Fey Troubles: Must See TV vs. My Marriage

It has been a long time since I’ve needed to hide magazines from the women in my life. But then Vanity Fair put Tina Fey on the cover, but worse - every Thursday night she tests my marriage.

I’ve long been a big fan Tina Fey fan; starting long before the Sarah Palin resemblance propelled her to international prominence. I was enthralled back when she was the SNL news anchor. But what sealed it was when, during an episode of Thirty Rock she was in a video conference, saw herself and said, “My eyes are so far apart, I look like Admiral Akbar.”

A reference to Admiral Akbar, leader from Mon Calamari and commander of the rebel fleet! For a Star Wars obsessed guy -

WOW!
Sigh.
"You had me at Akbar."

This isn’t just liking Star Wars this is true dorkdom (a reference to General Viers would probably make me foam at the mouth).

But here is the thing. I won’t say my wife gets jealous exactly. But…

I mentioned once that I thought Maura Tierney was “talented.” Not “hot,” which my wife generally ignores. “Hot” is just lucky genetics, not a cause of concern to a wife.

Some time later my wife casually mentioned during a Maura Tierney scene on ER, “You can see that she is really heavily made-up. Look at her hands.”

Now, any joy at seeing Ms. Tierney on screen is overshadowed as I visualize hands that look like they belong to Admiral Akbar.

I don’t know what my wife might have on Tina Fey – I don’t want to think about it.

Worse, I might retaliate by criticizing Sportacus (while my wife seems to take an inordinate interest in watching Lazy Town, at least she isn’t writing Sportacus fan fiction.)

It would escalate from there, as my wife ruined Laurie Berkner for me…

I don’t want to see it go this way, so I’ll just keep my latest issue of Vanity Fair hidden. (Under the mattress is no longer viable – and a little creepy – fortunately, my office is a mess.) But at least in this case, when it is inevitably discovered I can legitimately say I had it for the articles – although that might only make things worse.

Sweet Sevens 2: Signs of Virtue

The other day, during one of our frequent trips to TARGET, my son bought two packs of football cards. He is obsessed with cards of all sorts – Pokeman, Yu-Gi-Oh, or any sport. When I took him to the Lincoln Memorial he bought a pack of National Parks cards. While listening to Harry Potter, he heard about the Wizards cards of famous wizards. This made him want to go to Hogwarts – not to learn transfiguration or how to fly around on a broomstick, but to get wizards cards. (He has shown no magical ability so I fear he is a muggle and Hogwarts is not in his future.)

Anyway, at TARGET the cashier rang him up (he has only just acquired his own money and is still very excited to spend it.) My transaction was complete, so I was busy minding Goof Girl and having the same discussion we have every time we go to store that sells toys. She filibusters for the latest Sickly Sweet Over-Marketed Little Girl Thing with Sparkles and I tell her no.

“Hey, those should be two dollars!” I heard my son say. I turned around. He was disputing the price. He had pulled the packs from the 99-cent bin, but the price for two came to $4.38. The cashier double-checked and he had been mistaken. But still, he’s only seven and he had the sense to watch his money (clearly inherited from his mother) and the courage to speak up to a grown-up.

What a kid!

Star Wars: The Next Generation

This afternoon, home from school because of snow, my son and a buddy watched The Empire Strikes Back, truly the best of the Star Wars movies. I popped in and out to catch my favorite moments. Having seen the movie well over one hundred times, I knew exactly when these moments were.

This is a big deal for him, because I had originally told him that he would see the Star Wars movies at the age I saw them. His birthday present when he turned seven was to see Star Wars (technically A New Hope, but now known as “Number Four”). But I determined that he would have to wait until he was nine to see the sequel. My wife considered this cruel, both because most of his friends have seen the entire series and because I talk about Star Wars constantly.

Apparently, my son was also talking about it a great deal, because his friends started talking about it. For that matter the two-year-old little sisters of my son’s friends began talking about “Darfader” and staging light-saber duels between their dolls. (My son is apparently a natural trendsetter.) So my son’s friends dads let their sons watch the movies so that they wouldn’t feel left out. I don’t think these dads needed much prodding. So my son became the one left out, although we read Star Wars books, re-enacted key scenes, and discussed the historical background of the Star Wars universe ad nauseam.

We did let him watch a video about the making of Star Wars, which inspired him to create one of his terrific games within games. First we would be the production committee, organizing the next scene of the movie. Then we would draw it out with magic markers. Then we would actually re-enact the scene.

When we finally let him watch Star Wars an odd thing happened. He didn’t seem blown away by the adventure (although I couldn’t get a good read because my wife had to keep shushing me when I tried to recite the lines.) But, he already knew a lot of the action. But he burst into laughter at some of the funny parts, like R2-D2 trundling around the desert on Tatooine or some of the moments in the trash compactor. But then I knew another generation was born when, at the very end when the Death Star is destroyed (I hope I’m not ruining it for anyone) he simply said, “Wow!”

Original Star Wars Generation
We were dubbed Generation-X by the Baby Boomers (who frankly could not imagine any generation following them.) But really we were the Skywalker Generation. I believe we have an odd streak of hopefulness because for most of us Star Wars was the biggest, bestest thing we could possibly imagine – and then a few years later Empire Strikes Back came out and was even better. Name another sequel that was better than its predecessor. It made us believe, in something…

For people in my chronological demographic, the original Star Wars is a cultural touchstone. Rather then list the pop culture references to Star Wars allow me to share one small personal anecdote about how Star Wars soaked we are. I live near a Veers Road. Every single time I drive by or pass this road (on average over 20 times a week), I hear Darth Vader’s voice in my head commanding, “General Veers, prepare your men.”

(It was in Empire Strikes Back, and yes I rushed into the den to see the line spoken and recite it this afternoon – much to my son’s annoyance.)

A few years ago, when my brother was visiting, we drove across Veers Road, and my brother turned to me and asked, “Wasn’t Veers the Imperial commander during the battle of Hoth?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “He got to drive an AT-AT, wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Better than a bantha!”

And now, having seen Empire Strikes Back, my son will get that many more of my references:

Son, you can destroy mommy. She has foreseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together, we can rule the household as father and son! Come with me. It is the only way.

Afterschool Activities

My son loves his afterschool boxing program!

Plus, I get to practice my Spanish yelling, "Tumbalo! Tumbalo!"

Wagering however, is still frowned upon.

Hating Bobby Jindal and Mortality

Getting old beats the alternative, but it still bites.

I had to come to terms fairly early with the reality that I was older than most successful athletes. Now I know, with absolute certainty, that I will never get the call to the big leagues. Of course, I had a pretty good idea that wouldn't happen by the age of nine - so it didn't eat me alive.

In entertainment, middle-aged men can still be big stars (Hugh Jackman is older than me) - although here too, the that call was always unlikely.

But last night Louisiana's boy genius governor Bobby Jindal made his national debut, giving the Republican response to the State of the Nation. It is at least reasonably likely that he will be President one day, making him the first President younger than me. Since Presidents tend to be in their fifties, I was hoping to put this moment off until I was in my sixties - at which point age and wisdom (or at least in my case senility) dulled the cuts of time's cruel blade.

Looking up Mr. Jindal, it turns out he also, on the side, has become a multi-millionaire. Salt in the wound...

I think of Shakespeare's words in Richard the Second:

I wasted time
and now doth time waste me

Of course, maybe if I stopped mumbling Shakespeare to myself and did a bit of work... I still wouldn't be delivering the rebuttal to the State of the Union.

Sweet Sevens: Getting Jokes 1

Seven is proving to be a great age. He can read and amuse himself. While still energetic, my son is more or less governed by his brain. The deathwish that possesses small children to stick their tongues in electric sockets, drink lye, and try to climb into the toilet has begun to dissipate. He still can be stubborn. He can still be madly emotional, but while the causes are often trivial, they are at least rational. The other day he was disconsolate, having lost a burping contest during recess. His mother, while initially nurturing, walked away when she learned the cause. As a good father I took him aside, talked to him gently, and listened to him burp.

“Son,” I told him, “You are burping from the throat. No resonance and you wear out your larynx. Bring the air down deep into your diaphragm. You can sound out whole words.”

But, best of all, he can get fairly sophisticated humor and even make clever jokes. As a one-time comic wannabe, this is heaven. For example, in the wake of the inauguration he asked me about the vice president. I reiterated McCain’s joke that the vice president’s main job is to call the president and see if he is still alive. I added that the Veep goes to meetings and events when the President doesn’t want to. I began riffing, like the second coming of Bob Newhart, holding my hand with an extended thumb and pinky like a phone:

”Hey, Vice President, this is the President. Yes, yes, I’m happy to be talking to you too. So listen, I have a really important job for you. No, it isn’t another toxic cleanup site in New Jersey. This has international implications. The President of Zambeziland died and I need you to go give a speech at the funeral in Africa. It should be a three-day traditional ceremony. You’ll need to stay for the whole thing – if we offend them they might cut off vanilla exports and we need the vanilla vote. Wear a nice dark heavy suit. What’s the weather like? Well it’s near the equator, probably no more than a 120 at noon.”

[Hang up pretend phone.]

You know who has it worse then the Vice President? Lieutenant Governors, they are like Vice Presidents – but just for states. They really have nothing to do.

[Break out pretend phone.]

“Hi Governor, it’s me… you know, your Lt. Governor? How are you feeling today, good? Not under the weather or anything? Be careful, you know, going up and down stairs – most accidents happen around the house…

What’s that, you are giving a speech out of state this afternoon? Really, so you’ll be out of state for a couple of hours? Sure, knock’em dead Governor!”

[Hang up pretend phone.]

“I’ll be governor for three hours! What will I do first? Change the state reptile? I’ll build a stadium with my name on it. I’ll start a new education program. I know, I’ll declare a state of emergency quarantine and seal the borders. Then, I’ll be governor FOREVER! And then, I can sponsor midnight basketball”

My son dies with this stuff and for some strange reason, referring to midnight basketball, absolutely cracks my kids up. My son does the bit pretty well, and even my daughter tries to imitate it. Her timing and attitude were pretty good, but most of the words didn’t come out right (it was like listening to a comedian performing in Hungarian.) But her big punchline was, “And I’ll make midnight sports!”

Why this old political football from the budget battles of the 1990s (a decade before my kids were born) is a mystery to me. I don’t know why I mentioned it or why it works on this audience. It is a weird comedy synergy – but, as Woody Allen counsels, “If it bends it’ss comedy, if it breaks…”