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Chris Erskine
Man of the House
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Recent Columns:
AND I THOUGHT last week's party for 80 teenagers was bad (it was). Now I'm hosting a party for 30 adults. Each week, the celebrations get smaller, more polished, more demanding.
AT 17, SHE glides along as if life is one big expense account. Not that we haven't tried to teach her the value of a buck -- approximately 7 cents versus a year ago.
MY NAME IS Chris, and I'm a bookoholic.
New Orleans
I'M THINKING OF applying those little white silhouettes to the back window of the minivan. You see them everywhere now, those outlines of the family standing shoulder to shoulder -- mom, dad, the kids, the dogs. In the world of fertility bragging rights, they have replaced "Baby on Board" signs and "My kid made the honor roll" bumper stickers.
I probably worry too much. For instance, I worry about the increasingly strange color of Arnold Schwarzenegger's hair -- an odd, orange, Popsicle hue. I worry over how much toilet paper our family goes through in a week -- 400 rolls. And that the stuff oozing out from under the car might be blood.
SHE'S GOT strawberries all over the kitchen counter, another sign of a March madness that seems to have swept our humble home. Honestly, the kids haven't been "right" since their mother served them green eggs on St. Patrick's Day. What'd she use, absinthe? Our little villa here in the foothills suddenly seems slightly askew.
DODGER manager Joe Torre thinks he has problems? I've got 10 kids in camp, three with virtually the same name. Brendan, Brandon and Braden. Nice kids, but I'm constantly calling Braden by some other name. There's also an Adam, whom I keep calling Alex, and the twins, Connor and Ryan, who only God and their mother can tell apart. Basically, the only people I can identify with any confidence are my own son and my assistant coach James. Or is it Jim?
IN THE BACKYARD, my wife and I dig and dig and dig. It's spring and the ground is soft, good for farming. Forget that. We dig in hopes of discovering oil. A nice gusher would come in real handy right now, wouldn't it?
Finally caught up to "Juno," the supposedly sensational little flick about teen angst.