Dear daughter; I have influenced you into becoming the perfect girlfriend. You're welcome. (P.S. You won't be dating anyone until you're at least 20)

Every Dad who has raised is raising a daughter faces that frightful day when he is at least aware of his daughter as a sexual being. Puberty comes (too frackin' soon if you ask me!) and then it's boys, who's "Hot!" usually followed by high pitched screeching and low-level confessions of undying adulation. (sigh)

As of the writing of this blog post, my daughter is infatuated with the singing/dancing Canadian boy teen super-star, Justin Bieber. This spiky-haired soft-faced boy-phenom has captured the hearts, charts and imagination of the world. Love him or not, he's here to say.

I remember the lessons of generations past, the parents generation loathes anything that isn't "theirs". I chose a different route. I have chosen to embrace him. Yes, I have become a member of "Bieber nation". Laugh if you want, he's go all the money (sold out Madison Square Garden in 26 minutes!), all the girls (undying love and propositions from Kim Kardashian and Selena Gomez), all the fame (Justin Timberlake and Usher duked it out over who would mentor him) he's worth and estimated $100 Million and he's 17. (I see a VH1 "Behind the music" episode in the making but that's a different blog).

Now recently, in a round of harmless teasing, my oldest son tried to corner me on this topic; "Hey Dad, if just Bieber wanted to come by and take Jessica on a date, would you let him?" All four kids look at me to see if I would do the customary "Hell No!" response. Instead I said "Duh! That's a no-brainer – of course!" Jessica explodes into a series of giddy giggles and jerky movements and incomprehensible uttering. The boys are dumbfounded. Really? Think about it; the Paparazzi? $105 Million (yes, he just made about $5 million since I wrote the number above about three minutes ago)? I'm realistic, it is highly unlikely that JB is headed to downtown Phoenix to sweep Jessica off her feet. That said, if he's interested, (and if you're reading buddy) I approve – big fan! – but let's have a chat first, eh?

I have digressed quite a bit from my primary topic so let's get back. Jessica, now months away from being 15 is a beautiful young girl. She is spiritually grounded and is very creative (has aspirations of going to Art School). But those aren't the qualities that will make her irresistible to boys and later on, male suitors.

To start, she kicks butt at HALO on XBOX 360. She plays Call of Duty, Fallout 3 and Final Fantasy. Don't know about these games? I GUARANTEE YOU every 15 year old boy does. She has three younger brothers, she has no misunderstandings about the, uh... inner machinations... of boys (she holds her own against a younger brother who has her by 60 pounds, easy). She knows Photoshop better than some people trying to make money at it and she loves Vampire books and movies. What else? Well Dad is an old-time comic book fiend. Do you know who Sinestro is? How about Ms. Marvel? The founding members of the Avengers? She does. She knows and plays hoops. She follows Patriots football and loves hockey. Yet, at any given time she can toss on some heels and make-up with a dress and a necklace and look – well – mature beyond her years. She can carry a note and has bright-eyed imagination that empowers her creativity. A voracious reader yet still gives me flak for not taking her and her brothers to church on Sundays when I would rather roll over and the hit snooze button.

Music? Down with Hip hop, Motown, R&B and Hard Rock. She knows every_single_song_on_every_single_station. No joke. In short, she is the ideal girlfriend for scores of guys. (sigh) I mean, seriously? When I was 15 I would have killed for a hot girlfriend that could hold her own in video games, sports and music. Artistic, a decent little cook and can carry on a conversation about movies, current TV shows, art, comic books and video games? My phone should be blowing up anytime now.

Don't get me wrong, she has her shortcomings (seriously could we please clean that room now?) and she has her own insecurities and struggles with grades, etc.

Last fall, I took Jessica [back] to Massachusetts where she was able to see and meet many of my old friends and stomping grounds. We even had lunch one afternoon with Deena, essentially my little sister (yes I am only child but have two women who are little sisters in spirit). 20 minutes and Deena looks across the table at me and say "Atha [New England accent] she's gorgeous... and you're screwed!" (sigh)

Rest assured, mounted infra-red machine gun turrets will be stationed at all access points to my home by the fall. Also, all three boys will be undergoing para-military training. All non-related males will need to fill out background check forms, in triplicate and will be shadowed by family members or family-loyal agents at all times. I'm thinking, after college, she will be considered for limited exposure to non-family, pre-approved males.

Yeah, that will work... wait! Why are you all laughing? I'm a "boys", I know what boys are thinking... always! Danger Will Robinson! Danger! I mean it – No boys! Why are you all shaking your head and grinning... ?

The Burning Dress (No, come to think of it, I don't want to live forever, that would remove the urgency of now)

Back in the early 2000's, my ex-wife, our children & I moved in to a new custom-built home in south Phoenix. Her Grandfather, Ivan Welty, a journeyman electrician from Indiana was a reluctant new member of our home. At age 91 he wasn't the most fun guy to have in a house full of toddlers and adolescents, but he lived a rich life. Hyper-opinionated, ornery and set in his ways (a fate I fear will befall us all, eventually). Well aware if his surroundings and well versed in life, he had adopted my ex's mother and he and his wife of like, 70+ years, raised her as their only daughter.

In his last years, Ivan struggled to understand the world around him. It was new. It was redefined. Countries he knew (and even fought against in World War two!) were no longer seen as enemies or no longer even existed.

He literally went from playing pick-up sticks and watching Model T's speed past horse & buggy carriages rolling down dirt roads to seeing the US interstate system become a reality, to watching jet fighters break the sound barrier, to men walking on the moon. He lived through World War I, World War II, The Korean War, The Bay of Pigs, The Viet Nam War and saw, at least the beginning of both Desert Storms. He watched as the industrial age gave birth to the age of information. radio replacing newspapers, television replacing radio, computers overtaking television.

One day he comes into my (at home) office and sits down on the love seat I have set up for the very few visitors that came to my over-glorified man-cave.

The ensuing conversation becomes a life event I will carry with me until the end of my days.

Ivan: Arthur, how are you?

Me: Ivan! Good, thank you! How you hittin' em'?

Ivan: Oh, all right I suppose. What are you doing?

Me: Oh I 'm on the internet doing some research on a project I'm working on... (my answer trails off as I am half-engrossed in the results of the latest content search, probably info regarding some free-lance ad project at the time).

Ivan: I just don't get it! (My head and eyebrows lift slowly...) What is it? How does this dang-blasted [he spoke like that] internet thing work?

Me: Well (I ponder), I suppose the easiest explanation is that you can think of it is a world-wide network of thousands and thousands of servers – or fancy computers – linked up wirelessly to talk to each other all over the world. The information in one is available to all and vice versa.

Ivan: So what do you use it for?

Me: I suppose just about anything (not having ever been cornered with such a direct question about such an indirect thing)... information, news, books, music, movies, whatever you might want to find, it's there... or something close to it.

Ivan: [Stares quizzically] I just don't know that I will ever understand it. I want to understand, but just don't. I feel like... sometimes... that I have just lived too long.

Me: Really...? (The rest of my words chokes off as I have no real response to this. I just didn't know how to respond. Then I decide to change the mood and his perspective.) Ivan, lets do a little experiment. Give me the name of something or someone you always wanted to know more about.

Ivan: (As if he was waiting for this) You know, when I was boy there were three of us who loved to play together back in Indiana. Me, my old pal Tom and little Sarah Bordeen. We played in the thickets by the stream, in the fields and the porch of the general store. Not a one of us older than eight. [The fondness in his voice leaving me to feel compelled to hear more]

One time we got a hold of some fireworks, and started pouring kerosene into empty cans... just stupid. Not a lick of sense in our heads. Well, we start lighting these fireworks and poor Sarah's right arm and her entire sun dress is soon covered in bright-white flame. We panicked. Tom & I both ran to her, pushed her to the ground and started rolling around with her trying to douse the flames. Her whole forearm was burned with 2nd degree burns but she lived, we got her to her folks right away, who then rushed her to the town doctor.

We thought we'd be in trouble, but when they came out – we ran to the Dr's office and waited outside a good half a day, yet – Sarah came out and hugged us both, thanking us for saving her. We still got the whuppin of lives later but we were happy she was ok.

Me: Wow! That's quite some story. Would you like me to look her up?

Ivan: No. no she's passed on some years ago. She did have a son though his name was Steven. I only met him once, years ago, when he was a just a boy. I always thought that I sure would like to know what happened to that young man...

Me: (Tapping keys)

Ivan: ... he was a musical prodigy. Smart boy, always learning something new, as I ...

Me: Found him.

Ivan: Huh?

Me: I found him. It says here... wow... he is a part-time conductor for the... hey!... the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Would you like to call him?

Ivan: .....

Me: Here's his number. (As I hand the written down phone number to him, I notice now that two things have happened. Ivan is absolutely speechless and has just begun to grasp the real power behind the internet). You should give him a call.

Ivan: ... you think I should call him right now?

Me: [I hand the phone over to him] Give it a try!

Ivan dials the phone number. It rings, Steven answers.

Ivan: Hey young man, I don't know if you remember me? I am a long-time friend of your Mom.... Ivan Welty... that's right the burning dress, that's right! I wanted to call you for so long.... I know, I.... (begins to cry) I thought so many times 'whatever happened to that boy after his mom died'... how, how are you? what? (Ivan had a hearing aid in both ears) Oh, yes fine, fine thank you! I live in Arizona now with my daughter and grand kids and their family... oh, yes, quite well... (it is evident at this point that both men are crying on each side of the phone call) ... I am, so blesses, blessed... and thankful to be bale to hear your voice, boy. Oh yes, when you return... yes... two weeks... ok, ok .... ok then, you take care young man. God bless...

Ivan composes himself and then shares with me how Steven told him that his Mom spoke of him fondly and often and how he always wanted to thank him for saving his Mom's life and in turn, saving his. The gravity of this statement embeds itself into Ivan's mind. Stephen then went on to say that he and his wife and new child [all news!] were heading to Europe for several weeks with the BSO (The Boston POPS as we in the Bay State affectionately call them), and that when he returned he wanted to have a long phone visit with Ivan and catch up. Ivan thanked me, gave me the biggest hug a 91-year old could muster, and then went off to his study, emotionally drained from a phone call he never knew he could make.

Ivan died several years later at the age of 95. He did indeed live long. His life afforded him living through arguably the most fantastic century of human development in recorded history. He saw the birth of four grandchildren and 10 great grand children. In my eyes, Ivan, you did not live too long. You lived out your time in this world you were meant to. Rest now, your eyes were very busy taking all that in over the 95 years of your life.

Congratulations on a life well lived, Ivan. We would all be so lucky to see and experience half of what you did.

Everything I need to know, I learned from the Japenese

You remember those posters that were big in 1990's that had huge laundry lists of basic life affirming thoughts? You remember them 'Everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten.' Fun and filled with truisms, they reminded us of all the wonderful little social tidbits we would do well to remember daily; Wash your hands. Share Everything. Clean up your own mess. Well, the recent natural disasters that have overwhelmed Japan in the last few weeks have shed light on how an entire country – and culture – can overcome the unthinkable.

In the wake of last week's devastating dual Earthquake/Tsunami onslaught on Japan, the country has suffered total loss of coastal cities and towns, whole towns washed away, the possibility of three nuclear power plants near or at meltdown and literally tens of thousands dead or missing and millions displaced from their homes.

These highly industrious and down-right inspiring people did not loose face but instead, went right to work, saving lives, clearing debris, finding survivors or casualties and even volunteering to help shut down two nuclear reactors that had been severely damaged (even leaking radioactivity!).

Granted, the Japanese economy is a strong, first-world economy and they are some of the most focused builders in the industrialized world. But it is hard not to admire their steadfast resolve and intuitiveness. This country has withstood two atomic bomb droppings, numerous attacks by giant fire-breathing lizards and now this. These people know how to take one on the chin. I will honor their resolve with a Sushi and Saki dinner and watch some classic anime from the 1980's. Hey, just doing my part... and to the Japanese people I say "meiyo" [I honor you!]. You have shown us all that when the going gets tough, dive headlong into that failing nuclear reactor to save the lives of millions. My slice of humble pie is going to be pretty thick for while...

Crime & Un-Punishment

So I have to share the latest disciplinary developments in my home. When you command(!) a household of four children all roughly 40 months apart [that's total!], you realize what a necessity discipline is.

After years of beating my head against the reward & punishment-style of child discipline, I now have the complete and undivided attention of my children. For every bad grade, sass-back, infraction of any kind against a sibling or disrespectful outburst... the child looses one week of video-gaming. No exceptions.

For my kids, martial law would be better. I have tried everything; no TV, no cell phone, no internet, no ipod, no sleep-overs, no dessert, being grounded from everything from swimming to favorite TV shows -- even spankings! -- and I promise you dear reader, ALL of them pale in comparison to a life of hands devoid of Wii or XBOX 360 controllers.

I am sure you are thinking "good for you buddy... you've now figured out what every other 21st Century parent already has. Nice job." But this, true believers, is just the beginning. You see normally this topic wouldn't even be blog-worthy really, but my children have engineered a new form of haggling and negotiating that would make even Bernie Madoff proud.

Now with every swing of the video-game gavel, each child now bargains for "early parole" from their punishment, asking "what can I do to earn it back?" My answer is always "Nothing." Hey can't do the time, don't do the crime, right? Well this is where they start to get creative; "what if I do all of my brother's chores?" Huh? Where was this exuberance for household cleanliness when you were whacking your brother in the head with a plastic sword 20 minutes ago?!? "If you let me play, I promise to be good." Are you kidding me? Are my ears deceiving me? Let me get this straight, if I let you have your games back, you swear allegiance to light side?

"So you're threatening to be good?" I ask. "No Dad..." they respond, "... we just won't do it again." I am baffled. "How is it that I'm to believe this now when for years you NEVER treated your brother/sister properly?"

Silence. A blank stare. Then a shoulder shrug.

The very prospect of trying to negotiate a lighter sentence is intriguing but these kids have watched one too many episodes of Law & Order if they think I'm going to fall for that one. "Listen, the best way to get your time back is to never loose it in the first place." The exchange is usually followed by an array of tears, plea-bargaining and some weak-attempt to try and convince me they have, quite suddenly, turned a new leaf.

Points for originality. 25 demerits for missing the point.

Sorry, the verdict stands. Now, go read a book...

Think you're hungry now? Just wait, if you don't get your act together, some kid in China will be eating your lunch 10 years from now.

Recently, my oldest son (presently 12) asked me what language I thought he should take in school. Without hesitation I responded; "Chinese or Spanish. In that order." He seemed perplexed. "Wow. Really?" he said to me. Sure. By the time he turns 21, roughly 1/5 of the total population in the world will be speaking either Mandarin or Cantonese. The largest business opportunities will be in China. Hands down. Sure, sure, we live in the American Southwest and there is a heavy Hispanic contingent/population here. As is the case in most major American cities. But that's NOT where the big money will be coming from. Believe that.

Is it all about money? Of course not. But what parent doesn't want a better life for their child(ren)? Just ask Amy Chua, Chinese-American Mother to two daughters in New Haven, Connecticut. She was recently profiled in an article that ran in the Wall Street Journal (!) that examined the mindset of the "Tiger Mom" (a label applied to an Asian Mom who holds true to Eastern cultural ideals in her home). Her now-teenage daughters were NEVER allowed the following:

• Attend ANY sleep-overs

• Have a play date (or a date of any kind)

• Participate in any school plays

• Complain about not being in any school plays

• Watch TV or play video games

• Play any instrument other than the Piano or Violin

(Minimum three hours practice, daily)

• NOT play the Piano or Violin

And the kicker?

• They were not allowed to get any grade lower than an "A"

Ok, I know, EVERY American parent is likely to be up in arms over some of this. If you want to read the full Washington Post article, it is posted at the end of this installment. That said, it's hard to dispute the near-divine levels of over-achievement Asian students categorically seem to attain. Personally, I sit in awe of their accomplishments. Why don't we let them be kids? Why can't we let them play and have fun? Why would any do things like this to their own children?

I don't have a lot of answers to this, my reactions were very similar. Here are some other point the article shed light on; American parents seem pre-occupied with their children's self-esteem and sense of mental well-being. Chinese mothers have no such trappings. No I don't even know if I am qualified to discuss this topic in depth (other than being a parent) but having played the role of Mom and Dad, I will tell you that I have always been mindful of the psychological impact of events in my kids lives. Maybe more than is necessary. Second, Chinese culture suggests that children owe EVERYTHING to their parents. This is why kids Asian families hold their parent in such high regard. I wonder if I will be able to depend on any of my progeny when I am too old to do for myself. Lastly, as the article states, Chinese Mothers believe they know what's best for their kids, even over their kid's own desires and beliefs. I think we can all connect with this one. Ensuring that children make positive life choices is the parent's responsibility.

When I thought about blogging about this, I knew several things were going to come to light; first, I don't know NEAR enough about the Chinese culture or mindset to fully comment on these points. I also knew that no matter what I did, I would be making broad, racially skewed comments and three, as an art school graduate who makes his living everyday as a creative professional, commenting the traits of a foreign culture in context of their social habits would help me display just how little I know. In our world. Of China. On being a parent.

The irony isn't lost on me commenting on the financial and professional future of my children while being such an open-minded proponent of Free-thinking and individualism. I can also concede that American innovation, born out free-thinking and ingenuity is something the world over desires and even lusts after. Not the least of which is China.

In the end, maybe I aught to take on a more "Tiger Dad" philosophy when raising my own kids. Like parents the world over, I want only the best for my children. Perhaps American culture, though declining, will rebound and come roaring back, stronger than ever. But that doesn't mean we can't take some cues from other cultures. Maybe China isn't exactly "eating our lunch" but they are the world's fastest growing economy and will overtake the US in GDP, product and resource consumption and innovative technologies.

Regardless, don't be too surprised if you visit our home and we're all speaking Mandarin by the end of 2013. After all, every child in China is taught a working knowledge of English by age 10.

Full Washington Post Article Here:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html

Whoa, that was close... !

Last night, at the recommendation of a very good friend, I watched a movie called "Kick Ass". Awesome! I won't spoil or even discuss the movie here but, though a bit gory, was loads of fun, tons of Super-hero references and kitchey as all get-out.

Not many American adolescent boys can say they have NEVER dreamed of being a super hero (if I may borrow from the movie's opening monologue). I was no exception. I will spare you, true-believer, of the near-insane details of my own meta-human fantasies and delve right into my real thoughts for this posting. Namely how often in our own lives do we defy some or even all odds and can sit here and converse with one another. We can all name a few. Here are a few of mine.

Through a careful balance of self-magnified stress, self medication, ignoring personal health signs and generally being (virally) sick, I ended up in a coma on May 5th, 2006. I can't tell you much about the experience here (I will save those details for another time) but I can tell you it was a surreal experience (again, we can have a great off-line discussion about the white light later). But to keep it brief I awoke six days later and really felt as though I had left and come back. It wasn't like a really long REM sleep, it was... something else. Later I had discovered that, among other things I had gone septic. The medical term is known as Sepsis and kills tens of thousands every year, with as high as an 80% mortality rate. Yet, here I am today, typing this experience to share with you. Whoa, that was close.

At age six, my Mom and I were arsoned out of an apartment building in Boston in the early 1970's. I remember lots of shouting and commotion and my Mom carrying me over her shoulder me groggily watching the event unfold in reverse as I look back over my Mom's shoulder watching timbers and staircases collapse in jaws of bright orange flame. We then, in quite Hollywood fashion, were the last people out as the doorway literally exploded in a burst of white-hot flame, watching the entire six-story tenement bellow a fiery, unearthly glow. Whoa, that was close.

At age nine, on my way home from the bus stop on a brisk fall after noon, a young man was trying to haul a significant stack of luggage up the street. "Hey kid, can you help me? I need to get my stuff to my apartment, I'll pay you five bucks." As we walk up Huntington Avenue, I notice I had been walking for a while and asked "where is your place?" He responds, "oh it's just a bit further". After a couple more times of me asking this and getting the same response I let him know I couldn't go any farther and had to get home, Mom was waiting. "Oh c'mon," he said "its just a little farther up the street." When I said no he got really ticked off, grumbled something unkind under his breath, took his luggage from me and hustled off. Two days later that same guy appeared on the local evening news as a suspect in eight different child molestation incidents. Whoa, that was close.

These events help inform lots of things in my world. How I relate to others, how I raise my children, how I play video games. In relating to others, I know that we all have our own life agendas, so when people speak, they speak from their belief system and their goal-induced sense of daily purpose. As a Dad, I know that every word I say, action I take and move I make are under scrutiny by four people whose lives I help mold. As a gamer, I know that simulated fantasy is just that but it also provides insight; be good to others and good things will come to you. Recklessness begets recklessness and that emptying 2,000 rounds into a killer robot really can help end a bad day on a high note.

Life has a funny way of reminding us about the delicacy, fragility and immeasurably precious nature of our lives. Ever have a bullet go by your head? Ever been mugged at knife point? Ever see someone get run over by a car? I have. All these things remind me of how closely we must hold the wonderful gift of life. Super heroes, as a phenomenon, epitomize ordinary people given the opportunity to do extraordinary things. That capacity lies within all of us. I think it helps remind us what life is really about. In short; it's the journey AND the destination.

We should all be so blessed as to have a few times in our lives when we look back say to ourselves or to others "Whoa, that was close."

This year's resolution; no more damn resolutions!

I'm fighting it. I really am. I am fighting the urge to become the grumpy old man who bores everyone with tales of woe that always seems to begin with "... well in my day." As if 'their day' was some long-lost, forgotten time when all men were mighty warriors that fended off horrible Pterodactyl attacks where these giant predatory monsters swooped down and stole our young. If you're still breathing, isn't today still "your day"?

I am referring of course to our cultural ritual of making "New Year's Resolutions" that time of year when we purpose to better ourselves in some way. Loose weight. Read more. Save the planet. Blah, blah, blah. Well, as for me, I'm Fed-Up. Whats wrong with me as I am? Yeah, we all could shed a pound or two, I would love to read more, blog more, take that creative writing class I have been flirting with.

I don't want to appear crass, but if the first 30 or so years of New Year resolutions didn't take, then why would this one. My oldest son asked me on New Year's eve; "what's your New Year resolution Dad?". I didn't have one. While I sat in my bedroom with my three adolescent sons and a teenage daughter all sleepily watching a tape delay of the Times Square Ball do it's midnight drop (we live in the Southwest so the East Coast is a smooth two hours ahead of us), it dawned on me, I haven't the slightest interest in declaring something new over myself. That plate is already full!

So, after lengthy deliberations, this year, I do indeed have a New Year resolution: No New Year resolutions! Why put additional stress on myself? Believe me, I am putting enough pressure on the current me to do and be better. Check in with me next January. Maybe then I can start saying; "... back in my day (2010), we used to make New Year Resolutions that mattered." Then the Pterodactyl can swoop in and scoop me up.

What if Christmas had nothing to do with getting presents?

I fianlly get it. I finally go the whole "Bah humbug!" thing. Scrouge and the Grinch, I understand, boys. Now, that's not to say I agree with the way they handled themselves, but recent less-than-promising behaviour by my children has prompted me to re-evaluate the meaning and context of Christmas.

Yes, it is the time we honor the birth of Jesus Christ. And for the sake of keeping my point from being diluted, all mention of Chanukah and Kwanza are not excluded but I hate the dumbing down of the season's enaing. When I was kid there was no real mention or understanding of Kwanza and Chanukah is for Jewish folks, which are all fine but not tied to the topic of commercialization I am making.

Baller or White Collar?

My oldest son has decided he will be one of two professions in his [adult] life; a professional basketball player or a lawyer. Uh... OK. Both are ambitious. Both seem, well... reasonable enough. Both will take hard work. You know where my mind goes? "Son, how are you going to study for the Bar Exam while playing in the NCAA tournament?"


Sure, most athletes don't even get close to even considering the NBA. As a parent, I have to nurture. In my heart I know Aaron, my son, doesn't exactly cherish the idea of hard work. He can't even make his bed in the morning. However, if he feels the siren call of a life as an athlete, I will help him on that path.

The motivation? I'm not really sure.

Now my oldest son does indeed qualify for being a certified "mini-me". Dad loves basketball ("Go Celtics!"), he loves basketball. Dad loves Salmon on his salad. Aaron? Ditto. So I am weary that basketball is his passion because it is mine. That's OK, though, right? I mean we are all massively influenced by our parents. my son is as well. I also think he watches the NBA and thinks, 'yeah, I could do that. That guy air walking to the rim and slamming it over his shoulders is doing something I'm going to do.'

Law school? In discussions, Aaron loves to argue his point, more precisely, he likes to have the last word. Neither necessarily makes for a good attorney. Four years of pre-law, four years of law school, then you have to take the bar. Its a leap, especially for a little boy (12) who can't keep his eyes open past 9pm. I will encourage both but I will wait for the credits to roll on this one before I form any final thoughts.

NBA? Aaron truly loves basketball but he also loves Pepperoni Pizza with extra cheese, Steak, Egg & Cheese breakfast burritos and Pop Tarts. These are things that would need to be scaled way back and eventually eliminated from his diet, should he look to pursue being a pro athlete. Not that he can't, but that level of discipline has not been noticed in many other things up until this point.

Now all children struggle with equating that hard work brings desired results. How could they know that most 'ballers' have had a ball in their hand for as long as they can remember (some into toddler years, really!) and that the ability to jump 40+ inches isn't something that just happens. Being in the NBA is equal parts genetics, skill, ability, talent, divine providence and luck. Again, I will withhold further thoughts, but that is a perfect storm I will need to see before I can believe it.

As for being a lawyer, well, there is a lot needed to make that decision as well. What type of law? Where do you want to practice (geographically)? Giant law firm partnership or private practice? Ambulance chaser or corporate securities? There is a lot to consider.

I guess I will be content being a proud parent of a boy who, at 12, has decided that the future holds a metric ton of possibilities. Nothing says he couldn't be the first baller with a white collar. It certainly beats have a child that as no idea what interests them in the least.

Spamtastic Advertising!

So there I was, trolling around on the Internet, looking for inspiration for a retro ad design idea I had and ran across this gem. The world that this ad spoke to has long since vanished but it will live on in infamy with cautionary tales of a time not-too-long-ago but well forgotten.

First, I absolutely LOVE the idea that the "recipes" are two-to-four words in length. Yum! Next, it appears that the same, cleverly disguised "Lois Lane" lady has the same brainstorm for every meal; SPAM. "What about dessert?" "Hot fudge Spam!"

While I am thinking about it, I love that not one but TWO processed-straight-to-the-grave-after-eating foods are featured. Did you catch the Velveeta/Spam Sandwich suggestion? Hey, put it on some Wonder Bread and you won't even have any real food any more!

You know, I got into advertising because I came to conclusion in college that advertising is our common language. It is what informs every Americans experience. Ask a friend; "Hey, did you see the new Gieco Commercial?" If they say no, four other people chime in about how funny it was and start quoting it, the person inevitably feels like a schmuck. "Oh, well, it's really funny -- wait until you see it!" Advertising becomes this common bond Americans share and allows for some of our greatest social events; the Super Bowl half-time show, where many actually tune in for the commercials. The holidays. Let's face it, holiday specials are about selling toys, costumes or Turkey Dinners. Valentines day is day engineered to guilt people to find ways of spending money on each other and Easter is an excuse to sell candy and vastly unbelievable concepts like egg-laying rabbits.

Advertising is even responsible for many of our most advanced forms of social technology and information exchange. In fact, radio and TV were invented to bring product ads to large-scale audiences. They inserted plays, music and television shows to attract audiences to hear about products. You can't even go to the movies now without seeing ads for soft drinks, community colleges and cable TV shows.

D0n't even get me started on the internet. Is there any surprise that junk mail is called "SPAM"?

And that, brings me to my final point. If SPAM was such a great meal alternative, why does it have such a bad rap? As a child, I grew up consuming my fair share of the canned processed meat wonder, I'm sorry to say.

I leave you with these chilling thoughts right from the closing words of this ad, which sums it up beautifully: "Because it does not need refrigeration, it's easy to keep a good supply of SPAM always on hand... ready for action. Speak to your food dealer today. Say: SPAM!"

I gotta' go. Apparently I am supposed to shout things at my "food dealer". Whoever that is.