Editor's note: Peter Boylan, an Iolani and University of Iowa graduate, has joined our rotation of About Men columnists. Now the police-beat reporter for The Advertiser, Boylan will share his words of wisdom with us once a month. This is his first installment.

By Peter Boylan
Advertiser Staff Writer

After a long week of work, Saturday mornings are for sleep.

Unless the University of Iowa basketball team is tipping off at the ungodly hour that our time zone necessitates, I am in a coma till at least noon.

Or until my mom, who will "just take a second," decides to clean the area around my bed. To a woman who has been waking up before 5 a.m. for the better part of 40 years, 6 a.m. on Saturday is a tad tardy.

No matter how loud I groan, or how many pillows I chuck in the general direction of her voice, the vacuum cleaner is still running, drawers are still opening, and the sweet sleep I was enjoying shatters.

It is a big-time pain in the okole. No sensible young man with financial freedom would ever resubject himself to the haunting mornings of high schools past, right?

Well, the fact of the matter is, I don't have the cash right now to live alone. I racked up college loans and amassed some debt living on the Mainland. In Kansas City, Mo., where I worked for the Kansas City Star before coming here, I was almost writing for free. Your first job in journalism pays you nothing more than a paragraph on your résumé.

So it makes sense to live with the p's. I'm sure I could eke out rent, but then I would have no money for anything else. I know a lot of dudes dealing with this pride-swallowing situation. Bad for your game, great for your wallet.

So you live with your parents. And, in my case, an 18-year-old girl who is a senior at Mid-Pac.

It is a humbling experience. Privacy is a dream that fades every time you wake up. People open your mail. Of course, no one owns up to opening your mail, but somehow there it is, out of the envelope on your bed, with questions scrawled in the margin.

"Did you pay this?" "What is this?" "Did you consolidate these?" " You really should give money to them." " Write a thank-you card to auntie and uncle." "Don't forget to recycle all this paper!"

The worst is getting dressed.

I have a unique and somewhat weird system for getting ready for work.

After I shower I put my socks on first, then my boxers, then my shirt, then I comb my hair, and finally, the pants. Most people go boxers first, but I like the way socks feel when you first get out of the shower, something about going from cold and wet to dry and covered.

Now, the sight of a man, naked, with his socks on is hardly flattering.

So there I am last month, rushing to get ready for work, frantically scouring my room for my press pass, wearing nothing but socks.

Every morning I wake up to Pearl Jam's "Release Me" and get dressed to NPR's "Talk of the Nation" with Neil Conan.

I'm bending to look under my desk, Neil is debating the merits of Pete Rose's induction into the Hall, and my sister decides it's time to tour the house.

All of a sudden NPR gave way to a scream and giggling that resulted from an 18-year-old girl seeing a naked man wearing socks, crouched in a catcher's stance under a desk.

There is very little you can do at that point, save for yelling and strategically placing your body behind the back of a chair.

So, yeah, at 24, with a full-time job, my sister saw me naked. And my parents read my mail.

But it doesn't cost me $1,200 a month, and I know what an employee stock-purchase plan is.

Reach Peter Boylan at pboylan@honoluluadvertiser.com or 535-8110.