TrogloBlog

Shopping for a car is a punishing, exhausting and ultimately unsavory experience. A couple hours spent in captivity at an auto dealership, swimming with the mustached, pinky-ring-wearing sharks, can turn even the most upbeat, optimistic consumer into a cynic who suddenly starts questioning mankind’s innate goodness.

Having visited several dealerships in search of a new family vehicle, I too feel in need of a carwash, or at least a shower. But you sure do learn some interesting things in the process of being made to feel insignificant, helpless and dirty. Today I met with Ron, a nice and seemingly genuine guy who made a point of mentioning early in our initial conversation that the dealership he works for is “Christian.” His assertion got me to wondering. Would Ron be more straightforward with me, and less apt to massage the truth for purposes of closing a deal, knowing he’ll have to answer for his transgressions at the Pearly Gates? And might various dealerships have affiliations with different religions or philosophical tenets?

If so, would I be better served going to a “Buddhist” dealership, where a salesperson might be less confrontational and more apt to provide a screaming deal as his final gesture before his soul is reborn as an insect. Should I seek out a “Nihilist” dealer on the chance that a salesperson there would give me the vehicle of my choice at no charge because, in the end, currency and any negotiations involving it are pointless in a universe devoid of meaning. Perhaps a salesperson at a “Pagan” dealership would knock some off the price of a vehicle if I agree to make an offering to the Horned One.

After spending time at several dealers affiliated with different automakers (I'm still in the market for a car, preferably a hybrid), it seems to me that touting oneself as a “Christian” dealership is just another ploy to bring in prospects. At the end of the day, it’s the almighty dollar that they worship, other than on Sundays, when dealerships here in Colorado are closed, apparently so salespeople of a certain ilk (not you, though, Ron) can attend church to repent for the hell they put people like me through the other six days of the week.

David Port
Denver, Colo., 6.25.08

I’m not one to complain about living in a place that provides 300 days of sunshine a year, easy access to the Rocky Mountains and a relatively insect-free environment. But living at altitude in an arid climate does come with trade-offs; cracked lips, dry, reptilian skin to accelerate the aging process, persistent nose blockages (“Denver nuggets,” we call them in D-town), hair-raising static electricity and constant thirst are some of the conditions Coloradoans must contend with.

When the weather turns hot, living in a dry, landlocked place like Colorado can be trying, especially for those of us accustomed to having a large body of water nearby to quench the primordial urge to submerge. Finding water in the Centennial State isn’t a problem. It’s full of rivers, streams, lakes and reservoirs. Trouble is, most of these bodies of water are fed by melting snow that each spring and summer gushes downstream from the 14,000-foot Rocky Mountain peaks. So when the forecast calls for a hot day, the nearest ocean is a thousand miles away and temperatures in the closest non-chlorinated body of water are low enough to flash-freeze a small child, Coloradoans head for the pool.

That’s exactly where I found myself the other day along with my two daughters. I had the girls for the day and, with the temperature pushing 90°, the cooling waters of a local public pool beckoned. With the school year having just ended, the place was packed with kids and female guardians, but other than the whistle-twirling lifeguards, not a single male above age 18 could be found. Not one to gripe about the lopsided female-to-male ratio, I still wondered, where were the dads, the “mannies,” the grandpas and the gigolos in french-cut banana hammocks? Sure, the flexible schedule that being a freelance writer affords me makes it easier to spend a few weekday hours at the pool, but I assumed I would see at least a couple of other non-office-bound caveman compadres tanning their hides poolside.

Not a one.

Which got me to speculating. Are there really still so few dads whose jobs afford the luxury of taking some time on a given day for such an outing? I know quite a few guys here in Denver who, as independent contractors, business owners or gentlemen of leisure, have that kind of flexibility, which leads me to believe there’s plenty of us out there. None showed their faces on this day, however. So, I’m curious, what do guys who have some weekday childcare duties like to do during their time with the kid(s)? Where do you and the little one head when it gets too hot in the cave? What's preventing guys from hitting the pool or the beach with the kids when the summer heat hits and there's a window in the weekday schedule?

It's understandable for guys to be self-conscious about baring their thick winter pelts and the cadaverishly white skin beneath it. But hey, with a hairsuit like that, you'll never need sunscreen.

Dave Port
Denver, 06.02.08.

“Troglo” is short for troglodyte, a word of Latin origin that means “cavedweller”; “blog” is short for “web log,” a personal journal posted on-line for public consumption.

This brief etymology lesson serves to introduce the TrogloBlog, the forum from which the authors of the Cultivated Caveman guides (including The Caveman’s Pregnancy Companion, Caveman’s Guide to Baby’s First Year) and the creators of Gronk will unleash their perspectives into the blogosphere.

We readily acknowledge that we are late to the blogging party. Everyone from our publicists to our parents-in-law has told us, “You gotta start blogging.” But please humor us. We are knuckledraggers, after all. Caveman co-author John is one of the few remaining humans in the developing world to eschew cell phone technology in the name of preserving his own personal communications firewall. His brother and fellow co-author, Dr. Brian, can be found on the other end of the tech spectrum. Not only has he mastered text messaging and communications devices such as the iPhone, he even dabbles in the world of on-line matchmaking. I fall somewhere between the two extremes. I carry a cell phone but prefer not to answer it. My digits are too big and unwieldy to type an intelligible text message.

Limitations and all, we’re always willing to try something new in the name of evolution. Here are the top reasons we ultimately elected to start the TrogloBlog:

To stimulate discussion of issues related to parenting, pregnancy, fatherhood, family and relationships.

To free ourselves from our primitive shackles in order to delve into topics having nothing to do with the above.

To prove to our publisher that our wives didn’t write these books, we did.

To prove once and for all that people do visit our web site.

To make ourselves appear busy at our day jobs.

To practice the fine art of constructing full sentences.

To serve as female flypaper for Dr. B.

To connect with other like-minded cavedwellers.

To shamelessly pimp our Cultivated Caveman books and products.

To interact with—and gather input from—the dozens of folks who are actually buying and reading the caveman books.

In cyberspace, anyone can have a voice. You’re invited back to our cave anytime to hear ours and share yours. We’ll supply the frosty beverages…

Dave Port
Denver, 2 May 2008