How To Annoy Your Parents In Any Language

Originally posted by Tribune Media ServicesCOPYRIGHT © 2011 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC

We are driving. In a rental car. In San Juan. Without a GPS. We have exactly one hour to make it to some place called Campo Rico, whose website promises "a variety of adventure and tour options to fulfill everyone's desire, from an impressive zip-lining experience crossing a canyon with waterfalls to a nice and easy hike through a natural coastal dry forest."

We are hoping to experience zip lining for the first time. At this moment, however, there is nothing nice and easy about our excursion. At this moment, I fear our adventure will consist of merely trying to survive at least one night in a snake-infested Puerto Rican jungle after we make a wrong turn. We will be spotted only when some tourist who knew where he was going casually zip lines over a waterfall and says, "Is that a rental car down there?"

My wife has the steering wheel in a death grip while I desperately try to read the directions from our hotel concierge. I would feel more confident if those directions didn't include sentences such as "go through the Minillas Tunnel to Plaza Las Americas Mall" and "you're looking for an unmarked exit." Compounding our troubles is that all the road signs are in Spanish.

I turn to my daughters in the back seat, both of whom are tormented by the idea that, if we do find our destination, they will be forced to relinquish their iPods for a few hours. For that reason, they have their earbuds firmly affixed to their temples, oblivious to our predicament.

"Natalie, you speak Spanish. Help us out here."

"What?"

"TURN OFF THAT STUPID IPOD!!"

"What's your prob, Dad?"

My "prob" was incorrectly assuming my high school freshman daughter could help guide us to Campo Wherever thanks to the recent 'A' she received in her introductory Spanish class. I didn't expect her to carry on lengthy conversations with locals, but she should have at least mastered directional words by now, right?

"The sign says 'oeste.' Is that east or west?"

"I have no idea."

That answers that question.

"What have you learned?" I asked incredulously.

"Cuidar el pez."

"And that means..."

"To take care of your fish."

I feel much better.

When my daughter chose Spanish as one of her school subjects, we were overjoyed. My wife took several years of Spanish in high school, yet, like most Americans, promptly forgot most of it before the ink on her diploma was dry. I opted for German, a language that is useful only if one gets transferred to Munich following college. We vowed not to let our daughter succumb to laziness. We would make sure she retained that second language and spoke it at will, just as seemingly every Latin American citizen can do with English

Now I realize that learning a second language is simply too taxing on an American teenager's brain. What we should have done is re-enrolled her in English, a dialect that is disappearing in U.S. public high schools, replaced by something unknown to me. I do know that high school English is much shorter. Just as my daughter abbreviates nearly every word in every sentence she taps out on her cell phone, so does she compress words when speaking to anyone within earshot. "Problem" becomes "prob," pizza is "peez" and, well, you get the idea. Occasionally I will give her a sentence and ask her to translate it.

"Natalie, say 'The President will be elected in November' in whatever language you speak."

"The prez will be elec in Nove."

Makes a big diff, doesn't it?

I'm hoping this is a phase and that eventually she will retreat to using words that can be found in a standard dictionary. Then she can direct her attention to learning Spanish phrases that don't involve the nurturing of marine life. Until then, I'm resigned to wearing the navigator hat on family excursions.

Suddenly I hear a voice from the back seat, a voice screaming to be heard over her own iPod.

"Te acabas de perder su salida!"

"What does that mean?"

"You just missed your exit."

Now I know why she got an 'A.'

My daughters WILL become actuaries

Originally posted by Tribune Media Services
COPYRIGHT © 2011 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC


I crept up behind my daughter as she sat at the kitchen table, slumped over her MacBook.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Facebooking."

I had no idea "Facebook" could be used as a verb. "Why are you on Facebook?"

"Because my homework's finished. That's the rule, right? I can Facebook after homework."

Suddenly "Facebook" had become an action verb. "Well, as long as you're on Facebook, why don't you join the actuarial science newsgroup? And check out the Actuarial Bookstore in Greenland, New Hampshire. It has a Facebook page, too."

"Dad, what are you talking about? What is actuarial science?"

I pulled up The Wall Street Journal on my iPad and thrust it in her face. "Read this article, 'From College Major to Career.'"

"How come?"

"So you won't be sitting around the house Facebooking in seven years."

Using 2010 census data, the world's leading business newspaper explored how various college majors fared in today's frightening job market. Actuarial science, commonly referred to as risk management in insurance and financial circles, received an unemployment rating of zero percent. Still, it was the 150th most popular major. Business management and administration topped the popularity list, in spite of the 6 percent unemployment rate.

The low ranking for the actuarial profession didn't surprise me. I've met, for lack of a better phrase, actual actuaries and there is truth to the joke: How do you tell an introverted actuary from an extroverted actuary? Answer? The extroverted actuary looks at YOUR shoes when he talks to you.

Other majors that assured instant employment included geophysical engineering and astrophysics, according to the article.

"Pick one," I said.

"Dad, I'm 14. Haven't you said that if I work hard enough, I can be whatever I want to be?"

"Yes, as long as it doesn't involve library science or clinical psychology," I said, pointing to the respective 15 and 19.5 percent unemployment rates for those majors. The clinical psychology statistics make no sense. Surely our nation has a demand for experts to counsel recent college grads who spent four years and thousands of dollars preparing for a career in military technologies, only to realize the profession has a 10.9 percent unemployment rating and their first job application may come from Starbucks instead of the State Department.

My daughter grabbed the iPad and began scrolling. "I guess Miscellaneous Fine Arts (16.2 percent) is out?"

"Absolutely. Who is going to hire somebody that walks into an interview and says, 'I'm really good at doing miscellaneous stuff, particularly if it's art-related.'"

"Didn't you want to be an astronomer when you grew up?"

"Yes and I should have gone with my gut. Look here. Zero percent of astronomers are unemployed."

"Where does stand-up comedian fall on this list?" she said, referring to the vocation I have held for the past 22 years.

"Comedians are self-employed. If you choose a career on this list, you'll be working for somebody."

"So maybe I should start my own business. Then we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Great idea! You could be a self-employed actuary. The best of both worlds!"

"Dad, isn't it a little early for you to be steering me towards a particular career? I mean, mom just had 'The Talk' with me two years ago."

"How did that go?"

"She got most of it right."

"Honey, I just don't want you to major in something that isn't going to bear fruit once you're out of college. You don't want to be like that kid down the street who graduated last year and still can't find a job. What was his major?"

"Medieval history."

"Right. Who's going to hire him? Harry Potter?"

"Here's one with a zero percent unemployment rate. School student counseling."

"Now that's perfect! You'd be good at that. Think how rewarding it would be to give advice to students. What's the first thing you would tell them?"

"When your Dad approaches you with an iPad, run."

More towels sir? We already knew that!

Originally posted by Tribune Media Services
COPYRIGHT © 2011 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC



The headline caught my eye as I sat in my Orlando hotel room, futilely struggling to open the complimentary coffee packet: "HOTEL STAFF 'READS' GUESTS' NEEDS."

The article was from a major national newspaper. Curiosity piqued, I elected to forgo morning java. Instead, I began reading and discovered that Affinia, an upscale hotel chain with properties in New York, Chicago and Washington, D.C., recently hired a "body-language expert." This announcement only strengthened my theory that if you are unemployed, simply invent a title for yourself and corporate America will hire you. At a recent company cocktail party, I met a "Director of Continuous Improvement," "Specialty Organics Manager" and "Social Network Evangelist." Not having the slightest clue what any of these people did, I greeted each with my standard opening line: "How 'bout them Bears?"

The Affinia body-language guru is responsible for training employees to spot guests' needs or wants simply by looking at them. A guest who constantly touches his face at the reception desk, the article states, could be anxious after a long day of meetings and require extra pampering.

Or a skin doctor. Or a psychiatrist.

I regularly travel more than 100,000 business miles per year. In the process, I have stayed everywhere from five star oceanfront resorts to fleabag motels that offer hourly rates and free high-speed Internet. Somebody needs to tell the fleabag motel desk clerks that any guest paying by the hour is not interested in surfing the Web, despite the 100 percent discount.

I have pulled back bedspreads to find cockroaches, checked into rooms with unflushed toilets, and discovered black, muddy substances seeping from my room's bathtub drain. The last incident occurred in a swank New York City hotel with a French name. When I contacted the front desk, the manager apologized and said he would send up a fruit plate for my inconvenience.

I told him that unless the dining staff could produce a banana shaped like a drain snake, he could keep the fruit.

According to Smith Travel Research, hotel-occupancy rates are on the rise and, in some destinations, even approaching pre-recession levels. The American public is traveling again, in spite of hotels' determination to mimic the airline industry with those extra, sometimes-exorbitant fees. Seriously, $5 for a can of minibar Diet Coke? I paid less for a case of the same stuff at Costco. Then again, how can I watch a $13.99 in-room movie without some liquid libation?

So, bravo to any hotel chain that offsets this price gouging by anticipating its guests' thoughts and desires. But there's no need to hire experts to scrutinize us. Just look for the following characteristics and know the meanings behind them:

Slurred speech and slight odor of Scotch - Guest prefers a room near the ice machine.

Carrying no suitcases - Guest just had lengthy argument with airline's lost-luggage personnel.

Carrying more than three suitcases - Guest just had lengthy argument with wife.

Accompanied by multiple children - Guest could be Brad Pitt. You never know.

Wearing bell-bottoms or other 1970s attire - Guest was recently released from prison.

Trouble keeping balance while walking - Guest is hiding at least three hotel towels in carry-on garment bag.

Angry tone and finger pointing - Guest insists he did not rent Debbie Does Dallas at 2:30 a.m.

Profuse sweating coupled with guilt-ridden expression - Guest eventually admits he did rent aforementioned movie and needs assurance that the charge will not appear on his company expense report. (That won't sit well with the Director of Continuous Improvement.)

Clad only in underwear - Guest stepped into hallway to retrieve complimentary newspaper without room key.

Gnarled fingers and bloody knuckles - Guest still can't open the #@$%* coffee packet.