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The power went out the other night, it was so cold. Luckily we have a wood-burning stove to keep us warm. We all camped out in the living room — we set up tents and everything. I figured since we are snowed in and under attack by the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia, we might as well have fun. We toasted marshmallows and made smores. We heated up some cider and sang campfire songs. This was the most fun I’d had with my family since we camped at the Grand Canyon a few years ago.

Best part though, was these cool oil lamps I picked up a few weeks ago– they really came in handy. I bought these awesome Lumen Shadow Oil Lamps. You know, it’s like when you used to hide out in the tree house and make shadow animals on the wall– but this is way cooler. Three precision cut designs, trees and birds– tiny when you’re just looking at them. Yeah, they basically look like some kinda award for environmentalism. But, when you light the odorless, clean burning oil, these stainless steel images flicker and these cool shadows are cast on the wall that move ever so slightly, like living things. My kids were captivated. The darker the room, the stronger, more detailed the shadow. Looking back, I’m glad I decided to buy all three– I made an instant forest in our living room! I totally saved the day! I mean, night. After we were full on s’mores and cider, we started telling ghost stories! Man, with those lumen shadow oils lamps burning, even I started to hear the things that go bump in the night.

I used to be cool. A long time ago. Like in the 1980s. Atari and skate boards, I was so into the Beat, Aztec Camera, Split Endz and such, skinny ties, Elvis Costello, you know what I’m saying. Before I got Mod, I was in a Jethro Tull Cover Band. I know that’s sick, isn’t it? Dang.

You get old. You get old, things start going South, you start going to work all the time, and here come the wife, the kids, little league, and retirement. All in a flash– an instant. WHAT HAPPENED? Look, a man’s got to mourn his past a little– every now and then. Doesn’t mean I want to go back in time, I love my family, you know. . . I just want to look over my shoulder and see my old stinky tennis shoes on the floor next to my pile of semi-clean clothes. For like, one second. It’s not much to ask for, is it?

Anyway– I have found a way to reach back to my glory days, without acting like a kid again– Custom Vans. Come on, doesn’t that just warm your cockles? Seriously. You can build your own Vans! First pick which style you want– the “Old Skools” or the slip-ons. You can go Mod checker board, or solids, or multi-color. They even have graphics, including the good old skull and cross bones, camo, and M.C. Esher-style blocks. If you know your way around a simple paint program, you’ll have no problem designing your Vans! I made some Rude Boy red and black checker board for myself you know, keeping it simple. I designed some for my gal so we could go bowling! Who says you can’t be young again?

The Emancipation Proclamation was drafted by Abraham Lincoln on January 1, 1863, calling for the end to slavery. We’ve come along way, baby, and we’ve got a long way to go. Today, the old 9 to 5 can feel like a life time of indentured servitude. Sometimes, when you’re spending the best hours of nearly every day in a gray, wall-to-wall carpeted box, it’s hard to remember your humanity. But you are FREE, man.

I wear my Emancipation Proclamation tie as a reminder that the past is our history, and its best not to forget it. Look, I usually can’t stand theme ties: those horrible piano key ties, the prehistoric bugs ties, the indecipherable abstract art ties, those saucy pin-up girls from the 1950s (okay, I like those, but you know I’d never get a way with owning one, much less wearing it at work, hello.) But this tie, with its gorgeous, parchment-colored handwritten text is really quite beautiful, actually. Somehow, understated, but at the same time, bold. It’s made of imported silk and hand-finished– it’s a stroke of genius and a beautiful reminder of a struggle that might not be completely over. I wear my tie on days when I need that added support. Hey, I take my empowerment anywhere I can get it.

I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I don’t really get mad, I mean, why sweat the small stuff, right? Life’s to short, let it roll off your back, and all that. There are few things that set me off. Really only two things: smarty-pants people going up the down escalator, and the smell of tainted coffee beans. Freezer burn. . . ancient fish sticks hanging out of the cardboard box. . . recalled beef.

You know, after you’ve opened the vacuum sealed pack, it’s all downhill from there. I hide my distain, of course. . . my disappointment. But, my heart knows the truth. So I bought the Sharper Image Vac Coffee Canister. It’ll seal off more than one pound of coffee beans, trapping the freshness like air in a mummy’s tomb. Oh wait– that’s not all that fresh. . . you know what I mean. . . air-tight is what I’m trying to say. Tighter than the Space Shuttle hatch. Coffee ground control to Major Tom, yall. Your coffee will be as fresh as a sailor during fleet week. Excuse me– it’s 6:30 in the morning, and time for me to make my re-entry through the atmosphere.

Okay yall. . . I thought I’d seen it all. But obviously, I have never been to Milan. I am not an international playboy. My name is not Mazimillian Copper. I have never participated in the Gumball 3,000 race, through the twisted streets of Europe, partying like a trust fund baby waking up in someone else’s underwear. I DRIVE A PRIUS. I have a wife and children, and a mortgage. I DO NOT wipe my nether regions with colored toilet paper, like so many fantastic European, globetrotting hipsters, and those who do, I will from this moment forward call, “rumpsters.” I’m not really mad. I just don’t get it. But I LOVE it.

I stared at that black roll of toilet paper like a cave man looking at fire for the first time. Can you imagine doing a TP run on the neighbour’s trees with black toilet paper? Oh my God. . .But. . . WHY?? Why does this exists? Because the Portuguese know how to make ships, and they can clean up after themselves, in style. Made in Portugal by the company Renova, this toilet paper will soon be traded like a commodity, no doubt. Dang. This colored TP is so IN THE FUTURE, it’s like realizing that you’re fighting with bronze swords when the world has moved on to iron, and you better do something about that. The Inquisition has burned people at the stake for less. I keep trying to find something wrong with this, but I can’t! The paper is 100% biodegradable. It’s dermatologically and gynecologically tried and tested– chlorine-free and completely recyclable. HOLY CRAP. Excuse the pun, but this is awesome, 3-ply non-toxic heaven– and the colors don’t run! Man, I wonder if the TP is engaging enough to trick my youngest into getting potty trained.

Let’s face it– it’s nearly impossible to update the suit– coat, tie, pants, shirt, no matter how you look at it– you’re wearing a uniform with little variation on the theme. Loud, ridiculous ties are out of the question, and wing tips– that’s great, if you want to look like Duckie from Pretty in Pink. What’s left? Cufflinks. The equivalent to a woman’s earrings, cuff links add a little somethin’ somethin’ to an otherwise endless stream of neutrals flowing in and out of the Starbucks. These camera cufflinks are truly stylish– they are handmade! The image of the shutter camera is so classic– these sterling silver cufflinks by Debbie Howe add sharpness and detail that people will notice, say, during that make-or-break presentation in front of the boss– commanding, but not too flashy, you know? You’ll look crazy sophisticated– even if you don’t know the difference between Muybridge and Mapplethorpe. Besides, you can tell the office mail room guy that the cameras are REAL. Go ahead. I dare ya.

AMEN– the writer’s strike is over! I was getting desperate. I was willing to sit through another episode of Lipstick Jungle with my wife, just because it was new. No offense– it’s a good show, but dang– I just couldn’t get all jazzed about sassy ladies in Manhattan again. That’s what reruns of Sex in the City are for.

While I was waiting for the studio execs to get their heads out of their . . . afterparts, I watched every episode of Barney Miller. Every single one. It was a simpler time. Everyone was entitled to have an Afro, and the rotary phone. . . my god. . . I’m dating myself, but I’d give just about anything to call someone on a rotary phone. The time it takes to dial a number . . . time to plan what you were going to say when you finally ask Angela Zaterinski on a date to the roller rink. Ahh young, zitty-love. I got so homesick for the 70s that I bought a devil’s food cake red polyester suit. And these outrageously cool salt and pepper shakers made from authentic, vintage, ANTIQUE, 1970s phone receivers (NEVER used. . . ew). I love these things made by some Dutch genius names Henk Stallinga. Ivory white phone pieces with clear bottoms so you know what’s shakin’. Sometimes I take them to work to break up the monotony of the modern world– they’re so, I Spy!

Go ahead. Roll your eyes. Who needs a towel warmer? I mean, how prissy is that you might ask, as you roll your eyes. Whatever, man. When my wet, pale behind comes stumbling out of the shower it’s like being thrust out of the womb again– it’s cold, and I’m crying my face off. Who wouldn’t want to be comforted by a crisp, dry and WARM towel? Think, Eastern Promises, Russian steam bath manly warm towel. I’m no Viggo Mortensen– but it’s hard not look manly in a well tucked, toasted towel– and the Large Coverage Flat Panel Towel Warmer’s got you covered.

Think about it– unless you’re keeping the heat cranking in your house, your bath cloth never gets really dry. Before you can say sweet tart, the thing turns sour. And what about summer? Unless you can suck all the moisture out of the room, you know what you’re going to end up with– SOUR TOWEL. I would probably try to use the towel, you know just one more time. But my wife would give me heck about it so. . .

The Large Coverage Flat Panel Towel Warmer slowly but surely, dries your towels, keeping them dry and fresh. The thing only uses 115 watts– that’s 4,785 watts less than your clothes dryer– now that’s what I call energy efficient! It’s made of lightweight aluminum, so you can move it from room to room. Want to warm up your night clothes before you put them on and hop into bed? Try it– you’ll like it!

Remember how I was going the gym for a while? Yeah, well, not so much. Sometimes the gym is like that long-lost uncle you’ve met once or twice, but you can’t be bothered to drive to the next county to see. Meanwhile, I’m having a little trouble with that top button on my pants. Look, it happens to a lot of people. So, I’m trying to come up with solutions for exercising at work (bending down to pick up a stray paperclip doesn’t really count). I see women do it all the time, bringing their extra shoes and such, “Working Girl” style, creating excess amounts of static electricity in the building as they wear out the carpet, fast walking down the halls.

How come you never see men power walking at lunch time with the ladies? It just wouldn’t look right, would it? There’s something seedy about it. And besides, men are violently competitive. Power walking would turn into that strange olympic sport of walk running. Ridiculous. You can really win the gold for that? No threat of steroid witch hunts in THAT sport, I guess.

Anyway, my wife has come up with a solution that for some reason, I have not protested– the new Dahon Cadenza P8. Sure, it’s designed for being able to glide over potholes and other forms of rough terrain, but hey, you haven’t seen my office parking lot. It hasn’t been paved since The Jeffersons where in the prime time line-up. And with the way my co-workers drive, you better be prepared for anything– and this bike fits that bill. The Cadenza P8 is as close to handmade as you can get– it’s light aluminum frame is still sturdy enough to make you feel supported– it has stop-on-a-dime Shimano Disc brakes and patented Dahon technology that offers 50mm of adjustment for a riding position that’s perfection. Did I mention this bike folds up like an origami crane? You can’t even tell by the stealth look of this thing– but you can collapse it in like 10 seconds and cram it under your desk– shove it under your arm like the daily paper. Not quite, but you get what I mean. Or, do what I plan to do in the Spring– drive to the kiss and ride, drop off the car, take the train half way to work, and pedal the rest of the way. SIGH– I’m going to try, anyway.

When I met my wife, I was a lot like Rob Gordon from the movie High Fidelity. I mean, not that I had problems with commitment, or a string of horrible breaks ups, I didn’t dream lucidly about Bruce Springsteen or whatever. But I had upwards of 2,000 records. I didn’t have a bed, but I built a rickety shelf that leaned toward the living room window like a sun-hungry houseplant, full or records, all cataloged– I had my own system. They were arranged according to ever-changing moods, yeah. What?! Leave me alone. . .

No, I didn’t get rid of my records. Are you crazy? Yeah, I know– when a woman moves in, you know you’re going to have to suddenly become some kind of urban Buddha — a Zen-like type of guy with no attachments to your stuff, ‘Oh yes, my lotus blossom, throw away my favorite chair, I release it and let it go.

Let me tell you want I did– I moved those records and hid them like a national treasure, they are in attic, in an air-controlled chamber, guarded by a sacred order of music monks who will STRIKE at the sight of any invaders. My Motown and my Muscle Shoals safe from harm. But, you can’t stop the world from spinning, and as the years go on, my records are deteriorating. I don’t even have a turntable anymore– the turntable got turned in for digital technology. I’d just go up there and stare at the jacket covers and reminisce about the days gone by. Until now. The Ion USB Turntable lets you upload your old vinyl to your computer!

Just use the included software to up capture your favorite recordings before they go the way of the eight-track. The Ion supports 33 and 45 RPM playback speeds– it’s PC and Mac compatible. Upload your gritty, down and dirty classic tunes to your space-age MP3 players. And you know, digital music just isn’t the same as vinyl. It’s too perfect– I love the old scratches and clicks you hear on vinyl. I love that rough and ready sound. Sure you can airbrush out the imperfections with the Ion software, but why not keep it real? Why not revive the B-Side? Remember that?