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Welcome to "Can I Be Frank?"

Excited to announce that the blog has now evolved into a BOOK! The first book, Can I Be Frank?: An Auto-BLOG-graphy is now available in print and an eBook. You can purchase the print version for $16.95 (and the eBook for $3.99) at Barnes & Noble and Amazon websites

Click here to purchase Can I Be Frank?: An Auto-BLOG-raphy

A portion of the proceeds from The Auto-BLOG-raphy will be donated to several charities that work to cure Autism and Spinal Muscular Atrophy.

Thank you for reading!

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Smuggler's Blues

“Perhaps you'd understand it better
Standin' in my shoes,
It's the ultimate enticement,
It's the smuggler's blues,
Smuggler's blues."

-Glen Fry
While I am fairly certain the former Eagles front man was referring to the drug trade when he sang these lyrics to the 80’s hit song, this past weekend I experienced a different kind of Smuggler’s Blues.
I woke early Monday morning in a cold sweat and a deep rooted fear of the possible.  One of the truly “wrong” things in the history of this world reared its ugly head (bad choice of words, you will learn) before my eyes over this past weekend.  Not only did it appear in front of me once, but twice.  Not only did this evil appear twice, it appeared in the form of a child; both times.
Can this horror actually be happening?
Is some divine force intervening and causing this pain I have suffered?
What is that which I speak of, you ask?
Answer:  Grape Smuggler Bathing Suits.

Urban Dictionary.com defines Grape Smuggler as follows…
“A tight piece of clothing for the lower body (usually a speedo) that clearly displays the male genetalia.”
Yes, I am truly sad to report these occurrences.  On Saturday, I witnessed a boy, approximately age 6, wearing a constricting bathing suit while we were visiting family at their town pool club.  I actually did the quadruple-take when I saw this grotesque site.  Now, before you grab that waste basket to throw up in, let me soften the blow a little bit; the smuggler we speak of was not of the “speedo” variety, but rather a tight fitting spandex-type bathing suit.  Nonetheless, this is not a whole lot better.  As my neck nearly snapped from contorting it around like that girl in The Exorcist I was simply awe struck.  I quickly realized I was staring at this kid Sandusky-style and needed to redirect my gaze before the authorities (or ‘Pimples’, the 17 year old Life Guard on duty) were called to action. 
As I started to speed walk back to our seating area, I decided I should not feel badly for staring at this injustice.  What kind of parents would dress their toddler in such garb?  Is this mother possibly blind?  I sat in my chair and quickly searched for an alcoholic beverage (or a hot poker to gouge my eyes) in my kids’ beach bag.  DAMN!  Only juice boxes.  A few minutes passed as I continued to try to wrap my arms around this fiasco and come up with a rational explanation.
Is it possible this is some type of ‘floatie underwear’ this poor boy was wearing for safety’s sake?  No, the whole physics/center of gravity-thing throws this theory of the window.
Maybe it is the bottom part of some cool wetsuit?  Not a chance.  We are in an 80 degree pool and I don’t see a wetsuit top or surfboard on the premises.
Wait, wait, wait.  They must be foreign!  Yes, that’s’ the ticket.  Maybe they are French-Canadians visiting their American cousins or something?  That has to be the answer. No?
And then I heard it….
Mom of ‘Junior McTwigginberries’ shouting across pool is a most heinous Massachusetts accent…
Taaaawwwwmy, get ovah heyah and get some sunscreen awn ya!”
(Sigh)
Well, I am out of guesses.  Clearly this was an intentional act of cruelty and it appeared as if I was the only one who was witnessing the utter insanity of this scene.
Before I knew it, I realized I had not checked in on my own three kids who could now easily be in a steel cage breath-holding match at the bottom of the pool for all I know.  Anyway, I decided to just mind my Ps and Qs and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.  I will simply chalk this one up to random chance.  This poor kid will likely undergo years of psycho-analysis and be the subject of ridicule.  Bon Jour, ‘Little Jacque LaRocks’!  You are going to need it.
I deliberately deleted these surreal swimming shenanigans from my memory bank; until the next day when the demons I had exorcised would return.  Once again they would appear in the form of a child.

On a beautiful and warm Sunday, I needed to occupy my cherubs with some fun, aquatic activity.  With Mom at work, I decided to take them to our local pond where there is a great family beach, a dock for the kids to jump off, etc., etc.  Another relaxing day in the sun and a chance for the kids to safely play and stay cool at the same time.  As I set them free to enjoy the day, I sat my white Irish arse down in a comfy beach chair and grabbed the newspaper.  Today was a going to be a nice lazy day without strange wardrobes puzzles to pontificate.
And then it happened again.  As I looked up over the Comics, er Sports, section, I saw it again.  I could not believe my eyes.  Yet another small boy wearing an altered version of the classic Banana Hammock!  What the?  I jumped up quickly and, again, stared toward the dock at ‘Jean Claude Van DAMN BOY WHAT ARE YOU WEARING’!?!
After gladly peeling my eyes away from ‘Smallsy Smuggler #2’, I frantically looked all around me praying the French Foreign Legion had landed on this small beach and we were under attack by some mutant midget army of seed swaddlers?  Once again, no such luck.  This child was the spawn of, what appeared to be, a normal American family that was sitting just steps from my perch.
Well, this is just too much.  Did I miss some new style, trend, or fad for kids?  Is there some medical reason these boys are dressed like they part of some adolescent Tour de France Fan Club?  Is it possible that these ‘coin purse cut offs’ were scientifically designed to keep the sun away from ‘Marvin Gaye and the Grapevines’? (that’s what I heard)
You know what?  I don’t care and I don’t really want to know.  I am defeated and not going to waste one more second pondering why these odd children and their parents are attempting to sneak ‘Cheech and Chong’ over the border.  Not my problem.  Not on my watch.
Come on kids, time to go.  You can play inside….for the rest of the summer.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Thanks to my friends at Patch!

Link to article published in today's edition.
http://northandover.patch.com/articles/patch-blogger-publishes-blog-book

Not sure this guy is handsome enough for me! :)




Friday, June 1, 2012

EN-Titled


Putting the business hat on today to discuss a topic that has been bothering me lately; Titles.  Professionals have completely gone overboard with making sure they have a cool, cutting edge and (most annoying to me) self-important title next to their name.  With the inception of social networking, specifically LinkedIn, everyone and their (deadbeat) brother (the one they had to hire as a charity project) has the ability to slap on any proverbial name tag at their discretion.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away there was this little known luxury…it was called privacy.  People had the choice to be anonymous, if they so chose.  From a professional standpoint, people only knew “what” you did if you verbally told them or handed them a business card.  Period.  Today, we live in a society that forces us to disclose way-too-much information about ourselves if we want to play in the digital domain.  Whether you like it or not, if you are not participating in social media, then you are likely going to become a fossil and your friends and family will surely abandon you.  Ok, maybe a tad dramatic but I would argue that everyone from grade school to the grave needs to get engaged or the world will be passing you by. 
I am getting off track.
So, in a world with little to no privacy, everyone has decided they need to appear important, creative or well-established to the rest of the planet.  Today, I was on LinkedIn - using it for its ultimate and intended purpose; snooping around people’s professional lives - to determine how they can help ME out.  As I scowered through the hundreds of possible “connections” at my disposal I started to notice some of the ridiculous titles that people are inserting right beneath their name and just to the right of the best-picture-they-have-ever-taken-of-themselves. 
Sorry, but I need to digress again. 
Folks, are you all aware that you do not look anything like that picture you are portraying to the world.  I have met some of you after just seeing your LinkedIn avatar.  Are you kidding me?  The “Kristie Brinkley” that I connected with looks a lot closer to “David Brinkley” when we met for lunch. 
I am really not getting to the point here, am I?
Titles.  How many crazy monikers can we invent to sound important?  Here are a few actual job titles that I caught today which made me want to kick someone in the chest, Rick James-style.  Allow me to translate the actual meaning of these titles.
Entrepreneur & Visionary: Translation: Unemployed Ivy League Graduate.  Pass the Grey Poupon, Mr. Wentworth Van Uselessness the 4th!
Chief Creative Officer: Translation: My brother-in-law is the CEO and felt bad for me so he gave me this cool title.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get back to cleaning the ladies room.
Senior Account Executive: Translation: SALES!  Don’t be ashamed!
Independent  IT Consultant: Translation: I developed my sister’s dog walking business website with free software I stole from my comic book club blog.  WOOF!
Social Media Strategist: Translation: Facebook Addict.  Seeking more friends.
Environmental Lobbyist: Translation: Waitress/Tree Hugger.  Now go get me some maple syrup for my pancakes, Yoko!
Motivational Speaker: Translation: Girls Under Age 8 Soccer Coach.
John Q, Smith, President, John Q. Smith Enterprises: Translation: My name is John and I am an alcoholic.  I am not even going to attempt to fool you.  I need a real job.
Non-Profit Executive: Translation: Pan Handler.  SPARE CHANGE, SPARE CHANGE!
Financial Services Professional: Translation: Bank Teller.  I want three $10s and a $20, please.
Project Manager: Translation: My boss only gives me one thing to handle at a time because of my ADD.
Food & Beverage Professional: Translation:  I used to work at Wendy’s but got fired for not washing my hands.  Grab me a Frosty on your way out the door, Tubby.
Principal: Translation: I am not the President.  I am not an Owner.  I do not even work at an elementary school.  I have just been here so long they needed to invent something to call me.
Founder: Translation: I work out of my basement.  Ma, the meatloaf!

When did Teachers become ‘Experienced Educational Professionals’?
When did Cops become ‘Law Enforcement Executives’?
Janitors are now “Custodial Engineers”?
Fire Fighters are now referred to “Burn Avoidance Specialists”?

I don’t know…I just wish people were more comfortable with their station in life, like me.

Sincerely,

Francis H. McCabe
Founder, President & Chairman
FHM Worldwide, Inc.