Don't Sweat My Swag (aka The Middle Aged ManSuit)

You're doing it right now and you may have no idea. That's ok, it won't hurt. I was doing it almost every day and nobody said anything or seemed to mind. I was doing it right out in public. Didn't get arrested, even once.

Every generation has a uniform, even if they or we don't realize it. Very often we're wearing the uniform of our generation without thinking about it or choosing it. We're quick to recognize other generations uniforms but we never see our own. Unfortunately for me I had a couple experiences recently that pulled back the curtain and exposed me. Or rather, exposed my...uniform. 

I see examples of uniforms everywhere I go. Teenagers, who believe they are so independent and like to make a "statement" about their identity are almost the worst offenders. When I pull up to my kids school virtually every girl comes out in sweatpants and Ugg boots while every boy has jeans, a zippered hoodie, and Justin Biebers haircut. (I could have Justin Biebers haircut if I wanted, once the restraining order expires.) Recently my lack of understanding of part of one generations uniform exposed me for what I am...an adult. Ugh. That was painful to admit.

One of my sons asked for money for Christmas so he could buy his own clothes. Apparently at some point me dressing him as myself, a superhero, or in Garanimals is no longer cool. So armed with a pocketful of benjamins (this is a word referring to Benjamin Franklin, who is on the $100 bill) I sent him to the mall completely unsupervised. When he returned home he showed off his purchases, one of which was a wrist watch the size of a hubcap and appearing to weigh several pounds. So after I was hilarious with the Wonder Woman and Flava Flav jokes, one of my other sons saw what appeared to be a NASA satellite affixed to his brothers wrist and informed us that the watch most definitely was "swag." Now being as hip to the teen lingo as I am, I know that "swag" is a good thing. I don't like to be flashy, so I keep my swag in a safe in the basement and only tell my children stories about all the swag I had when I was their age. Later in the week I was with one of my sons at a lesson and his instructor who might be moderately younger and perhaps, if at all possible, a little cooler than I, was wearing a similar swag watch. Apparently a swag watch, or Swatch for short, is an important part of the teen/young adult uniform. 

Finally we get to my uniform.  I was at the supermarket the other day thinking I was full of swag in my white Nikes, jeans, button down oxford and leather jacket. Then I looked around the supermarket at what appeared to be an army of guys my age wearing some version of the exact same jeans/oxford/leather combo pushing a cart and picking up a gallon of milk and a 12 pack of Cottonelle.It was like a "Where's Waldo" picture where everyone is some slightly altered version of the original Waldo. This was when it hit me. I was wearing The Middle Aged Man Suit.

Let's see, I've referenced Wonder Woman, Ben Franklin and Where's Waldo.Is it possible I don't have as much swag as I thought? Nah!

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The Junk on Your Trunk

Yes, it's the holiday season and with all the festivities we're all probably adding a little junk to our trunk. But that's not the trunk I want to talk about. Not that your trunk isn't worth talking about. I'm sure it's delightful, but it's the junk on your trunk I want to talk about. Many of you have the trunk of your car or SUV festooned with some decorative statement about who you are. 

First off, festooning is never good. Just using the word festoon impugns my manliness. And you know I don't have enough manliness to go around impugning it all willy nilly. The fact that I just used "willy nilly" is evidence of the limits of my manliness. Sometimes based on the junk on your trunk I also wonder how much manliness, or sanity, you have.

OBX: You think that you're telling us you've been to the Outer Banks region of North Carolina for vacation. What we see is someone who misspelled Box, which is 13 points in Words with Friends. 

13.1 or 26.2: You see these numbers frequently and some of you may have them on your trunk.. Apparently they indicate that the driver has run either a half-marathon (13.1) or full marathon (26.2). You know what? If your such a damn good runner, why don't you just get out of your car and run wherever you're going. You can have the numbers tattooed on your real trunk. And what's with the decimals? This is the United States! Decimals are for Canadians and their new fangled metric system. Oooooh! What a big shot you are! Did you run a tenth or two tenths more than someone? Apparently you have to run the extra tenth or two to get the sticker because I've never seen  just a 13 or 26 sticker. I wonder if there are runners out there who feel like failures  because they could only make it 13 or 26 miles. I'm having a 20 sticker made. That's the distance in feet from my couch to my refrigerator.

The Stick Figure Family: What is this supposed to tell us? Are you all anorexic, including your dog and cat? I once saw a car with the stick figure family but it was just the Dad and two kids and there was a space between the Dad and kids as if there had been a Mom stick figure and it was removed. Apparently she got that in the divorce settlement. Somewhere there's a sad, lonely woman driving around with a stick figure of herself on her car. If you're a single guy follow that car to the liquor store. She's probably an easy mark right about now. And if you're a single guy, I seriously do not want to see what that stick figure sticker is going to look like. 

The Ribbon Magnet: There are so many support ribbon magnets that they've become de-valued. You can support our troops, schleroderma, autism, and your favorite football team with a ribbon magnet for your car. If you're a left handed, autistic, football player from West Point who has bad skin you can probably buy enough ribbon magnets to put a ring of them all the way around your car. In fact, I'm thinking of creating a ribbon magnet for people who feel left out because they have no reason to have a ribbon magnet. 

Yes, I know there isn't much of a holiday theme to this one, but if you want to give the gift of The Phil Factor for Christmas, Hannukah or Kwanzaa just click the Facebook "Like" button below. The Phil Factor can also be delivered wirelessly to your Kindle wherever you are for just 99 cents a month. You can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and find me on Words with Friends as Phil2365. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo

To coincide with the release of the movie The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I've authorized the Franklin Mint to re-release in limited run this classic from The Phil Factor archives. Enjoy!

No, this is not a male version of the popular novel The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. This is much better than that. It's my blog where I make fun of stuff. I'm pretty sure nobody had very many laughs reading that dragon tattoo book. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also is not a fictional character. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is a guy I see at my Starbuck's almost every morning. To be fair, it's not really my Starbucks. I am neither owner nor manager, but The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo still shows up there regularly regardless of my lack of affiliation with the place. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is bald. Not old man, male pattern baldness bald, but "I shaved my head so I can look like a bad ass" bald.  The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also has a giant scorpion tattooed on his bald head. A scorpion tattoo that is much larger than any real scorpion. The tattoo stretches from the top of his head, wrapping around the back and down to the top of the neck. Each morning I wonder, what exactly is he trying to tell the world about himself? 

Evil. I think having a giant scorpion tattooed on a menacing bald head kind of screams evil. My shamrock tattoo says I'm Irish. His scorpion tattoo says 'I'm evil." In fact after observing The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo daily for awhile now, I'm pretty sure he is actually Satan. Yup, the real one. Apparently, just like you and me, Satan stops for his Starbucks fix on his way to work every day. Coffee black of course. None of those frou frou girly drinks with whipped cream.  He keeps to himself and goes about his business quietly while at Starbucks, but just the same, I'm pretty sure he's Satan. He makes small talk with the baristas so as not to arouse any suspicion. He tips, but never too much or too little. He always sits alone at the table by the window. 

I suppose it's possible right? I mean, Satan has a job to do every day doesn't he? If he didn't show up for work each day encouraging evil, imagine all the police officers, military, and jail staff that would be out of work. Without evil our economy suffers. So like the rest of us, Satans day begins when his alarm goes off. Because he's evil, he hits snooze. Twice. Then I imagine Satan walking his dog clad in pajama pants and a Motley Crue reunion tour t-shirt. Obviously, he doesn't pick up the poop in a little bag because of his inherent evil nature. Unlike me,  Satan never bothers to iron his shirt for work either. Before leaving for work he grabs his bagged lunch, grumbling over the low carb kick his wife is on, and gives Mrs. Satan a little kiss and let's her know if he'll be home late because there's a need for a little extra unrest in the middle east. Then he hops in the Satan mobile (you would think a red car, but he thinks that's too flashy and goes with black. Tinted windows of course. Maybe a Mustang.) Then he stops at Starbuck's to have his coffee and go over his schedule, all the while making a mental note that when he gets some extra time he'll have to perpetrate some evil on that guy in the suit who stares at him every morning.  

Remember the 1995 Joan Osborne song, "What if God Were One of Us?"  If God could be one of us, so could Satan. And if Satan had a name, I imagine it wouldn't be any of those fancy biblical names like Beezlebub or Lucifer. Seriously, how much of a give away would that be? He'd be constantantly hounded by fans and papparazzi. No, I'm pretty sure that if Satan has a name it's something like Ed. And yes Ms. Osborne, I would call him Ed to his face. I wonder if Ed has a blog...If he does, I'm pretty sure he gets more reads than the 27 I got last week because his friends click on the Facebook "Share" button below. C'mon people, we can't let evil win!  

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The Guy Code of Conduct Chapter 3: Present Buying

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Yeah, if you like mental and emotional torture. It's that time of year when we as men are put to the test. The relationship test. Well, it's not THE relationship test. There are countless relationship tests day in and day out that test our mettle as a husband, fiance or boyfriend. Buying presents for special occasions is one of those tests. Whether you celebrate Hannukah or Christmas, put on your thinking caps boys because it's time to sharpen your perceptive accumen. Make no mistake though, it's not me assuming that men have perceptive accumen, it's the women, and therein lies the problem. 

Did anyone see or read The Davinci Code or any of the sequels to it? Professor Robert Langdon kept finding himself in life threatening situations in which he has to solve a mystery using obscure clues found in ancient artifacts and works of art that were usually hidden all over some city. Sounds like Christmas shopping doesn't it? Langdon had it easy though. He was only up against a murderous cult or psychotic nutcase. And if he was successful in saving the day he usually got a little nookie at the end. Still sounds like Christmas shopping to me. 

Now back to that perceptive accumen. Let's hop in Peabody's Wayback Machine, destination 1989. Our hero Phil had a fiance. And a mullet.Typically those last two things are mutually exclusive. One day Phil, his fiance and his mullet were strolling merrily through a store in a mall when the fiance saw a shower massage and said, "Oh, I'd like one of those." Fast forward a month when said fiance opens her Christmas gift to find the aforementioned shower massage. And it was a damn nice shower massage too. If  it was a Davinci Code novel, however,  Langdon's family would be dead and he was getting no nookie. Not even in the shower. I kept the fiance, lost the mullet and stll hear that shower massage mentioned every year as an example of the worst gift buying ever. 

My point is, sometimes the subtle hints women drop regarding what they want are often lost on men. It's not that we're stupid, it's that our brains work differently. Men are hard wired for action and reaction. We are hunters while women are gatherers. I've seen the pet pyschic have better luck interpreting a single woof from a one eyed, three legged basset hound with the pulse of a ficus tree. "What's that Lucky? Your owner doesn't hug you enough? You miss your siblings who were left behind at the pound? Wait, I hear a voice coming through from beyond. I think it's your grandmother. She says 'woof, woof', does that mean something to you? Wait, I'm translating, she says she didn't want a shower massage for Christmas. She wanted a rawhide chew." That's right, it's a pet pychic who channels the spirits of dead animals. And he's still more accurate at that than most men are at deciphering the byzantine, labrynthine maze of clues women leave to test us.

Getting the wrong gift ruins Christmas for everyone. If a woman isn't happy with her gift, we can tell and we feel like a jerk. Nobody wins. Often a Christmas gone wrong might go like this:

Woman: (sigh) "oh, a sweater. Thanks."

Guy: "What? What's wrong? That time when we were in the store you said you liked that sweater.You didn't mention anything else." 

Woman: "Yes I did. Several times. Remember when we went out to dinner and I said I liked the dessert? Well they make the dessert with the Cuisinart 6000 Deluxe Mixmaster Turbo. And I wanted it in taupe to match my kitchen. And one of those Jane Seymour necklaces." 

Guy: "What the hell is taupe? And those stupid Jane Seymour necklaces don't look anything like hearts. They look like swans."

Guys, don't stress yourself over gathering clues. Our brains aren't made they way. We're hunters. Ladies, if you want something just say it and we will go hunt it down. Yeah, I know, not a great final punchline, but c'mon, I worked in shower massages, pet psychics and Jane Seymour here, that's gotta be enough. 

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2011: The Year In Review?

No, just kidding. I'm seriously not going to review the year either personally or in music, movies, or news. I love the holidays, but I hate watching t.v. this time of year. There isn't a single media outlet that can resist the obligatory "Year in Review" piece. Why? We all know what happened! We don't need the events ranked for us. And for cryin' out loud don't give us that videography set to music of the people that died this year! That's so depressing it makes me want to join that list immediately. 

I'm also not one to send one of those form letter Christmas cards: "Dear (insert name here), 2011 was a wonderful year for my family. I started a new job, little Johnny learned to poop indoors and that rash on Susie's face cleared up...blah, blah, blah...." If you're a friend, I've talked to you throughout the year, followed you on Facebook and you know what I've been doing and I know what you've been doing. So lets look ahead. Why not list what we'd like to see in the coming year? Here is my list of things I'd like to see happen in 2012.

1. More David Blaine. I hate him, but I miss him. Where the hell did that guy go? A couple years ago you couldn't walk down to your mailbox without finding him locked inside it. He was on t.v. constantly,  just locking himself inside stuff. For no reason! No one even asked him to! I think maybe he locked himself in something two years ago and couldn't get out and we all just forgot about him. 

2. I'd like an end to all reality shows. Each and every one of them. There is an entire generation of television writers who haven't had to come up with a new idea in 15 years. Even the "new" ideas for reality shows aren't original. Most of the original reality show ideas were stolen from foreign television. "Reality" television isn't remotely like any reality I've ever seen. Not once in my reality have I been stranded on a desert island or locked in a house with a bunch of strangers and forced to manipulate others or eat live bugs in order to win a pizza. 

3. I'd like to see a law passed eliminating Leap Year and Day. All months should be the same length. This goes along with my Daylight Savings Time grudge. If we didn't muck about with our clocks so much we could probably get our calendar straightened out too. 

4. I'd like to see 2012 pass without so much as a single "news" item using the words "Lohan" or "Kardashian." Oh my God. I just had a thought. What if Lindsay Lohan marries Rob Kardashian? 

5. 2012 is an election year and I'll say it again:  I think we ought to elect our next President American Idol style. Week by week eliminations until the winner is announced on live t.v. Why not? It would get more people involved in the political process if they could participate via television and cell phone. Instead of 80's hits night we'd have the New Hampshire primary. Then again, why not 80's hits night? I think the President should be able to inform and entertain during the State of the Union address. If they hold open auditions in a town near me I am so going to sleep out overnight to be in line.  Gingrich and Obama would have no shot at beating out my obvious charm. And I would look really tall standing next to Ryan Seacrest. 

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