Don't ask: Sharing a hotel room

Remember when you were a kid how exciting it was to have a sleepover at a friend’s house, or have them sleep over at yours? The two of you would stay up way past lights out, smacking each other with the pillows, laughing, telling stories, trying to scare the bejesus out of each other.

I don't know if you've noticed, but as an adult most trips where you have to share a hotel room aren’t like that.

Wait, did I say have to? (laughs hysterically) I never have to. Sharing a hotel room is something I don’t do anymore. It's also the third installment of my wildly popular online series: Don’t Ask.

Just to refresh your memory, first was moving, second was picking people up at the airport. But thanks to a conversation with my friend Michelle, I was reminded about this no less essential life choice. Well, essential if you want your space, privacy, hairbrush, toothpaste, path to the bathroom and shower (don't get me started on the shower) un-invaded by anyone else.

For years I used to go with friends to Las Vegas. We'd split the cost of a hotel room (and by the way, what was the point of that? Vegas hotel rooms cost next to nothing), but then we'd have to actually share the room.

Here's the thing - when I travel, it's one of the few places where I have control over my own environment. I like things orderly. I hang clothes up. I don't let the bathroom counter become a wading pool. I set up my laptop a certain way when I'm working, and have a specific way to lock it down when I'm not.

Then there's also the Garbo factor. I want to be alone.

At this point, hotel rooms are a refuge, not quite a sanctuary, but close. Part of their appeal is I can shut everything out. That includes whomever I'm traveling with.

Listen, if we're traveling together, we'll have a great time. If you know anything about me, and you should by now, you already know I'm not the kind of person who denies myself when it comes to travel. We'll fly in the front of the plane. We'll eat in the best restaurants. We'll see the hit shows. And we'll have the best seats in the house when we see them.

But it's important you know the golden rule going in. If you can't afford your own hotel room, you can't afford to travel with me.

3:54 AM

I know what you're thinking. Well, no I don't. I don't know jack right now.

It's 3:54 a.m. and, once again, I am wide awake. And of course, doing exactly what sleep experts tell you not to do: working on an electronic device.

It seems some ultra-blue whammy jammy light from the screen disturbs your sleep patterns. Oh really? Guess what Sherlock - if my sleep patterns weren't already disturbed I wouldn't be up writing this now would I?

This happens to me more and more frequently. For a variety of reasons - or sometimes none at all - I just get up around three and don't go back to bed until about five. Then I have to be up again at 6:30 a.m. to take one of the kids to school, or work, or wherever. I don't even know. By that time I'm so numb and tired I'm lucky I can get where I'm going.

Since every condition has a name thanks to the internet, this one is called Middle-Of-The-Night insomnia, or MOTN. It would've been a more creative name but they were tired. Anyway, the disorder is characterized by waking up in the middle of the night. Just like a fever is characterized by a high temperature, or a headache is characterized by your head hurting.

This doctor stuff isn't so hard.

There's also a school of thought it isn't a sleep disorder at all, but a natural sleep pattern where you return to sleep in about an hour and a half. That makes sense. You need time to recharge from all that sleeping before you can go back and sleep some more.

Anyway, I'm sorry this post isn't funnier, smarter or better written.

Maybe if I wasn't so tired...

With all due respect

It's funny how people who use the phrase "with all due respect" treat it as if it's a get-out-of-jail-free card to tell you to go f#%k yourself.

I overheard a conversation at the agency I'm working at today, and an account person was on the phone saying, "With all due respect, that absolutely is not what we agreed to and I don't know why you think I'd ever agree to something like that."

It may have been her husband. There's no way of knowing.

I do hope it wasn't a client, vendor, new business prospect or freelancer, because thinking a saying gives you carte blanche to insult someone and actually having carte blanche are two different things.

With all due respect, you're a freakin' lamebrain if you think otherwise.

The Long Ranger

I'm not usually one to go by what the critics say. I'm of the belief that whether it's music, movies, plays books or restaurants, a person should see it for themself then make up their own mind. One man's ceiling is another man's blockbuster and all that.

I found out last night this is not true in all cases. When it comes to The Lone Ranger - and you'll thank me for this - listen to the critics.

I can count on half a hand the number of movies I've ever walked out of. Even the crappiest movies have a great line or moment, a memorable effect to get you talking, a nuanced performance in the midst of the badness. An actor who's always great no matter how terrible the script is. The Lone Ranger has none of that.

I couldn't get out of the theater fast enough.

It's just a mess with an identity crisis. Does it want to be a drama with a touch of comedy, or a comedy with some drama? It's supposed to be a period piece, yet even the Indians in the tee-pees are saying things like "not so much."

You never really think about a consistent tone in a movie until there isn't one.

Also, when did it become necessary to explain the origins of every character's situation, how they got to be who they are. It seems like the first five hours of the film are letting us know everyone's backstory. Whatever happened to just hitting the road running - making the assumption the audience is already familiar with the character, which would be the point of making a film starring a character everyone knows, or giving them credit for having enough imagination to just jump in and hang on for the ride.

This is not a problem unique to this film. Tell me again how Superman got here, why he can fly and why bullets bounce off him. I didn't get it the first seven times.

Regardless of what you know about movies, I'm sure you know editors play an essential part in shaping a film. Apparently The Lone Ranger didn't have one. It seems like every single frame they shot is on the screen. It is the most unnecessarily long and unwieldy film I've almost ever seen all the way through.

I'm sure my show from last night hasn't let out yet.

I had a special interest in seeing this film. Thanks to his friend's aunt who worked on it, my son and his friend went to the shoot in Moab and actually worked as production assistants for a few very hot days. I love my son, but even love has its limits. Mine stops at sitting through all twenty hours of The Long Ranger.

I like both Armie Hammer and Johnny Depp. But Hammer was a monumental bore ("Who was that masked man?" "Who cares?") and has nothing at all to work with in the way of a script. Depp is essentially recycling Jack Sparrow, only this time it's a crow instead of a bandana. His eccentricities are forced, and his Injun-talk is really just another version of Sparrow's slurred speech.

It was unusual to hear the Lone Ranger's signature line "Hi-yo Silver away!" coming from the audience instead of the screen as they walked out the door. BAM! Thank you, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress.

If you want a Lone Ranger story that's actually entertaining, try this one by Jay Thomas about Clayton Moore, who played him for years on the TV show a lot of us grew up with:

Drinking problem

I think the same thing every time I eat at one of those restaurants that has a menu with more pages than a Stephen King novel. Exactly how many choices do we really need in life?

Especially when it comes to something so seemingly simple as water.

The case you're looking at overflowing with water bottles is at a store called Lazy Acres (no it wasn't named after me - but it could've been). This store replaced our local Bristol Farms. When we bought our house the sellers (don't get me started) must've told us a thousand times there was a Bristol Farms a few minutes away. Apparently this was a very big selling point. My theory is they thought if they kept saying it often enough we'd be distracted from the water damage in the back of the house that, ironically, they didn't mention even once.

I know I'm still talking about water but I may be veering off into another post.

Anyway, it just seems to beg the question: how different can all these waters really be?

The one that caught my eye was this nice, expensive bottle of essentia water, which says it's "super hydrating water" right on the label. Color me old-fashioned, but I thought all water was hydrating. I guess super hydrating means it's wetter than other water.

If I wanted to be super hydrated - and I'm not saying I do - wouldn't I just drink more of my regular water?

There also seems to be a kind of water intimidation happening in certain restaurants now. Waiters will offer patrons a choice of bottled water or tap water. The question alone is designed to pressure you into bottled water because obviously people of refinement and good taste would never choose tap water.

On Penn & Teller's Showtime show, they did a great exposé on the marketing fraud that is bottled water. You can see it here (it starts at around the 16:47 mark, just after the piece exposing the fraud that is Feng Shui).

If you're thirsty for some good advice, here it is: fill your bottle up from the tap. City and state municipalities have much stronger laws and safeguards regarding drinking water and what does or doesn't go into it than the bottled water companies.

Of course if you like your water super hydrating, alkaline infused, vapor distilled, with added electrolytes or negative ions, then by all means keep dipping into the college fund and buying bottled water.

But don't be surprised when your Starbuck's money dries up.

Don't ask: Picking up at the airport

So, this is the second in my series called Don't ask. The first was on moving, and now airport pickup.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I've never picked anyone up from the airport. It's just that unless you're my wife or one of my kids - and I'll know if you're lying - I'm not doing it.

I know what you're saying. If I don't pick you up, how will you get home? Admittedly, it's a dilemma. If only there were some kind of transport, a carriage service if you will that you could hire with the currency of the realm to give you a ride to the address of your choosing.

See where I'm going here? Because where I'm not going is to pick you up after your flight.

So safe travels, smooth sailing, and happy landings. I'll see you when you get home.

Right after the cab drops you off there.

The un-giving tree

Like many of you, I have a money tree in my backyard. Frankly, it makes things a lot easier. When the pile of bills gets higher than Amanda Bynes at Chateau Marmont, I can simply run out to the backyard, pick a few of the ripe Benjamins and take care of business.

Oh, huh, what...sorry, I'm always groggy when I wake up. I was dreaming about my money tree again. The problem is while I wish I had one, people who want money from me seem to think I actually do have one.

Like so much of life, timing is everything when it comes to the bills. In our house we have a system that looks great on paper, but clearly has its drawbacks.

There's a tray near the front door for the mail. All the mail for all four of us go into this tray. Then, when I get around to it, I separate my mail - which includes the bills - from everyone else's and put them in another tray in the dining room.

Here's the tricky part: sometimes (and by sometimes I mean always) bills get mixed in with other peoples mail in the first tray, and I don't discover them until after their due date. That due date also creeps up on the bills I've put in the second tray.

I really need to check that tray more often.

What usually happens is I forget about the bills, then start thinking, "Hey, look at all this money in my checking account." That thought right there? That's my cue to look at the bills.

The past due bills.

So I break out the checkbook and start paying the piper. But because I thought I had the money, I was spending the money. It runs out way before the bills do (due).

This is where the money tree comes in handy. Or would if I really had one.

What I need to do is provide a better role model for my children when it comes to managing money. I simply have to realize there's no money tree, and start organizing my bills in a more adult and responsible way to make sure there's enough money to get them all paid on time.

Right after I buy my lottery tickets.