTV on sale for a criminally low price. My peaceful, casual research was unceremoniously interrupted by little voices yelling (as often is the case, in a household that includes two young children and a new boxer puppy).

Then it happened, in the midst of a sibling argument, my 7-year-old son said to his 3-year-old sister "You're just like mom!" This statement could easily have been overlooked by a 3 year old, but my wife just happened to pass through the room as this "insult" was delivered, and without hesitation she jumped to the aid of our daughter, offering up a "Well, you're just like your father," to put the boy in his place. Did she even know what they were arguing about?

Clearly, boys against the girls, Game on!

I did what any good father would do, I ignored the brewing ruckus and hid behind the advertisement from our local farm supply store (to confirm your suspicions -no, I'm not a farmer). It's not that I didn't want to support my son in this battle of the sexes, it's just that I've been there & done that, I've fought that fight, and I've died on that hill. He's young, full of energy, and naive enough to believe that he can come out on top.

A short, lopsided, three-way argument ensured. Secretly, I hoped the boy would defend himself, and volley back with something like "See you are alike, you both act like 3 year olds!" but - aware that he was out-gunned, he scooped up his Transformers and retreated to his bedroom.
As the crowd dispersed (they seemed like a crowd), I was left to ponder what was meant - that my son was just like me? Optimistically, I chose the conclusion that his mother recognized him as being smart, charming, and funny, so it's not difficult to see how she'd drawn the line back to me.

With my daughter distracted by her Polly Pocket dolls, and the wife on the computer blogging, twittering, or whatever; I knew I had to have the first of many "talks" with my boy.
It was my duty as a man to explain to him that arguing with women is akin to farting in the shower - you might feel the need to do it, but you'll end up regretting it once you realize what you've unleashed.

"But dad … I was right," he pleaded.

Sadly, I had to tell him, "Son, there is no place for rational thought when arguing with girls; you don't understand how their brains work, so don't do battle with them."

My boy is an intelligent, articulate, and logical, young man - or simply put - "an unsuspecting victim," in terms of male/female confrontations.

"Their debate tactics are unconventional, they will use misdirection, circular arguments, irrelevant comparisons, and when all else fails - they cry."

I could see his eyes widen with understanding, so I knew I could share more of my personal insights.

"It's better if you can avoid confrontation, but if you absolutely have to engage a girl in an argument, do so calmly, quickly making your point, using simple language and obvious examples in support of your position; Then promptly excuse yourself to the bathroom - they won't follow you in there.

"All in all, it's best not to provoke them"

My son now seemingly lives by the motto "don't provoke them", in reference to his sister and his mother, and it's a quieter more serene atmosphere at our house.

I wish I could share more of the conversation I shared with my son with you, but as a woman you don't have the necessary security clearance.

However, if you'll bake some cookies, I'll share another manly secret and show you how to set the timer on the digital video recorder. I'd like the chocolate chip ones, please. M

Reality TV, the internet and the obsession with your crack

2009-07-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve compiled a list of what’s wrong with society. Pay attention, your driving is mentioned.

There are a few things I need to get off my chest, and because we've grown to become friends over the last couple of years, I know you care, and will thus allow me to vent.

No I'm not going to lecture you on your driving (but now that you've brought it up, it doesn't seem to have improved much). It's actually television, the internet, and aimless slacker kids that bug me.

When I was just a wee little Biggie, I had heroes; sports icons like Montreal Canadiens star goaltender Ken Dryden, or New York Yankees slugger Reggie Jackson. Whether I was pretending to patrol the crease of an NHL arena, or swinging out of my shoes to clinch the World Series, the figures I emulated had some merit, some qualities that warranted my admiration. Celebrity was a by-product of having some talent or skill that elevated the individual to childhood idol status.

At various times in my young life, I wanted to be a fireman, astronaut, racecar driver, and movie star. Sometimes I wanted to be famous, rich, or both, but I always had a career in mind; It may have been impractical for a kid from rural Alberta to want to be President of the United States of America, but at least I had goals.

Flash forward a few [?] years and I find that celebrity, fame, and even fortune appear to be completely disconnected from any underlying talent or ability.

Consider your guilty pleasure TV choices, we live in a world where "reality television" has corrupted the very fabric of childhood dreams to the point where "I want to be rich" or "I'm gonna be famous" has usurped being a cowboy or a doctor. It's possible to become a celebrity in our society with little more than a catch phrase.

That's hot.

To feed a childish voyeuristic element, television has spawned Survivor, Big Brother, The Real Life, The Real Housewives of Orange County, and a multitude of equally meaningful, informative, and educational programming. Ok, so who doesn't like to kickback with a bottle of vodka and watch Intervention, that I can understand; but seriously, why do you need to keep up with the Kardashians? WTF? It makes me long for The Simple Life. No, the simple life.

When I was a kid, I remember sitting around the campfire one summer with my best pals, talking about the future and our aspirations. Gordie wanted to become a writer, Teddy thought he had a future in the military, and Chris just wanted a better life. Seeing that dead body, running from the train, … Wait a minute! That was Stand By Me... but you get my point.

Kids, being famous is not in itself a career, and while we're at it, pull up your damned pants and straighten your ball cap.

The internet is another culprit in the downfall of our society.

I am ashamed that I even know the name of low life celebrity tattle tale Perez Hilton, but must admit I am amused at his spat with Will.i.am. Sue him, sue him good, Perez. Next time maybe Fergie'll be the one to - nah, you wouldn't stand a chance in that one either. TMZ.com, Perez, and other such sewer dwellers have taken rude, invasive, tabloid gossip and put it at our fingertips 24/7. Facebook, Linked In, etc. brilliantly facilitates "friendship" around the globe without requiring any actual human contact, or even putting on pants. Even better, Twitter (in combination with your smartphone) allows you to alert your peeps to your daily sock colour dilemma, the new studly barista at the coffee house, or the ridiculously long line up at the bank, all in real time. Riveting, how did we manage before such breakthroughs ?

Not-so-Smartphone

As for your so called smartphone (quite possibly the most inappropriately named electronic device, because so many users appear to be less than intelligent with regard to their use), few things annoy me more than talking with someone with their "me-phone" in hand, constantly glancing down and typing with their thumbs, snickering. If you and I are supposed to be engaged in a conversation then please put your crackberry in your pocket, and not on vibrate either - the facial expressions you make are more than a little disturbing to me. If you can't show that little bit of courtesy, don't be surprised if I walk away in mid-sentence, in search of someone more interesting (and focused).

In theory, a smartphone can make life easier, with a range of applications including GPS, transit schedules, currency conversion, and language translation. Instead these devices become little more than a demonstration of their juvenile user's CADD - Crackberry-induced Attention Deficit Disorder. For those of you that are offended by this statement - you're probably the ones I'm talking about. UNLESS YOU ARE A COMPLETELY NARCISSISTIC JERK, YOU CANNOT SIT IN A MOVIE THEATRE AND EXCHANGE MESSAGES WITH THE OTHER SELF ABSORBED JERK SITTING BESIDE YOU, while the people around you are attempting to watch a movie.

Actually, there are a lot of other things that pick my ass, including: horoscopes, chain e-mails with promises of fortune or disaster, cats, impolite motorists, liberals, smokers, Beyonce, and "Fw: Fw: Fw: This is hilarious"; but I'll share my thoughts on these topics another time.

For now, I feel better.

We've got a couple of minutes before you've got to start dinner; how was your day? M

The grill, remote, & the garage

2009-07-09T10:12:00.000-07:00

What would you say if I told you that I was sorry for all the times I’ve tried to get under your skin, all the times I’ve made sweeping generalizations about your gender, and the remarks about how you should be cooking or cleaning?

Well for the record that’ll never happen.

However, it is my birthday, and I’m feeling kind of generous, so as a figurative olive branch I’m going to share with you a small sample of the vast library of knowledge I’ve assembled over the years.

Pull up a chair and pour yourself a good strong drink, it’ll help you relax.

Don’t touch

You need to know that the barbeque grill, the television remote control, and the garage belong to men.

Sure we might let you hold the remote, or flip a burger, but make no mistake these items are the exclusive domain of the males of our species.
Sure, I’ll explain.

The grill

A long time ago, when I was just a little Biggie and not yet a daddy, my father taught me about the grill (and the secrets of BBQ-ing).

Big Poppa taught me that to grill a steak properly, first - you need to crack a well chilled beer. He said that if you ran out of beer, the barbeque might just stop working (and you thought it was all about propane, silly woman).

Second - if the grill isn’t clean all you have to do is start it up, crank up the heat, and after a few minutes, a quick scrub-a-dub with a brass bristled brush and you’re ready to turn a slab of beef the size of a phone book into a delicious meal.

Next - involve the women folk, by very politely asking them to perform peripheral tasks - making salad, side dishes, setting the table, etc.; It makes them feel like they’re being helpful, while keeping them away from the grill and your beer.

The remote

The remote control is another essential tool of manly life. Can you imagine what life must’ve been like when a person actually had to get up off the sofa every time the channel or volume needed attention. Every time? Oh the hardship! Thankfully we are graced with the technology that allows a man to control the TV, stereo, blu-ray player, and satellite receiver from the palm of the hand.

Women just shouldn’t touch the buttons, or next thing you know, some so-called reality TV show will overwhelm your senses with whining crying “feelings” television.

There are lots of programs men and women can watch together, like sports highlights, vintage car auctions, and even classic movies like “Old School” or “Dumb and Dumber”; Just nothing with “Housewives” in the title, nor anything hosted by a counselor, psychologist, or Ryan Seacrest.

The Garage

Then there is the garage, which beyond the obvious utility of storage for your family autos and tools, serves as man’s last refuge from womankind. Again, I have to give credit to Big Poppa for introducing me to the peace and serenity of the workshop. I bet Superman actually repaired household items and tuned up his car in the fortress of solitude - it was probably just his garage and the comic book biographers called it a fortress to protect the sanctity of the garage. We don’t follow you to the bathroom when you execute your beauty regime, so stay away from the garage when we’re fixing a lamp or replacing the brake pads on your mini-van.

From the look on your face I can tell that I’ve shared enough for now. Please understand that I don’t tell you these things to rile you up, or provoke you, but to help improve the interactions between men and women. I know there are things that are important to you, and we can talk about them another time.

Now if you’ll excuse me the winch switch on the quad is broken, I’ll be in the garage you need me.

Oh ya, I almost forgot - What’s for supper? M

Know when to fold 'em boys... and know when to run!

2009-07-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

In poker, three of a kind beats two pairs. That's simple. When you know the rules, you can play the game.

I lost a fight this morning. Funny thing is I didn't realize I'd been engaged in battle until it was too late, as often is the case when it comes to sparring with my wife. I know I'm not alone in this peril; many of my comrades have fallen to the same “out of the blue” tactics of their spouses.

By the time I asked if she was upset, it was too late for me. I'm a smart guy, maybe I can figure it out.

Come to think of it there was a brief flash, just milliseconds in time, when I noticed her pupils narrow and her nostrils flare, but before I could retreat, I was hit full on with a “If you don't know why I'm mad, then I'm not going to tell you.”

What? Does that mean if I knew why you're mad, you'd tell me again? Thanks.

“You know.”

Really? There are a lot of things I know, but this isn't one of them. OK, I'm not new at this, so I use all my skills to ascertain the current source of my grief. I say, “What?”

“You know exactly what you did!”

Aha, I've narrowed it down, it's something I did. It could've just as easily been something I didn't do but was expected of me.

I've done lots of things, but why are you mad? Think man, think. What was the first moment you noticed a change? I'm talking subtle, did she say “fine” or worse “I don't care” at some point? ('Cause if she did, then it certainly wasn't fine, and she absolutely does care.)

Time to consult my manly sins checklist:

Toilet seat? Nope.
Socks left on floor? No.
Forget a “special day”? Not that I know of.
Say something about one of her family? No.
Say something about one of her friends? No
Did I encourage the kids to misbehave? Not really.
Did I come home late? No.
I give up.

Ladies, on behalf of men, I ask just how are we expected to anticipate what will bother you , and ignite a blazing stare of disbelief and simultaneous icy attitude? Oh hell, as far as that goes, use your damned signal lights when you want to change lanes, we can't guess that one either (but I digress).

I've heard of men folk getting the cold war treatment over the most horrifyingly ridiculous, trivial, WTF? things that are beyond the imagination of most men this side of Stephen King. I'll share just a few:

One guy got yelled at for “looking at” the hostess of a kid's show he was watching with his toddler. Ooh- that's harsh. (Also, just a quick shout out to Hi-5 girls Kimee, Karla, and Jenn. How you doin'?)

One time I got a backhand slap across the chest, as a wake-up call, first thing in the morning… because she had a dream- and in it, I didn't act as she would expect. Seriously, let's limit the skirmishes to things on this plane of existence, thank you.

I've heard on more than one occasion of a wife taking her husband to strip bar, and starting a domestic because he “liked it too much”. I'm not talking about doing anything inappropriate here, just understand that if we don't applaud, it could do significant damage to a dancer's self esteem. Nobody wants that.

Because I know that you value my insight into the human condition, I will offer you ladies some advice: PLAY FAIR.

I didn't say you shouldn't get angry with your spouse, heaven knows sometimes we even deserve it, but just let us in on it.

Try real hard, and in a rational manner, explain to us what it is that we've done to bring down your wrath.

Four out of five henpecked husbands agree that with certain knowledge of why we're in the doghouse, we can decide if it's worth mounting a defence or if we should batten down the hatches and let the storm blow over, the other kiss-ass will just buy you flowers and promise to be a better man.

So what did I do this morning to spark the fracas? Does it really matter? I'm a bit of a gambler.

As my dear friend Kenny Rogers says, “If you're gonna play the game boy, ya gotta learn to play it right. You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run”

I should call her… and ask what's for dinner. M

Which end of the whip are you on?

2009-07-09T10:06:00.000-07:00

Would it surprise anyone to know that my favourite actor is Clint Eastwood?

From the time I was a kid, and saw him bare-knuckle fighting in the very funny Any Which Way But Loose, I thought he was pretty cool. Having an orang-utan for a friend - that was supercool. Maybe that explains a couple of the friends I've had over the years?

As I got a bit older, I gained an appreciation for the Sergio Leone spaghetti westerns that made Clint a household name. My eyes were wide with admiration watching a loose-cannon cop chase down the bad guys in the Dirty Harry series of films - "…you've got to ask yourself one question:
Do I feel lucky?

Well, do ya, punk?

It was 1992 that brought my favourite Eastwood role; in Unforgiven, he was believable as a widowed, aging, outlaw, trying to make a straight living and care for his kids. Forced to reckon with his failures as a farmer, in desperation, he agrees to partake in a bounty hunt killing. Even though well past his prime, that was one tough man.

Over the many years of his career, Eastwood has portrayed a series of gritty, tough as nails, characters; outlaw, cop, soldier; each finding a way to strike a chord with men, reminding us that we don't all have to be weepy mama's boys. (Please don't mention Bridges of Madison County - I'm willing to look past that)

What's the point? Simple…

Can you imagine Dirty Harry's wife asking him to pick up groceries on the way home, or to change a diaper? A man that carries a .44 Magnum likely doesn't do dishes either.

Maybe I'm wrong (I doubt it), but isn't it time that we, as men, stand up and show our wives which of us has the testicles? Not literally. OK you can do that too, but that's not what I meant.

Wussy, whining, girlie men like Dr. Phil - Be ware, your day is done. Let's go back to a time when feelings are limited to hitting your thumb with a hammer, or chasing your woman around the bedroom.

We work hard every day, to put bread on the table, and then come home to our spoiled privileged wives, and the expectation that we do half of their work too? Come on.

Did the High Plains Drifter do laundry, or mop the floors? No, and you shouldn't either. If men can stand together (figuratively) and refuse to become 'Alice', the women will fall into line and get back to the housework.

Next time one of your buddies buys his wife a big diamond ring just because she "wanted it" - take a moment to punch him back to reality. It's in his best interests, really. If it isn't a milestone birthday, or at very least Christmas, and you're indulging the frivolous wants of your pampered spouse - you are hurting all men. Don't give them the chance to say, "Doug bought Donna a blah, blah, blah… I guess he really loves his wife"

I realize that what I'm asking is a monumental task, like rounding up the herd after letting them roam free for generations, but the very idea of being a Man is at stake. Just ask yourself "What would Harry Callahan do?"

Be the Man and stand up. Either that or ask if you can borrow that Prada purse you bought her for no special reason - it'll look very stylish with your maid's outfit.

Me? I'll be sleeping on the couch, watching The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, with no clean clothes, and living as my own incarnation of the Unforgiven.

Got something you wanted to say?

Go ahead, make my day. M

We need to talk

2009-07-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to say anything before; I've been patient, hoping that things would change. But you've left me no choice. This is tough, but here it goes.

You are a terrible driver. Wow, I feel so much better - like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

You are a terrible driver. Ha, I said it again, that was easy.

YOU ARE A TERRIBLE DRIVER.

You don't look happy, what's wrong? Don't believe me? Okay, brace yourself - the truth can be an ugly thing. I admit openly, that not all women are bad drivers, and yes some men are equally crappy behind the wheel. If you are one of the many skilled lady drivers, this shouldn't bother you, as for the rest of you, welcome to Big Daddy's Remedial Driving Course.

Out on the road

1. The three (yes 3) factory installed mirrors in your automobile have been put there to assist you in operating the vehicle, not for doing your makeup or to hang pretty flower lei's from. Mirrors help identify things that are behind you - items that may pose obstacles in backing up. These mirrors (in combination with shoulder checks) also allow you to safely change lanes, alerting you to the presence of other motorists that may interfere with your intended path.

While it might be tempting to apply makeup while sitting at a red light, I suggest that instead stay focused on the task at hand - driving, and then I won't have to honk at you. And really, do you want to look like you put your makeup on in rush hour traffic?

2. Signal lights are equally important, use them with the dedication you would with your birth control. Forgetting causes accidents. I know, sometimes it's difficult to turn on the signal light because you're talking on your cellphone, or forget to cancel the signal light after making a shallow turn because you're talking on your cellphone. So many things to remember

3. Quit talking on your cellphone. Really, do you have that much to say? I know that women are often excellent at multi-tasking, but this ability seems to cease upon being positioned behind a steering wheel. I find incessant blathering on cellphones to be annoying in general, but when you're driving it can be DANGEROUS. (Yes, upon occasion Big Daddy will answer a call while driving - I wear a headset, if you must know. Try it, you'll feel like Madonna, or an astronaut.)

4. On multilane highways, slower vehicles move to the right. This is the culmination of the three items above, get off your damned cellphone long enough to use your mirrors to see that you're impeding traffic flow, use your mirrors and signal lights, to safely get the hell out of my way.

5. No Rude gestures, please. If you fail to heed the advice offered in point number four, and you force me to go around you, don't ever, EVER give me the finger. After all, now you've given the children strapped in the back of your minivan a glimpse of your terrible manners on top of the crappy example of your driving.

6. So now you've managed to get to the Walmart parking lot, wake of destruction and angry drivers at your back. Quick - number 2 - use your signal lights, let the drivers around you know that you intend to cut in front of them to get that spot close to the door. Great, I knew you could do it.

7. Careful with the doors please, I know that often you've got the kids with you, and they want to be independent, and get out on their own - fine, I encourage children to be independent too - just try to be there to keep them from swinging the door open into the car beside you. This will protect your vehicle and mine.

8. Wow, can you believe how much money you can spend in there? Okay, the cart is full and it was all stuff you needed, I know. Mission accomplished - you got the kids secured, and the dog food, toilet paper, diapers, and apple juice all stowed away in the back. Just one more thing - put the stupid grocery cart into one of the "buggy corrals". You managed to push it around for the last hour picking up Cheetos and Oil of Olay, so take the 30 seconds and do your part to keep the parking lot orderly.

See that wasn't so bad. I hope our little talk helps make you a better driver, I know I feel better.

Now shouldn't you be making supper? M

Don't you have laundry to do?

2009-07-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

Simple fact - Men, sometimes, have difficulties communicating with their spouses. It has long been asserted that men are incapable of expressing ourselves and sharing our feelings, fine I'm on board with that stereotype, it exists for a reason. Emotional issues are often uncomfortable for men, and it would surprise few to hear that point.

However, on topics that don't attempt to delve into our hidden fragile emotional selves, men can be equally non-responsive - which leads our significant others to believe that maybe we just can't communicate effectively.

We will reply our wives questions with: a shoulder shrug, a "whatever", or a "it doesn't matter"; which suggests we don't know how to tell you what we think. Not necessarily true, let me tell you something.

Big Daddy Communication Secret #1: Sometimes men truly have no opinion on a topic.

It's as simple as that. If you want to know whether spring lavender or dusty orchid is a better colour to paint the bathroom, most men will respond to your query as per the above (I personally would go with the shrug). Some men will be thinking that both look like a dull purple; and others might be of the position that either one is fine, so long as you don't expect their help, the walls are okay just the way they are, thank you.

Why are men seemingly indifferent when it comes to a refined colour palate, or new kitchen accessories? Because we just don't care. For men, it is safer to be labelled as a poor communicator than to be found out as not giving a damn.

A far more dangerous scenario for men is if we encounter a topic of conversation that we do have an opinion on, an opposing opinion to that of our spouses. I've heard of discussions between couples deteriorating into nasty plate throwing, name calling, brawls because the normally docile and indifferent male suddenly has an opinion and feels the need to express himself.

Wife: I want a new car, should I get the Pilot or an Enclave?
Husband: Neither, until you learn to look after the vehicle you have now.

Just imagine how that turned out. What were you thinking, man!? Join the bomb squad, or submit for biochemical testing, but don't verbalize your first thought.

Big Daddy Communication Secret #2: Look for the way out, even temporarily

Wife: I want a new SUV, should I get the Pilot or an Enclave?
Husband: Both are nice, but they'll be a lot cheaper in the fall when the next model year comes out. A person could save enough to pay for a nice vacation.

Nicely handled.

Big Daddy Communication Secret #3: Buy some time

It may be necessary to slow down the discussion in order to avoid saying something perceived as inappropriate. An "excuse me for a moment" followed by a brisk pace to the bathroom can give a brief reprieve to allow a man time to formulate an acceptable answer. Sometimes just repeating the incoming question aloud can give a seasoned veteran husband the couple of extra ticks of the clock needed to avoid a bad snap response.

Wife: What time will you be home from golf tonight?
Husband: What time will I be home from golf?
(Pause and wait for her to verify the question, and then in a tone suggesting some uncertainty)
Well, the guys usually like to get a sandwich when we're done, and I have to give Bill a lift - so it might be a little late.
(Just don't mention the "spontaneous" poker game that also happens to be at Bill's house)

Big Daddy Communication Secret #4: Pick your Battles

Unless you're the kind of person that needs conflict or enjoys sleeping on the futon in the kid's playroom, you can't expect to engage in debate with your wife at every opportunity. If you're always drawing a line in the sand, you'll just end up with a striped beach - alone. Some things just aren't worth fighting for; be the bigger person and let it go. But a sometimes offering a little resistance can be good.

Big Daddy Communication Secret #5: Something out of nothing - future considerations

Upon occasion it might be a wise idea to take an opposing stance on something that you really have no opinion on. If after a reasonably spirited debate I can yield to my wife's position, I can put it in her mind that she's getting her way - even if I really am indifferent to the outcome of our negotiation.

Husband: OK, I guess you're right, the sofa does look better along that wall, and the new lamps really do make it into a warmer space (whatever that means).
Wife: I knew eventually you'd come around - see, you do have a good sense of style (when you listen to me).

Think ahead, you might need an edge in a future discussion / argument.

I hope that this little peek into one man's perspective of husband - wife communications will allow for better understanding, and ultimately improve all of our relationships.

I know that it takes an effort on both sides, so you try to be more understanding of how I communicate, and I'll try not to bother you by telling you "my feelings" while you're watching Entertainment Tonight, okay?

Don't you have laundry to do? M