What’s With Little (and Big) Boys’ Fascination With Full Frontal Nudity?

What’s it about full frontal nudity that fascinates men? Well, actually, it starts as boys, I guess.
And I’m not talking about full frontal nudity of the opposite sex, as you might suspect. Fer CRYIN’ out LOUD! What do you take me for? This is a GRANDFATHER column; if you’re looking for triple X, you’ll have to go elsewhere.
I’m talking about LITTLE boys. It’s only later, in DREAMS, that big boys envision scenes like the “Song of the Sirens,” from “Brother Where Art Thou.” Ooo-la-lahhhhhh!



Fortunately, the movie also provided salvation for such wayward thoughts:




Enough about salvation. Let’s get back to my conundrum about full frontal nudity. It’s more about exhibitionism, and the proclivity of youngsters to parade around in their birthday suits.
Take Jack, f’rinstance. After swimming, he’s fond of running around the house nekkid. He’s young enough, at 5, that it’s kinda cute, except for the stunt he pulled the other day.
He decided to do somersaults on the couch. And THEN, he decided to stand on his head on the couch. Not the most appealing picture, I assure you.
Little brother Luke’s something of an exhibitionist, too, as he darts through the house in his birthday suit after bathing.
Speaking of darts, that rhymes with farts and, well, this is a frisky column anyway, so I might as well share a discussion we had in the back yard today. I don’t know WHO brought up the topic, but I asked Jack and Luke if they’d ever farted under water.
“Oh, NO,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t ever do that.”
Luke, who used to pronounce the function as “shart,” smiled mischievously and said, “Well, we fart in the bathtub!”
Jack nodded in agreement, adding hastily, “But we never fart in the pool. They have people watching for that. It’s ILLEGAL to fart in a pool.”
Dunno where these lads get their sense of law, but I suppose it’s a good deterrent.
At least it’s a comfort to me that the only bubbles I’ll see in the pool are from the water filter.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside: Snow in SoFla

Global warming doesn’t stand a chance, even in South Florida, when 20 kids go flaky over a February “blizzard” in the back yard.
Oh, I know there’s some history geek out there saying, “HEY, it hasn’t snowed in South Florida since the ’70s, and that was only a dusting.”
Well, the wag would be correct, only because he wasn’t at Jack’s fifth birthday party, when the Iceman Cometh, bearing even finer crystals, of snow.
The partiers, mostly 4- to 8-year-olds and many of whom never had seen snow, gathered like clouds over Kilimanjaro
as the Snowman backeth up his truck to unload his frosty mound. Their roars of delight could have rivaled a Super Bowl frenzy as he sliced open the enormous box, and their echoes no doubt helped jar loose the avalanche.


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Once the snow piled high, the youngsters’ reactions were as varied as snowflakes, and you know they say no two of the white crystals are the same.
Of course, Jack climbed atop the mountain and proclaimed: “I’m king of the world.” Obviously coached from “Titanic” obsessed adults, but what the heck. Besides, he was king for a day, at least, as his wish was to have a snow-themed party.
Other reactions ranged from avoidance to snow angels, and everything in between:
* The chuckers, who took globs of snow ranging from fist size to basketballs and tossed them at unsuspecting victims.
* The divers jumped in both feet first (how can you DO that, both feet first; seems like it should be one or the other).
* The players, like Jack’s little brother Luke, who retrieved a bucket and shovel from the sandbox and proceeded to build snow castles.
* The slippers and sliders, whose unfamiliarity with the phenom left them spread eagled as often as not.
* To a child, they didn’t realize how cold they’d get with snow caking in their sneakers and the cold sneaking through the gloves Melissa had provided each child.
Thus, the hot chocolate was a welcome comfort to them. I confess, I had thought that Mom was bonkers for planning so much hot chocolate, but the Sunshine State Snowkids went through JUGS of the stuff.
Not to mention the marshmallows around the fire pit. Amazing how a little snow can transform even Florida into Minnesota for a day.

Is This a Claw Machine I See Before Me, Its Money Slot Teasing Me? Come, Let Me CLUTCH Thee! I Have Thy Prize, Yet I Have It Not, So Ye Tempt Me Still

This noble prize-winning columnist is going to tell you a secret, maybe two or three.
But before that, I must draw to your attention, if I've hypnotized you lo, these many weeks, that I just subliminally planted in your brain an enhanced image of moi. Noble prize-winning columnist is so close to Nobel Prize-winning — indeed, the letters match — that I bet you slowed down and wondered: Did he really win a Nobel?
I thought of that the other day when a columnist referred to himself as a prize-winning newspaper editor. Sooooooo, I wondered, what did he win? The lottery? A bet? A golf tournament? A Nobel Prize? Maybe he just won a toy in a claw machine.
Which brings THIS prize-winning columnist to the secret I promised to reveal: My name is Mike, and, although I sometimes do noble things I’m addicted to claw machines.
But I win a lot of prizes playing them, so that justifies my path on the road to perdition, right?
At first, my family was amused, to the extent that both son Brendan and stepdaughter Melissa bought me toy claw machines a couple of years back. Coincidentally, ironically, without even communicating.
They became less amused when the toy machines fed the monster, fueled my addiction, plunging me into the depths of my pockets in search of quarters whenever I spied a claw machine out of the corner of my eye. (Oh, there were other advantages: Vincent, Jack and Luke and I have had lots of fun trying to snag the candy I put in the toy machines. When we hit a losing streak, we eventually just upend the machines and eat the spilled candy to our hearts’ contents. That makes the dentist the winner when he sticks his claws in our maws.)
To my credit, I use my addiction to help the less fortunate. A couple of Christmases ago, I was able to give a bunch of stuffed animals to a group that provides presents for the less fortunate. And my grandsons have enough stuffed bears and dogs and reindeers and Santas and frogs and snakes to last a lifetime.
To my discredit, I DID reach the point where I let the machines control me rather than I, them. I hit bottom when I spent 10 hard-earned bucks and walked away from a machine empty-handed. Actually, that might have been fortunate because my palms were so sweaty they would have wrecked the toys, if I’d have won.
I knew, when my family started whispering about the need for intervention, that I would have to mend my ways. And I would have to do it alone, because nobody has invented Claworette gum, and mine seems to be such a rare malady that cancer, heart disease, hangnails and other diseases have priority when it comes to research grants.
I’ve made progress in controlling my passion, though. My epiphany came during a trip to a store of a global retail chain I otherwise shun. I went on a streak in which I snagged a baker’s dozen prizes for less than 15 bucks over a two-day period, during trips to that store for items I didn’t need or articles I made up that we did need.
Here comes another secret: The key to my success was that this particular chain has machines in which you can drag the claw even after you drop it, so you can maneuver the item you want into better position for the NEXT try. It makes it more like a pool game, in which you have to plot the carom and try to make the toy land in a vulnerable position.
And THAT, my friends, turns it into a game of skill, rather than chance. Most claw machines out there are called that because they claw the money out of your pockets, your bank account, your children’s trust funds. Why, they can clear you out faster than the recent stock market patterns have decimated 401(k)s. They make Bernie Madoff seem like a Ponzi piker when it comes to schemes.
These days, I stick pretty much to the claw machines in this particular chain. Even though this column is all about revealing secrets, I won’t reveal the chain’s name because that family already has more money than God and it can buy its own advertising. (Let The Boss take it on for hitting a sour note with it.)
Besides, now, it’s got a competitor. I found a user-friendly machine in a grocery store the other day. I approached it dubiously, as the claw didn’t look like it was big enough to retrieve the size of stuffed toys it held. (That’s the trick many claw companies use: small claws with toys that are too heavy to lift, or even grasp.)
Imagine my surprise, though, when I won a large cowboy bear on my first try. OK, call it a fluke: The claw got caught on the bear’s lasso, and barely kept it aloft long enough to plunk into the prize chute. The next time I went to that store, I tried again, and bingo, got one on the fourth try. The next time, another.
I can just hear you challenging me: Yeah, SUCKA, betcha spent a ton of money. Nope, impossible, because part of my recovery is limiting myself to no MORE than 2 bucks a session. Well, sometimes 3.
No more spending ’til I win. Rather, I’ve developed the character, the integrity, the inner strength, the intestinal fortitude, the guts, to just walk away.
Also part of my recovery is to preach the perils of the machines: PLEASE, if at all possible, don’t get addicted like I have. But if you do, and you MUST, limit yourself and follow these additional secrets:
* Don’t get all jazzed if you see a machine newly filled with toys. That’s the worst time to play, because the toys are all scrunched together and impossible to retrieve. (By accident, I think NOT. That’s how the house stacks the odds.)
* Don’t let the machine beat your psyche. If you come up empty several times, analyze each loss and see how that knowledge can lead to success. Remember, it’s like pool now: Think three steps ahead, to get ahead of the claw, to outthink it, to plunder and pillage its contents.
* If you’re fortunate enough to find a machine that will let you drag, use that to your full advantage. Best method is what I call toppleganger: Topple your pick the first time, and then go gangbusters to get it on the next try.
* Similarly, don’t lose heart if you actually grab an item but the claw drops it when its thisclose to the chute. Instead, determine the odds of getting it on your next try. But have the courage to walk away.
* ALSO, don’t get frustrated if the claw drops a toy into the chute, but the toy gets snagged on the edge, ready to drop. THIS IS THE ONLY TIME it’s acceptable to go over your limit. DO NOT WALK AWAY. If you’re out of money, get some somehow, some way, even if you have to knock an old lady down and grab whatever change clanks out of her purse. Because the key then — I guarantee this, because it’s worked twice for me — is to play one more time. But don’t try for another toy; instead, just clunk the claw down on your prize, and it will loosen it from the machine’s grasp.
So, to return to the beginning: I think deserve the Nobel Prize, because I demystified the claw machine, and I was noble enough to share some of the secrets to solving its mysteries. That’s my contribution to peace.
As for me, I think I’ll buy some stock in claw machines.