Hostess: Too big to Fail

With the news of Hostess closing its doors for good, came the sudden realization that yet another chapter is ending in America’s great story. Customers are left to scramble for the last crumbs of Hostess products from store shelves, making the annual mad dash on Black Friday look like a (Hostess) cake walk. I for one am heartbroken at the news. I wish I had a box of Twinkies to drown my sorrows in, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Instead, like so many other Americans, I will be forever left to wonder what could have been.

Hostess, the bakery company that has brought us such timely classics such as Zingers, Suzy Q’s, and Ho-Ho’s, not to mention favorites such as Twinkies, Fruit Pies, Sno Balls, and Ding Dongs, has announced they are no longer financially soluble and are therefore closing their doors for good. News hasn’t rocked the food and beverage world like this since Wilie Wonka announced he would be shutting the doors of his famous candy factory – and even then, that was only in a fictional story. Americans are left to wonder who will be next? If it can happen to Hostess, why not other great American food companies such as Hershey’s or Kraft or Hebrew National? I personally cannot even imagine a world without Kraft imitation cheese slices, which completely revolutionized the hamburger industry.

I have never been a fan of the Wall Street bailouts of the big banks and auto industry, only because I find the concept of “too big to fail” to be a slap in the face of every business that has struggled to keep their financial house in order, not to mention the financial burden it puts on the American People. But the news of Hostess has left me to wonder, if any bakery is too big to fail, certainly it would be Hostess. Hostess Brand is as American as apple pie, baseball, or the groovy hippie movement of the 70’s. Certainly Hostess is a company deserving of the financial backing of Chinese borrowed money from our government. I mean if not Hostess, then who?

I, like so many others, am left to wait and see what will happen. The Sno Ball, Mr. President, is in your court…the only question is what will you do with it?

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I’m no politician, but I’ve been known to tell a whopper or two in my life. Especially as a kid. But many times it wasn’t exactly lying that I did, per say, but more like hiding the truth about something that had happened. I can recall one particular Saturday morning when I woke up rather late to an empty house (my family was all gone, which, with a family of eight was very rare) and found a note from my mother stating that I was to shovel my assigned portion of the driveway before I could go out to play with my friends (I lived in Alaska, and in Alaska those are the sort of chores you get). Of course I was outraged at my parents’ demands, as any 13 year old boy would be. How could they expect me to shovel the driveway…on a Saturday of all days? I know what most of you are probably thinking. “Oh the horror. That’s child abuse.” Exactly my sentiments.

I reluctantly and angrily began to shovel the driveway, muttering more than a few choice words under my breath. After almost a whole hour of shoveling (or so it seemed…it was probably more like 20 minutes but who is keeping track of such minor details) I had but a small area of snow left just under our old yellow Subaru, which was parked in front of our garage, so I ran up to my dad’s dresser to retrieve the keys so I could move the car. The yellow Subaru had a manual transmission (for those of you who are too young to have heard of such a thing, it means it had a stick shift and a clutch, which were very tricky to operate, especially for a 13 year-old kid). Still quite peeved at my parents for ruining my perfectly wonderful Saturday morning, I placed the key into the ignition and turned the key while flooring the gas, without first engaging the clutch. You see, cars back then worked differently than they do now. They didn’t have all the latest fancy safety measures and automatic crap that keep folks today from getting whiplash every time they turn the key. It took real skill to drive a car…skill that I certainly didn’t have. So as I stepped on the gas you can probably guess what happened. The car totally lunged forward into the closed garage door – a door that had been freshly painted just the summer before!

You know how people talk about near death experiences, the ones where everything moves in slow motion while their lives flash before their eyes? That’s exactly what happened to me. I actually saw my life flashing before me on the panels of the falling garage door. You see, the laws of physics tell us that a moving object (such as a car), when coming into contact with a stationary object (such as a garage door) will move that stationary object (garage door) if the mass of the moving object (car) is bigger and has enough force behind it (floored accelerator pedal) than the stationary object (garage door). Please don’t ask me exactly what law of physics this is, because at that point I neither knew nor cared to know. I just knew it existed because I was witnessing, first hand, the law in action.
As I sat in the stalled car, which was now conveniently parked halfway into my parents’ garage, (notice how I identified ownership of the garage? This will become important for obvious reasons later) a simple thought crossed my mind. That thought was of course, “I’m dead,” since it was my parents’ garage (see now why I needed to point out the ownership?). Not knowing where the rest of my family had gone or when any of them would be back, I scrambled faster than any 13 year-old boy ever has to fix the garage door. It didn’t matter that the railing and lag bolts had been ripped from the walls or that the individually crafted panels of the garage door laid crumpled like an accordion on the garage floor. I had one task and one task only, and it was to save my own life by repairing the damage before any witnesses (brothers or sisters) could see what had happened and report back to my parents.

I really don’t know how I did it, but to this day I can faintly remember hearing a choir of angels singing and a surge of strength that could only have been sent from above. I can attest that it wasn’t my time to die that day. Somehow with powers beyond my own I was able to lift the garage door back up and reset the lag bolts into the wall. And after patching the half inch gap that now stood between the garage door and wall with one inch weather stripping - not to mention ignoring a rather large dent in the center of the door where the bumper of the car first initiated the contact - the garage door was as good as new. In fact nobody even realized anything had ever happened to it. It wasn’t until 20 years later that I actually had the courage to tell my parents what had happened that fateful Saturday morning. I never technically lied about the garage door, but I certainly didn’t ever tell anyone the truth. In fact, when I finally did muster up the courage to tell my parents about what happened to the garage, it was only because I figured my statute of limitations had expired. How’s that for honesty?

Tantrum Time

I really hate it when my kids throw a tantrum in a public place. They're smart and know they got me because it's a public place where other people are around and watching. I'm in their territory. The only thing I hate even more then a child throwing a tantrum is when someone approaches you with advice on how to handle the situation. Like I'm doing something wrong. Like the tantrum is somehow my fault. Yea, it's my fault, I didn't give in and give my child the damn candy bar she wanted because I didn't want her to ruin her appetite for dinner and have her mom mad at me. I'm not ruining my chance at some snookie later over a candy bar.

Next time someone approaches me with parental advice about a screaming kid I think I'm going to say, "Look buddy, I might not be able to smack my kid right now but there's nothing stopping me from smacking you across the head right now. So back off." That would actually feel pretty good.

Happy Mothers Day

When I was in the eighth grade there was this girl I sort of had a crush on, who told me that I had the longest and prettiest eye lashes she'd ever seen. It was during our social studies class and she told me this while the teacher was talking and we both should have been listening (I know we were being naughty).

The word “pretty” is not something you should ever say to a boy at that age, not at least when describing something about them. Needless to say that night I used a tiny pair of scissors I had found in my mother’s makeup kit to cut off my eye lashes...completely…they were gone, nothing but nubs. The next day the girl obviously noticed and asked me if I had cut my eye lashes off. To which I lied and said no. Who was I trying to kid. What I had done was not only obvious but also pretty stupid.

The point is, girls make boys do silly things in life. Which is exactly why I blame everything stupid I do today, on my wife. You see, it's her fault. She is an amazing, accomplished, highly intelligent, and beautiful woman in which who's presence I do stupid things. I'm so in love with her that my mind is unable to focus on much else and I become unfocused and unreasoning moron. I lose my better judgment around her, resulting in a blubbering and bumbling idiot. Happy Mother's Day honey, I love you. And a happy Mother's Day to all the amazing women out there, mothers or not, you make the world a much stupider place (and yes I realize stupider is not a word…blame my wife for me using it.)

Parental Rule #45

If you see a foreign substance and you’re not quite sure if it was produced by your child’s nose, mouth, or rear end…do not under any circumstances give it the taste test to try to figure out what it might be. Always assume it is something from your child, even if it does look like rich fudge topping.  It’s much better to be safe than sorry. Trust me on this one.

The Etiquette of Laughing

Are you confused about what to do when somebody at the office cracks a joke? Do you laugh or report them to HR? Never fear, Mr. Office Etiquette has come to your rescue with: the etiquette of laughing at jokes in the office.

If the person delivering a joke is your boss, laugh. Laugh long and laugh hard. As a general rule, regardless of what your boss just said, laugh. The exception to this rule is if the last thing out of your boss sounded like, “Urp!” In this situation, laughing out loud is discouraged.

If the person is attractive to you, you should laugh but not as hard as if the person was your boss. Make up for the smaller laugh by ending the laughter with a smile and eye contact. A long smile, mixed with friendly eye contact, says, “Please find me as attractive as I find you.” It never works, it just makes your cheeks hurt and your eyes water but all the dating magazines recommend it.

If the person is a temporary employee, don’t laugh. In fact, pretend you didn’t hear the joke. With temps, you can get away with walking out on them mid-joke. Who cares? What can the person do?

If the person is a consultant, don’t laugh. They are not paid huge sums of money to crack jokes. They are, in fact, paid huge sums of money to do nothing. Make them earn it.

If the person delivering a joke is your friend and the joke is not funny you are obligated to laugh. This shows your support. Imagine you were cheering for that person at a baseball game and the person had just struck out. Laughing at the joke says, “Nice try, you’ll get ‘em next time.” Not laughing at the joke says, “You just lost us the championship game, you idiot. No Christmas card for you, Grinch.”

If somebody just made an off-color, rude, racist, or sexist joke, tell them you are offended and didn’t appreciate that joke. If you really don’t like the person, report them to HR immediately. This will earn you respect. Be sure to remember the joke and crack it with your friends when you’re off the clock – and then feel free to laugh as hard as you want.

If somebody is telling a long joke I can guarantee that they will forget the punch line. You will laugh harder at them for trying to remember the punch line than you will three days later when they finally remember and deliver the ending…at which point you can’t remember the joke anyway. Do not include them on your Christmas card list. This is your revenge for allowing them to waste your time.

No matter how funny your joke is, nobody in the company who ranks above you will laugh. This means, your boss, her boss, etc. The ironic thing is that you will hear them recycle your joke at the next meeting and you will be required to laugh heartily at it. Don’t expect any credit for it…not that you do since you are used to the fact that they get the bonuses because YOU work the unpaid overtime.

The funniest joke at the office ranks a 3.5 out of 10 in normal circumstances. This is because 1) at the office you and your coworkers are generally sober, and 2) most of the office employees (ok, ALL of the office employees) are nerds. Nerds laugh at jokes that rank 3.5 out of 10. Outside the office, you only laugh at jokes that rank 6 out of 10. Think about it.

(Tag line: Mark Palenske has spent a career figuring out when to laugh at jokes in the office, which might explain why he has so often been demoted.)

The Etiquette of Door Holding

In today’s society, the proper social etiquette surrounding door holding is as misunderstood by men as decent music is by Justin Bieber. Therefore, today’s article is dedicated to door holding etiquette.

A man should always hold the door open for a lady. Because Lady Gaga and the rest of society today has nearly led to the extinction of the “lady species”, men should give the benefit of the doubt and hold the door for anybody with any qualities that might be female.

If somebody holds a door open for you, you are required to perform an awkward half-run or fast-shuffle to get to the door as quickly as possible. This effort on your part is required to express appreciation for the person holding the door for you.

The maximum Door Holding Length is 10 feet. This means that a man should hold the door for any woman within 10 feet. If you hold the door for women more than 10 feet behind you, all sorts of problems arise. For example, the party you were with has long since forgotten you, disappeared into the restaurant and ordered their food while the woman for whom you are holding the door is forced to perform a half-run, arriving to the door in a sweat, in order to express her appreciation to you. The only exception to the Door Holding Length of 10 feet is if the person who is approaching the door is extremely attractive. In this situation, the Door Holding Length can be extended to 1 mile.

Bathroom stall doors should never be held open. This is because the only people you should see in the restroom SHOULD be the same gender as you. If this isn’t the case, one of you is in serious trouble, and neither of you should worry about holding the door as you race out to check and confirm you are indeed in the proper-gender restroom.

Elevator doors should be held open only if 1) eye contact was made with a person outside the elevator, or 2) the person is attractive to you. Shouts of, “Please hold that elevator, it’s an emergency!” can be ignored if neither of the two rules was met. Pretend you find something on the floor intensely interesting and avoid eye contact as the elevator doors slowly close in the person’s face. Etiquette does demand, however, that you wait until the doors close before you smile.

Unfortunately, society has degraded to the point that holding a car door open for a lady is no longer expected. In many situations, it is strongly discouraged, as the woman might assume you have alternative motives for approaching her and might hit you upside the head before spraying your eyes with pepper spray and kicking your shin.

You should ALWAYS hold the door open for any mother, especially your own. She can use the pepper spray on you as she sees fit. She has earned that right.

There are two door holding jokes, neither of which is funny. The first involves two men who simultaneously meet at the door. One will hold the door and with over exaggerated hand motions, wave the other through the door and say, “Age before beauty.” If somebody cracks this joke around you, proper etiquette allows you to spill your drink on their pants while walking past them.

The second joke, while funnier, is considered to be in poor taste in higher society. As you hold the door open for somebody and they walk through, stick out your foot and trip them. This joke has never gotten old.

I hope that these rules can be posted on doors throughout our nation to help men understand their obligation regarding door holding. Plus, it’s easier to trip somebody when they’re reading a sign on the door.

(Tag line: Mark Palenske was only kidding about tripping people…his humor has never progressed beyond the old, “Age before beauty” joke.)