Bean Bag

If you explain to a child how a crossword puzzle works, you tell them something like: "You read the clue, and then you put the answer in the boxes that correspond to that clue, one letter in each box." Pretty simple.

Except when the puzzlewriters get extra clever, and put more than one letter in each box. How ridiculous is this? Isn't "one letter in each box" kind of fundamental to crossword puzzles? Otherwise, why not just write down any old answers on unlined paper?

Plus, it creates an atmosphere of mistrust. In my classes, if we discover a typo in the book, for the next week none of my students trust anything in the book -- it could be a typo! It's like this with crossword puzzles. If I come across one of those clever puzzles, I am suspicious of the next ten puzzles I do.

What if the world was all like this? The law: Stop at a red light. If you don't, you'll get a ticket.
Except when you are supposed to go through it -- then you get a ticket if you stop.

Some things are like this, though. The law says: Don't answer your spouse's rhetorical questions. They're rhetorical! It's patronizing if you answer them.
Except when you're supposed to answer them. Then you're patronizing if you don't.

That's why crossword puzzles are good training for marriage.

Car Dealer

Everything I've learned about cars, I've learned through car failure.

For example, if your voltage regulator fails, your battery can explode on the New York Thruway at 10 PM on a Sunday night. If you're lucky, it'll happen right before an exit to a service station (what are the odds?) and a nice state trooper will drive you and your friends 30 miles back to your college, which will cause a little stir when you're dropped off at your dorm in a police car.

The axle isn't simply the big piece of metal that goes across between the wheels. It's more complicated than that. If you have some parts replaced down by the wheel, almost always they will be refurbished. You'll find this out when the new axle breaks, piercing the tire and leaving your wife and three hiking children (fortunately only) 20 miles from home. They'll tow your car 30 more miles away to repair it, but your mechanic will successfully bill the people who sold him the refurbished axle for the whole cost of repair, towing included.

The oil needs to be changed (presumably to other oil) every 5,000 miles. This can be done at home if you're a friggin' car genius, but now that an oil change is cheaper than a tank of gas, it seems like a good deal to have someone else do it.

Diner

Sometimes we eat at the diner. There are many different "the diners" but they all have similar menus.

I have made two summer resolutions. They are deep and they are achievable at diners.

First, when the server comes and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink?" and I want only water, I am not going to say, "I'll just have water." This is disrespectful to water. I will ask for my water proudly, as in, "I'll have some water please." Maude Barlow would be proud. She's Canadian, so I want her to like me.

My second resolution is that I will resist, really resist, ordering the turkey club whenever I'm in a diner. I tend to look at the menu, read it all very carefully, weigh all options, and then settle on the turkey club. It means I'm boring. I have the same problem in Baskin-Robbins. I'll look at each flavor, both by name and in the tub, and then I'll order the chocolate chip because it has the little slivers of chocolate rather than the big chunks that are in favor now. I've been tempted by the Pralines 'n' Cream, which for years and years was their top selling ice cream, but I can never get myself to order it because I'm not quite sure what a praline is, and it sounds like prune and raisin, which would be a terrible ice cream.

At the diner, I've been turkey-club-free. I'm very proud.

Music Store

Jonah is very good on the guitar. I am very good on the air guitar. As long as the music is loud, and nobody's really looking at me.

My one musical experience was with the saxophone in eighth grade. I was a very literal child. When I was given an instruction by a teacher, I tried to follow it exactly. I had no idea at the time how this was killing creativity, and when I see this trait in my children, it makes me nuts.

Anyway, my music teacher gave me and the two or three others in my sax class very specific instructions about how to blow into the sax. It involved the tongue and puffing and a gentle humming noise you had to make. I practiced this carefully, and after two weeks my saxophone had yet to make a noise. How can you not make a noise with a saxophone? Meanwhile, my peers, who I saw as less able to follow instructions, were nodding at the teacher and then just blowing into their instruments, making great sounds and learning to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and the like. Me, I gave up.

This is why I found a musical wife. It's cool when your kids can do things you can't. And they can't flaunt it over me, because I'm still larger than both of them.

Millbrook Chapel

I don't get to many weddings these days. I'm at that awkward age -- my friends and those of my generation in my family are married, but their children are too young. An exception today, as a former student was married in our chapel.

This is very convenient. I could walk to the wedding if I wanted too. I didn't, because the half-mile walk would have generated a sweat that I wouldn't have been able to shake for several hours.

I've been to a bunch of weddings in our chapel, including my brother-in-law's wedding on the night before Emma was born, and my own. I enjoyed this wedding for a slew of reasons. I hadn't seen the bride in a while, and I didn't know anything about the groom at all. The bride's parents are musicians, and they sang and played two songs that communicated their love for their daughter and their excitement for this marriage. Also, the ceremony was brief and to the point.

The best moment reminded me of my own wedding. When the bride said, "I do," she did so with volume and assertiveness, which drew a big laugh from the crowd. My vows required a "Yes" or "No", and when I decided on "Yes," I was loud and proud, and I also got a laugh. Which in the end, it what it's all about, really.

Red Rooster Picnic Table

What makes a burger good? There are certainly different grades of meat, but really its just a grilled hunk of beef.

So what's left? The toppings. The Big Mac has the mysterious "Special Sauce." The Shake Shack has the eponymous "Shack Sauce." The Red Rooster is sneaky -- they sneak some mayonnaise on the bun. You don't necessarily notice that it's there, but when you eat the burger, you think, "That's a good flavor!"

When I'm trying to figure out what to have for lunch, I'll stare into the refrigerator, finding nothing, until I notice the jar of sandwich-sliced dill pickles. Then I'm set, because in my opinion, the pickle makes the sandwich. I'll even stand for the low-fat mayo.

Bolt Bus

Rosa Parks wouldn't change her seat on the bus. Buses in Boston carried African-American school children through rock-throwing crowds. Psychedelic buses carried long-haired hippie people to Woodstock.

If you want to make progress, you'd better get on the bus. If you miss the bus, opportunity has passed you by. Choose your colleagues well, or they may turn on you and throw you under the bus.

A woman was carrying her baby onto a bus. The bus driver looked at her and said, "My God! That's the ugliest baby I've ever seen."

The women was taken aback, and made her way to an empty seat, visibly agitated.

"What's wrong?" asked the man next to her.

"That bus driver insulted me!" replied the woman.

"Wow! Did you tell him off?"

"No," said the woman, "I was too upset."

"Well, you should go give him a piece of your mind. Stand up for yourself!"

"Really? Do you think so?"

"Absolutely," said the man. "Go ahead, I'll hold your monkey."

The Bolt Bus is $20 from DC to NY. No stones, no monkeys and you can sit anywhere you want. And hippies are okay, too, although I didn't see any.