Cool Dad: Noah, try to go pee-pee before we leave.
Cool Boy: I don’t have to!
CD: You need to try. When we go somewhere, you need to try because we don’t want to be stuck in the (car/subway/bus) and then you have to go pee.
CB: I don’t have to!
CD: Noah, we go through this every time. Go try so we can leave! (Insert potential disciplinary action depending on how the day has gone.)
CB: Okay…
(CB drags himself to bathroom. Exits after a minute.)
CB (smiling): I went!!

Relieved, we can finally leave. It may be a game to him, though I’d prefer not to do the dance EVERY time. I guess it’s better than him doing another kind of dance on the bus.

If only I practiced what I preached. 

+ + +

The other day, I met a friend at City Bakery on West 18th Street in Manhattan. We indulged in their renowned hot chocolate, which was like drinking a melted Hershey’s bar. It was so rich that we had to get water to wash down the cocoa coating forming in our throats.

After an hour of talking about the finer points of music, we finished. I hesitated at the door but instead shook it off and marched out into the cold to catch the 45-minute subway ride home.

The commute was pleasant. The train had reached the part of the 6 line that was above ground, so the sun poured in through surprisingly clean windows. I looked up from my book, What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell, to see that I was alone in the car. This was a rare occurrence for the middle of the day, but it was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, so I figured that many of the usual riders were relaxing at home on their day off.

And then I realized that I had to go – not go anywhere in particular, but just go. I should’ve listened to my instinct at the door of City Bakery. I should’ve heeded my own fatherly warnings of not getting stuck in a subway, doing a dance. I stood up to mitigate the pressure and asserted myself that I would be home in another 10 minutes.

Of course, it’s never that easy when it comes to matters of the toilet (or lack of). The train stopped at the Elder Avenue station and opened its doors to let in a rush of cold air and no passengers. The doors shut, but we didn’t move. After a minute, a recorded voice announced that we were being held for “train traffic ahead of us.” I had a sinking feeling, which inconveniently landed on top of my bladder.

The train finally lurched ahead to my assurance but also to my agony. Motion was the last thing I needed, but it didn’t last for long. This time, the train stopped between stations and sat. I started weighing my options. I thought about getting off at the next stop and running to the closest Starbucks. Sadly, Google Maps reported that it was over 20 blocks away. I scanned the neighborhood for other places that might accomodate me, but I couldn’t be sure about them. There were markets and drugstores, which could very well have closed their restroom doors to the public.

+ + +

Ever since I saw a YouTube video of pranksters going number one on the subway, I’ve become attentive of where I sit. I look for any telltale signs: accumulations of liquid on the floor, suspect-looking dried “water spots” on the seat, the unmistakable smell.

I condemned those mass transit befoulers for their lack of decency and conscience. Now, I was considering joining their kind. The conditions for it were ripe:

1. My train car was empty, which is the primary factor when it comes to peeing on the subway. No witnesses, no snitches.

2. Next, I checked the adjacent cars. Both the ones in front of and behind mine were clear.

3. Scanning around the car, I didn’t see anything that looked like a security camera. There are security cameras in the stations, but I’d never heard of cameras on the trains themselves.

4. Continuing to check my surroundings, I found more encouragement: A Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup.

But it was on the small side. Why oh why couldn’t they have gotten the extra large Coolatta instead?! And don’t think that I didn’t notice the door next to the coffee cup. What was that stain?

+ + +

As all of this was running through my mind, the train moved again. Another station, then another delay. Things were getting painful, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it to all of the people, my fellow New Yorkers, who would eventually board this train.

So, I did whatever I could to distract myself. I cranked the dulcet harmonies of Eisley in my headphones. I closed my eyes and imagined happier places, like our cozy apartment with a freshly cleaned bathroom smelling of bleach, or a shaded forest with plenty of obstructed sight lines. I prayed. I was determined to not pee on the subway. And the train started again.

When we finally got to the stop closest to the Starbucks, I stayed on the train. I just didn’t want to move. Thankfully, we went through the last stops unimpeded. I got off at my stop and stumbled home as fast as I could while maintaining bladder integrity. Running would’ve been too much jostling, so I walked with my feet slightly apart more than usual, as if traversing one of those tire courses that football players high-step through.

The sidewalk seemed to stretch away from me, prolonging the walk. As I’m sure some heroic figure has said at some point in history: I didn’t come all this way just to wet my pants in front of my neighbors! By the grace of God, I made it home.

I hope you’ll learn from my harrowing experience. Listen to your body, even its most subtle hints. Make it a habit to try to go before every outing. And maybe carry an extra large Coolatta cup around with you, just in case.

Why would I take the effort to reduce the potential enjoyment of this cup of delights? Because I wanted to make sure there would be enough chocolate cranberries for the next time I have a snack. And I’ll continue to follow this ritual (if too many cranberries tumble out) until the bag is empty. 

I don’t know when I picked up this habit, but I’m sure it started with breakfast cereal. I was disappointed by a number of marshmallowless bowls of Lucky Charms toward the bottom of the box, so I started making sure that the “highlights” of the cereal were evenly distributed. Recently, I’ve employed the tactic with bowls of Special K Red Berries, giving a few dehydrated strawberries a one- or two-day reprieve.

You could call it responsible snacking, deferring a percentage of immediate gratification to ensure future enjoyment. Or you could just call it weird.

Do you do this?

Now that The Times has covered planking and how celebrities have gotten into the act, that’s confirmation that it’s gone full mainstream. But strangely, I don’t feel like something that multitudes of people like to do, even celebs, is cool.

It’s not because of any potential embarrassment. I post embarrassing things about myself on here all the time. And it’s not because it seems pointless. Exhibit A: this post. Something in my gut is just not a fan.

I’m certainly not judging others. How can I think that others shouldn’t plank without seeing the plank in my own eye? I’ve played a part in my share of fads, including tight rolling, fauxhawks, and post-secondary education.

Don’t count Cool Mum as a fan of the plank, either: “Planking? What is it? Internet joke? I don’t know much about it. I’m not that interested.”

What do you think about planking? Have you planked?

photo: aimee daniells

While most everyone “fell back” and had a bonus snooze after their wild Daylight Savings Time-themed raves and masquerade balls, we were more sleepless than ever. That’s what happens when you have kids who are physiologically conditioned to wake up at a certain time, say 4:00am.

Do you think Cool Newbie cares about supposed societal policies to conserve energy, maximize harvest times, and make people too early to church? His sweet li’l baby nervous system wakes him up at a precise point of time every morning, and it doesn’t care if it’s 4:00am EDT, or 3:00am EST.

Hearing this news of extra sleep was just cruel – a turn of events so sinister that it can’t be coincidental. And I know exactly who to blame: Corporations!

Every autumn, the “fall back, sleep more” agenda infiltrates the media, and I’m positive that it’s a cadre of evil CEOs behind it all. I have it on good authority that the ruthless villains are cronies in the bedding industry: mattress makers, boxspring sellers, duvet designers, etc.

They convince the public to sleep an extra hour because they want us to wear out our bedding items, pushing us that much closer to buying new ones. Yeah, an extra hour a year doesn’t sound like much, but after 24 years, that’s a whole extra day of wear and tear on that down comforter! (Bed Bath & Bamboozle is more like it.)

For any sticks in the mud (rational thinkers) saying that “spring forward” balances it all out, I disagree. Losing that hour of sleep means that you’re literally dragging yourself out of bed, creating extra friction and wear. Evil but brilliant.

It might be something in the water, but I must protest! I’m not gonna stand for it anymore, so it’s time to sit. Daylight Savings Time, consider yourself OCCUPIED.

… so, now what?

While your friends overlap their costume ideas, you can breeze in knowing that you’ll be a one-of-a-kind! Of course, I’m saying that you should dress up as your 10th or 20th-favorite bloggers: Cool Dad and/or Cool Mum! Us!

The components of the costumes are affordable, easy to find, and, unlike that bulbous white Angry Bird costume that shoots an egg out of the backside, able to be worn throughout the year without fear of job loss or arrest.

Here are what Cool Mum calls our “uniforms,” what you’ll find us wearing on a typical day.

2011 Cool Mum Halloween Costume

2011 Cool Dad Halloween Costume

For extra points, you can add our respective purses – perfect for carrying your candy!

So, there’s your Halloween costume. You’re welcome!

(But if you REALLY wanna go the extra mile for your Cool Fam cotumes, dress up as one of the Cool Boys.)

However, I may finally have an idea that will bring the fortune that would buy all of the cool points I want. First, some background:

As technology and culture barrel forward, there exists the need for humans to look back and appreciate where we came from. Nostalgia is powerful, as can be seen by the resurgence of 1950s fashion (Mad Men) and caveman sensibilities (Charlie Sheen). We pick the choicest parts of yesteryear and adopt them into our lives.

This may explain the massive popularity of Instagram, the service that enables users to take vintage-style photos (like the classic look in the urban landscape above) with their iPhones and share them on Facebook, Twitter, or Flickr. The service recently surpassed 4.25 million users.

Well, I’ve come up with five brand new photo styles, or filters, that I’m confident that Instagram would love to purchase from me at great cost. I’ve calculated that these filters will add at least 38% more sentimentality to Instagram users.

Consider this photo of the Cool Boys in Central Park.

The photo is cute, but my new filters could make it timeless. Let’s see how my ideas can add some old school to our picture.

The Heirloom Filter recreates the look of a vintage camera that’s been knocking around in the back of the family station wagon.

The Dial-Up Filter recalls the days of dial-up, when someone could interrupt your precious download by simply picking up the phone.

The Waxylens Filter helps you relive the childhood excitement of having Dad’s new camera in one hand and a couple of crayons in the other.

The New Snapper Filter brings back the feeling of getting a new camera, along with your family’s frustration while you figured out how to use it.

The Attachment Filter hearkens back to ye olden times when email clients frequently mishandled image attachments.

I know, I know… this concept is a surefire winner, and you’d love to take part. Well, if you’re a talented designer or developer, let’s talk! Of course, I don’t have any money to give and you won’t get paid, but you will have something for your portfolio.

Who’s in?

Still, the Sunshine State sun beat down hard on us as we strolled the parks the last few days. We applied sunscreen early and often, which reminds me of a silly story that CM jokes about every time I put the stuff on:

My friends Josh and Elizabeth were leaving Gainesville, and I offered to help them move out. It was a hot day, so CM advised me to guard against the sun. I put on sunscreen and got to the semi-heavy lifting.

As expected, it was hardy, sweaty work. I ducked into the bathroom to clean up a little, and I noticed that I wasn’t just perspiring, I was sweating milk. First of all: ew. Second, the amount of sunscreen I had on must have amounted to SPF 8,000.

I made myself presentable and went to explain my whitewashed appearance to my friends. We had a good laugh, and a relieved Elizabeth explained, “That’s good to hear. I was afraid you were losing electrolytes!”

It would be scary and kind of cool if I lost electrolytes like that. A lucrative career as a Gatorade test subject might be in my future. Alas, the only thing I got out of the episode was a lesson in sunscreen application and an uncool blog post.

Maybe it’s extreme to say that NOTHING else works for us beyond what we’ve already posted, but I’m having a hard time thinking of something. Innovative way to handle dirty laundry? Nope. Breakthroughs in the science of organization? Nah. The only breakthrough likely to happen is our upstairs neighbor’s basketball busting through our ceiling after the 200th straight dribble.

Actually, I can take a masculine approach to Works for Me Wednesday and offer up a couple of sweet mods that I made to our car.

1. During a heavy winter snow, I let the snow pile up on the car for a few days because we didn’t need to (and couldn’t) drive anywhere. However, when I finally dug it out, I was saddened to see that our drivers side mirror broke under the weight of the snow.

Fortunately, it was nothing that an Allen wrench, some epoxy glue, and a few strips of black duct tape couldn’t fix! Just like new! [-2 cool points]

2. And then last week, a nice lady stopped me in the street to report that our front license plate was about to fall off. It didn’t look like someone hit our front fender, so a bolt must have fallen out when we went over an especially nasty pothole.

We didn’t have any nuts and bolts handy, but we DID have some of Cool Baby’s craft-time pipe cleaners. If you look really hard, you MIGHT be able to notice the repair. [-4 cool points]

Junky fixes to our automotive ailments work for us!

As a weirdo who doesn’t drink coffee, I fondly see it in a different way.

original photo: Alotor

A few months ago, we dropped him off at our friend Jennie’s while CM and I had a little date. When we returned, Jennie recapped us on what they did. If I recall correctly, which I may not due to an application of memory suppression, apparently CB informed Jennie that his nickname for me is ‘Fancypants.’ I remember hearing CB giggling in the background.

So let me just first say that I have NO IDEA where he got that name and why I was the lucky one to receive it! Cool Mum is the one who has jeans with embroidered designs on the pockets and leggings that are a little shiny. Not me! My pants are straightforward and non-pleated without any kind of flashy stitching or weird fabrics or rhinestones whatsoever. So maybe I roll them up with a cuff, but they are in no ways fancy!!

But yet, like so many insufferable dads that we grew up with on television, I’m the one who gets the short end of the stick. I’m Fancypants.

Even if I didn’t explicitly tell CB that it’s a secret, he should’ve known. I mean, Fancypants! Why would I want anyone outside of these four very-close-together walls to know that?!

Given this betrayal of the family trust, I’m not sure what kind of secrets we can expect CB to keep. This really puts a dent in any future he might have in national security. I can see it now…

RUSSIAN AMBASSADOR: I am happy to be in your country, Special Agent Corpus. I look forward to meeting with the president.
COOL BABY (grown up): We are pleased to receive you, Ambassador. Madame President Cyrus will see you after her meeting with the engineers behind the new classified missile defense system being built in Southern Oregon.
RUSSIAN AMBASSADOR: I see. (starts texting on his phone)
COOL BABY: Additionally, her husband calls her Puppykins.

Oh well, cross one more career off CB’s list.