The Annual Random Thoughts Column

I. The man of the 90’s, who is he? He awakens on a Saturday morning and makes love to his girlfriend. She then rolls over and goes back to sleep while he gets up, washes the wine glasses from the previous night, makes coffee, and marinates steaks for that evening’s dinner. Ah, Liberation! We all benefited.

II. It is said that people make fun of things they don’t understand. Well I’ve got years’ worth of material on the new “Men’s Movement”. The pendulum has swung from the Cro-Magnum ethic of “Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche” to the pathetic Wild Men who sit around beating drums and bitching about their fathers.

I learned a lot from my father and the example he set. I learned the value of hard work and the fun of material success. I saw that you were defined and ranked by your profession or job. Like many of these whiners, I too disliked the hours my dad worked and how that affected our relationship. At an early age I realized that the cure was to own your own business and to be your own boss. No books. No therapists. No beating drums.

III. Wrapped in Garbage. My friend Jack, the attorney, was recently smeared in our local daily. Plain Dealer reporters Joel Rutchick and Scott Stephens, with the help of low-blow specialist Joe Dirck, gnashed their teeth, ranted and raved that Jack wore Gucci shoes and owned a B.M.W. Talk about penis envy! Of course, none of these scribblers mentioned that Jack’s Beemer was purchased used and is worth about $8,000. Just think what these boys might do if they ever found out about my Wright Arch Preserver shoes and my brand new Honda Accord EX

IV. Sitcoms. Life at the Cleavers sure looked good. While growing up I fantasized that as an adult my family might one day resemble “Father Knows Best” or the “Dick Van Dyke Show.” As I got older, and the deck had been reshuffled a couple of times, I set my sights on “The Brady Bunch.” Well I never accomplished any of those goals but my life has finally begun to resemble a sitcom. My luck, its “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.”

V. We spent a rainy Saturday afternoon in Tower City. As we were leaving The Museum Company I realized that I had less than 48 hours left. Her plane was scheduled to leave on Monday at 2:29. I told her that by the time she took off there wouldn’t be an inch of my body that wasn’t sore, scratched, or aching. That included my heart. I didn’t know the half of it.