The Last American Bachelor

I'm a Hero

I recently discovered that I am truly a hero. And it feels great.

Did I rescue an infant from a burning building? No. Can I fly? Nope. Am I a major league ball player? A movie star? Do I fight criminals on the streets of New York? No, nope, and no again. What makes me a hero then? Well, what exactly makes me a hero is a bit hard to define, but the fact that I am a hero is indisputable. I know that I’m a hero because my son showed me his new underwear – and it’s just like mine.

I picked him up from school the other day and he was in the back seat of the car as we were riding home. It being Friday, I asked him how school had been that week.

“Okay,” he said as we stopped at a red light, and then he added, “I’ve got new underwear. They’re boxer-briefs. I told Mom I wanted boxer shorts like yours, but she said they don’t make those for kids, so she got me boxer briefs. See?” I turned around in my seat to look at him and then he pulled his shorts leg up to reveal the black boxer-brief-clad thigh underneath, and I knew then that I was someone’s hero.

I have no idea what the connection is between underwear and superheroes, but the connection is unmistakable and undeniable. So important is this connection that many superheroes even deem to wear their underwear proudly on the outside of their uniforms. When I was younger, we had Underoos. I’m not sure if they still make that particular brand, but I’m quite certain kids can still purchase underwear that features their heroes, be they Sponge Bob, Dora the Explorer, or Spider-Man. A five-year-old boy can’t always go to school dressed like Superman, but he can still walk with confidence, knowing that Superman is protecting his most delicate body parts. On the outside, a little girl is just like any other little girl, but beneath it all, she has the wrappings of pretty, pretty princesses that will remind her that her dreams just may one day come true.

So when his mom took him shopping for new school clothes, and they reached that underwear isle, my hero status became suddenly undeniable. He could have chosen to decorate his loins with Superman, Batman, Spider-man, the Hulk, Transformers, Sponge Bob Square Pants, Scooby Doo, The Incredibles, or even Lightning McQueen – but he wanted to be like his biggest hero. He wanted to wear underwear like his Dad.

“Mom said you wear boxer shorts and I said I wanted those, but they didn’t have them, so she got me these. They’re called ‘boxer-briefs’,” he explained with a slight tone of disappointment.

“That’s, okay,” I responded into the mirror as the traffic began moving again. “I have boxer-briefs too, just like those.” And I saw in my review mirror the smile of an eight-year-old boy who was filled with pride and joy, and the confidence to take on the Third Grade’s most evilest of villains without fear.

Don't feel bad. Elvis Presley made mistakes too.

Twitter is a social media website that allows you to broadcast status updates – or, in my case, random and generally offensive thoughts – up to 140 characters in length, and allow a virtually limitless number of people to subscribe to your status updates. Why the 140 character limitation? Because Twitter stems from a group of people who got tired of sending text messages (limited to 140 characters or less) to all their friends just so everyone would know why they would be late to the keg party.

Many people are still trying to figure out just what in the hell Twitter is and what it’s for, and most of these people are getting it wrong. Severely wrong. But that’s understandable. Twitter does not come with an instruction book or even a helpful introductory video, so I’m going to help you out.

Rather than attempting to preach to you on “how to effectively use social media to build your brand“, I am going to give you a clear list of how not to say something, along with a helpful suggestion on what you might want to say instead. I wanted to write something specific to musicians, bands and artists, but I felt a “Twitter Primer” was first in order.

First, I must explain, any message on Twitter is called a “Tweet”. Cute, right? You can throw up later. Here we go:

Bad: I woke up with a headache and I’m dizzy. I think I have the flu.

How this reads: You are sick. So fucking what. Probably all of your friends are too, thanks to you, and they have little sympathy left for your whining ass.

Better: I shouldn’t have gone into that public restroom without my shoes on. My feet now have gonorrhea.

How this reads: You live life on the edge, you’re not afraid to take risks, and you often pay the consequences.

Bad: Tuna salad sandwich. Yummy!

How this reads: You’re eating a crappy sandwich again. Apparently you didn’t get that raise, again.

Better: A tuna salad sandwich is the perfect compliment to a lunch break surfing CareerBuilder.com.

How this reads: You’re broke and your job sucks. We sympathize without feeling like we’re actually obligated to. We may even offer you a job.

Bad: I love Dancing with the Stars! Marie Osmond is so cute!

How this reads: You’re a social reject and don’t have enough friends to know any better.

Better: Marie Osmond passed out on DWTS last night, and Tom Bergeron didn’t try to molest her. Loser.

How this reads: Sure, you watch stupid primetime television programs, but you’re in no way a conformist.

Bad: Why do all men have to be such jerks all the time?

How this reads: Not all men are jerks all the time. YOUR man is a jerk all the time, and, yeah, your thinly veiled allusion is more like the last-place entry in a wet t-shirt competition.

Better: If my boyfriend keeps this stupid crap up much longer, I won’t just be LOL when I tweet ‘SWF seeking MAN’.

How this reads: You know your man’s being an ass, but you’re a woman who can take care of herself – and your male followers will be following closely. Very closely.

Bad: I love you, baby!

How this reads: You’re in love, you’re newly in love, and you’re annoying. Everyone hates you.

Better: I don’t mean to brag, but I swear my girlfriend actually initiated the sex last night.

How this reads: Face it: if you’re getting laid, everyone who isn’t hates you. For everyone else, we’re now picturing your girlfriend naked. Thank you.

Bad: My band’s performing at The Continental Club this Saturday.

How this reads: Your band is playing at The Continental Club this Saturday. Boring.

Better: Come out to The Continental Club this Saturday and if our lead singer manages to not puke on the stage, everyone gets a free copy of our CD!

How this reads: Your band is fun, your shows are fun, and your lead singer probably will not be alive much longer.

Bad: Goodnight, moon!

How this reads: First, it’s unoriginal. Second, it lets the stalkers know that you’ll be sound asleep in a few minutes, or undressing shortly. Either way.

Better: There is no ‘better’ for this one. Just don’t do it. No one is watching your tweets with baited breath and will slit their wrists whenever yours stop coming at the end of the day without warning.

Bad: I hate peeling oranges.

How this reads: You hate peeling oranges. So what.

Better: Why doesn’t someone invent orangeberries so I don’t have to peel these damn things.

How this reads: You are a clever, clever person. And you hate peeling oranges.

These rules also apply to status updates on Facebook or any other social media site that allows you to post status updates. Respect your followers, don’t waste their time. Share anything entertaining, share anything truly informative, but keep the boring and the mundane to yourself.