MetroDad

Lonely is the night

You miss your wife and daughter terribly.

It's late at night. Your apartment feels cavernously empty. The silence seems to echo off the brick walls and reverberate noiselessly. How is that possible? The TV hums in the background. You sigh heavily and, as you gaze upon a photo of your wife and daughter, you pour yourself another scotch.

Things changed so quickly. Only a week ago, you and your family awoke to one of those beautiful spring mornings in Manhattan, the kind of morning that always rekindles your unabated love for this city. Your daughter is practically bursting at the seams with excitement. "Isn't it a beautiful day, guys? When you pick me up today, let's all go to the park for a picnic. Hooray! Picnics!" You and your wife smile and laugh at your daughter's unbridled enthusiasm. Together, all three of you walk out of your apartment building. Rays of golden sunshine warm your faces.

Three hours later, you leave the office briefly to get another dose of that midtown sun. You chat amiably with the Pakistani newstand owner downstairs as the two of you share a cigarette. You both agree that it really is a beautiful day. Despite your yearning to flee from work and enjoy the outdoors, you return upstairs to your office.

Immediately as you walk in, your co-worker runs up to you. "Call your wife. It's an emergency."

In the seconds that it takes for you to dial her number, your mind races. Since your wife is the one calling, you assume that nothing bad has happened to her. What else would constitute an emergency? Has something happened to your daughter? Your heart is racing.

When your wife answers, all you hear are the anguished sounds of her sobbing uncontrollably. Between choking sobs and gulps of air, you hear only isolated words. Father. Liver cancer. Inoperable. Tumor. 8 cm.

Your gut wrenches. A sickening feeling falls into the pit of your stomach. For some strange reason, you're reminded of that tragic morning of 9/11. Another beautiful day that started out with so much promise yet ended with so much pain.

The next 24 hours are a dizzying combination of activity and emotion. Phone calls are made. Tears are shed. Sympathies are laid bare. You learn that everyone reacts differently in these situations.

We all do what we have to in order to get by.

Your wife decides to get on a plane immediately so she can see her ailing father. You agree that it will be easier for everyone if you and your daughter stay at home. You both think you have it all figured out. However, when you telephone your mother-in-law to inform her of the news, she pauses for a moment and then tells you that it's great that your wife is coming to see them. However, the doctor said that her husband needs to enjoy life as much as possible now. Things might get worse soon. That being said, your mother-in-law tells you, do you think the Peanut could come to Texas also? Nothing would make him happier.

You and your wife look at each other and agree wholeheartedly. Knowing how much joy can come from being around a fun-loving toddler, you both know that this is one of the best (and only) things that you can do for her father right now. You also know it's hard to cry when you're laughing so hard. And one thing your daughter does do is provide lots of laughter.

So as you sit alone in your apartment missing your family and thoroughly depressed over your father-in-law's illness, you decide to watch some videos that you took last week. In one, your daughter is demonstrating how if mom and dad will not give her a baby sister, she will make one by herself. And as you sit there with tears in your eyes, you cannot help but start laughing again.

It's true. Laughter really is the best medicine.

I'm having a baby sister from Pierre Kim on Vimeo.

We love you, Dad, and we're thinking about you all the time.

 

It Takes a Village: Questions for Other Parents

How many times can a grown man watch "The Sound of Music" with his daughter before he completely loses his sanity?

What are the future ramifications if a young girl watches "The Sound of Music" 43,287 times between the ages of two and four? Will she want to move to Austria? Pursue a career in child services? Abandon a career in the nunnery?

Why do toddlers feel compelled to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper? Is the fun in watching it unroll or in watching your parents go completely bonkers?

Is baby perfume really necessary? Febreeze and scented baby wipes seem to work just fine for us.

If you are otherwise happy with your nanny, should it matter that her cellphone's ringtone is Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me?"

McDonalds Happy Meals: Ruthless case of aggressive fast-food marketing? Or greatest parenting tool ever?

If a little girl in the playground keeps pushing your adorable daughter to the ground, is it acceptable to give her an eating disorder? Or should I just confuse her by threatening to kick her in the nuts?

Is it wrong to feel completely smug and self-righteous when your kid is the only one not screaming and crying during the entire 5-hour plane ride?

Am I the only one who listens patiently to other people's boring parenting stories, waiting until they're done so I can tell my own boring parenting stories? 

By constantly telling kids to "use their words," are we raising the next generation of wussies?

Why would anyone let their pre-school son get a mohawk? Is life just not that interesting for him anymore? Is he rebelling? Against what? Vegetables?

Wait a second. High fructose corn syrup isn't just like corn? Uh-oh.

Why does everyone freak out about potty training? Do you have any adult friends who "just never quite got the hang of it?"

Anyone have any tips on how to get my toddler to take a bath? These nightly battles are driving me crazy. I'm thinking about throwing Happy Meals in the bathtub to entice her. It makes me feel like a lion tamer.

At what age do children learn to carry their own tissues and blow their own damn noses? I'm getting really sick of reaching into every single pair of my pants and pulling out a half-used snot-ridden emergency tissue.

Has anyone else gone into an important client meeting and taken out their laptop to do a PowerPoint presentation, only to find it covered with 50 Cinderella stickers?

Is it really possible for a human being to greatly enjoy a food but then one day decide never to eat it again? Or is that done solely to drive one's father insane?

What lasts longer? That fresh new baby smell or that fresh new car smell? I'm just wondering because my car still smells pretty good but my daughter's feet smell like vinegar.

Why do the worst tantrums always occur in the most public spaces with the most number of spectators?

The screaming and the whining. Does it EVER end?

Your answers to any of these questions are greatly appreciated. Feel free to add your own. Sometimes I think it really does take a village.

MetroDad Mailbag (April 2008)

It's been a long time since we've done a mailbag. I figure now is a good time to catch up because I'm about 3 months behind in replying to e-mails from readers.

Let's start off by saying that I'm always surprised by the questions that readers send in. I've always believed that I have the weirdest, coolest, smartest, and strangest readers on the internet. As always, your questions this past week seem to confirm it.

Let's get this thing rolling...

.

Who was the hottest TV mom in a family show? I read on ESPN that Bill Simmons voted for Elyse Keaton. Who would you vote for?
-- Bradley

Elyse Keaton definitely makes the top three. Not only is she attractive but also I think every guy has a secret fantasy about being with a hippie architect. It's one of those weird juxtapositions that you never actually see in real life (like sexy mechanic or slutty surgeon.)

I'd have to round it out with Clair Huxtable (still the hottest female doctor ever on television) and Maggie Seaver (reporter by day/desperate housewife at night.)

Erin Gray as Kate Summers Stratton on "Silver Spoons" wins as hottest step-mother.

Who do you think is going to win this year's American Idol?
--Janet B.

Personally I'm rooting for either David Cook or Syesha but truthfully I don't really feel any great allegiance to any of them. In fact, I don't really even like most of them. Especially the women. Am I the only one?

I can't put my finger on it but there's something that rubs me the wrong way about Carly Smithson, Brooke White, and Kristy Lee Cook. I have the sneaking suspicion that they're not quite as nice as they're trying to portray themselves on television. In fact, there's a big part of me that thinks that when they're home alone and nobody's watching, they kick the dog and make fun of Mexicans.

And can we talk about Kristy Lee Cook for a second? Has anyone since George Bush tried to parlay our feelings of national patriotism into a winning campaign? Every week, I feel like all she does is sing "Amazing Grace" and "God Bless the U.S.A."

Tune in next week as she sings "God Bless America," the following week as she brings home "America the Beautiful," and watch it continue until the season finale when she invades Iran!

I have to go to a karaoke party in a few weeks and I'm nervous as hell. I don't have a great voice and I've never sang in front of other people before. What are your top 5 karaoke songs?
-- Derek

As I've said before, I have a horrible voice. However, after years of trial and error, I've found that there are certain songs that any guy can sing well. Here they are:

Bryan Ferry's "Avalon"
John Denver's "Country Road"
The Ramones "I Want to be Sedated"
Oasis' "Wonderwall"
Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline"

Avoid anything by Guns & Roses, Sting, Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, or Jay-Z. These are much harder than you could possibly imagine. If you're really drunk, it's ok to attempt Night Ranger's "Sister Christian." However, under no circumstances should you ever try singing anything by Journey.

You've been warned.

Bobby Flay or Mario Batali? That's it. Just pick one. You can set other parameters if you wish (best to drink with, more feared in an alligator wrassle...)
-- BackpackingDad

To eat their food?  Mario Batali. Every time I eat at Babbo, I end up having dreams about the beef cheek ravioli. Never had drinks with Bobby Flay but Batali can hold his own. That being said, I still want to be best friends with Paula Deen.

Would you consider a partner for MetroDog in near future?
-- Helen

Sadly, MetroDog had a vasectomy several years ago. He kept getting attacked by other dogs at the playground who were jealous of his virility. However, this is a perfect opportunity to relay a funny vasectomy joke I heard on the plane the other day.

After their 11th child, a redneck couple decided that was enough little hillbillies. The husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin-wife didn't want to have any more children and asked what could be done.

The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem, but it was expensive. "A less costly alternative is to go home, get a cherry bomb, light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to your ear and count to 10."

The hillbillie said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest tool in the shed, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can and holding it next to my ear and counting to 10 is going to help me."

"Trust me," said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held the can to his ear and began to count...

"1"
"2"
"3"
"4"
"5"

At which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs, and resumed counting on his other hand.

Do you and Bosslady have "free passes" for any given celebrity? For example, if my wife is out one night and she sees Clive Owen, she is officially allowed to cheat on me with him. Likewise if I happen to run into Jessica Alba. Who would you and Bosslady choose?
-- JDG

I vaguely remember BossLady and I having this conversation several years ago. I think she chose Colin Firth. I chose Julianne Moore because she lives in our neighborhood and, as I annoyingly mention any time her name comes up in conversation, I'm pretty sure I caught her checking me out on the streets of Soho many years ago. Of course, that was before I had Lasik surgery so it could have been Julianne Moore.

But it also could have been Carrot Top.

Side point: Colin Firth's claim to fame was his starring role as William Darcy in the BBC version of "Pride & Prejudice." It's mindboggling how many women fell in love with him after that. Has any actor ever achieved so much adoration from women from one single role? The only one I can come up with is John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler. Anyone got any others?

What is the most embarrassing concert you have ever attended. Follow up: What was the best live show you've ever seen?
-Sarah

I went to see Tears for Fears a few years back and realized during the show that neither member of the band was an original member.

However, I'd have to say that the most embarrassing concert I ever attended was Ricky Martin. I wish I could say that alcohol, bribery or blackmail were involved. In actuality, a few buddies and I went to see him because we actually thought it would be a pretty good show. Not only have I never been more embarrassed, I've also never felt gayer.

Best live concert? Bruce Springsteen. Front row. Giants Stadium. Backstage passes. Met the Boss. I can now die a happy man.

Truthfully, would you prefer to have BL stay home or work? I don't think there's a perfect scenario as both are equally as hard.
-- Emily

Truthfully, my perfect scenario involves BossLady working and me staying at home.

I have moved to a city, Chicago, with a very rich sports history.  As a Denver-ite with my own sports loyalties, do I even both to acknowledge there are sports team out here and choose the Cubs or the Sox?  Or do I just say that both suck and continue being a home town fan?
-MikeyMike

Unless you're planning on staying in Chicago for the rest of your life, you need to suck it up and remain loyal to your hometown team. That's the cardinal rule, man. No switching loyalties. No jumping on bandwagons. No rooting for two teams.

I love Jimmy Fallon. In fact, he married one of my best friend's sisters. But Fallon claims to have grown up loving the Yankees but then, after filming "Fever Pitch," he switched loyalties and became a Red Sox fan. You can't do that! That's like rooting for the Sunnis and the Shiites.

That being said, there's nothing wrong with being a Rockies fan and going to some Cubs games. There are very few things more enjoyable in this world than drinking a few beers in Wrigley Field and watching the Cubs on a gorgeous Spring afternoon.

I was having a debate with my wife about the 5 most surprising things to ever happen on television. I won't tell you our choices. We just want to hear yours.
-- Jamie

Great question. I think we've all become so jaded about the formulaic outlines of TV plots that we forget those special moments that rock your world. In no particular order, here's my list of Top 5 "Holy shit! I can't believe that just fucking happened" moments that made my jaw drop.

(1) Kimberly taking off her wig on "Melrose Place." I still think that this is the freakiest thing ever shown on television. Seeing that huge scar still gives me nightmares.

(2) Rosalind falling down an elevator shaft to her death in "L.A. Law." Leave it to David Kelly to come up with one of the funniest and most unexpected ways of killing someone off on television.

(3) Teri Bauer's death on "24." Maybe the most shocking death on television. Think about it. In one day, Teri Bauer was kidnapped, tortured, raped, thought her daughter had been killed, got amnesia, and found out she was pregnant. She was rescued, Jack stopped the terrorist plot, and it looked like everyone would live happily ever after. Then, at the last minute, Nina Myers took her hostage, tied her up and slashed her throat, leaving her lifeless body to be found by Jack in the season's final scene. I remember BossLady and I staring at the television with our jaws open and yelling, "No fucking way!" I can't wait until the new season starts.

(4) Mork from "Mork and Mindy" getting pregnant and giving birth by ejecting a small egg from his navel. The egg grows and grows and finally cracks open to reveal a full-grown Jonathan Winters! It's hard to remember how funny and groundbreaking the first season of this show was when it first aired. Whatever happened to that Robin Williams guy?

(5) The entire plot development of "Lost." Season One was one of the most groundbreaking seasons in television. Seasons Two and Three were pretty weak but then Season Four kicked ass again. I think now that that the writers know when the show will end (after season 6,) everything will get a lot tighter and more focused again. It's clear from the glimpse-at-the-future episodes that we can expect "Lost" to continue to excite and shock us right up until the very end.

What are some of the best things about living in New York?
-Hapa Mama

Picnics in Central Park. Taking the subway to work. The energy, the feel, and the pulse. Off-Broadway shows. The architecture. Biking on the west side promenade. Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. Skateboarding in Union Square. Sailing in Battery Park. The rooftop bar at the Met, the basement bar at La Esquina, and the outdoor bar at The Boathouse. Having at least six different local newspapers. Having a nail saloon, a 24-hour deli, and a shoeshine store on every block. Having food, cigarettes, and magazines delivered to your door at 3:00 am. The duck shumai at Dim Sum Go-Go. Guss' Pickles on Orchard Street. Pastrami from Katz's deli. Impassioned neighbors. Clashing cultures. An unyielding spirit.

The list could go on forever.

Help, MD! I've been dating my girlfriend for four years now and I'd like to propose to her over the summer. I've been doing some research online about diamond engagement rings and I heard that you're supposed to spend 2-3 months salary on the ring? Are they freaking kidding me? If I had 3 months salary saved up, I'd pay off my student loans, get a car, or buy some health insurance. What should I do?
-- Michael G.

Don't believe the hype. That salary thing is just another marketing campaign. It's an arbitrary amount pushed by the world's largest diamond producer DeBeers, the same people who helped promote apartheid, contributed to the war in Liberia, and have paid million of dollars in fines for international price fixing (for an interesting article, go here.) Do you suppose they have your best interests at heart? I think not.

If you don't have the cash now, you still have plenty of other choices. Like using a family ring or buying one from an antique store. Or getting one made from a precious gem stone. I've heard of some people taking out loans for diamond engagement rings but that sounds like a bad idea to me (especially since you don't have health insurance.)

Besides, we're actually very close to the point where synthetic diamonds are becoming indistinguishable from real ones. So maybe it's not a bad idea to start thinking about alternative stones for engagement rings. Maybe you'll be ahead of the trend!

I was going to ask you what is your favorite color of Crocs... but i know better! Seriously, what do you (as an insider) think is going to be the "I gotta have it" fashion statement this summer?
-- Jennster

My friends always give me shit for being the ideal cocktail party guest. They know that they can dump me on a random stranger and I'll find something to talk to them about---the Dolphins switching to a 3-4 defense, the merits of Norman Mailer, where to find a cheap tailor in Hong Kong, why Nas' Illmatic is one of the best albums of all-time, the highly underrated thrill of milking a cow, etc.

At some point in the conversation, the random stranger will ask what I do for a living. When I reply that I work in fashion, I usually get two responses: (1) "Really? Looking at what you're wearing, I never would have guessed" or (2) "So what's going to be hot next season?"

In all seriousness, I actually pay a lot of money to professional trend forecasters and color researchers to answer that question for me but because I love all of you readers so much, I'll share it all with you.

The big colors for women this summer are romantic pastels and sorbet tones. Platinums, neutrals and milky nude tones are also going to be very popular. The must-have items are flouncy voluminous skirts with fitted tops or cropped jackets.

Never in a million years when I was growing up did I ever think that I would write that last paragraph.

Let's move on, shall we?

Do you think your Mets will even make the playoffs this year? Especially the way they looked against my Phillies?
-- ByrdMan

I do. If Pedro and El Duque come back healthy, we'll have the best rotation in the NL. Also, it's only a matter of time before the bats start heating up. Beltran, Delgado, and Reyes are notoriously slow starters and usually play better in the warmer months.

By the way, the lovely and beautiful BossLady is out of town for business this week so I took the Peanut to the Mets game last night. Over the course of just 4 innings, my tiny three-year-old daughter ate a hot dog, a cotton candy, a pretzel, and some ice cream. These Dominican guys sitting next to us thought it was hilarious and started cheering her on. I think they half expected her, at some point, to shotgun a beer, belch, and light up a cigar.

We need your help, MD! My brother came to stay with us for 8 weeks. He's generally a good guy. A little uncouth but has a heart of gold. In return for staying with us, he helped watch the kids every day and also babysat on the weekends so that my husband and I could go out to dinner. My 5-year-old son adores his uncle and was like his little shadow during the entire time he was here. The only problem? My son has picked up on all my brother's sayings.

A few days ago, he got up from the dinner table and said, "Be right back. I gotta go take a piss." Yesterday, he was getting frustrated playing with some toys and I heard him yell, "Goddamn piece of crap!" How can I deprogram my son? I need him to stop speaking like a 27-year-old unemployed slacker! Help!
-- Lisa H.

I'm speechless. Short of electroshock therapy, I have no idea what I'd do in a situation like this. Readers? Anyone want to take a shot at this?

Lastly, I got a request from a reporter doing one of those stories on the funny things that kids say. I told her I'd ask my readers and she could look up their responses here. So go for it, my friends. What's the funniest thing you've heard a kid say?

Aside from "Be right back. I gotta go take a piss."

Pimp & Primp

We're going to start this post off with a big pimpin' endorsement to Cool Mom Picks.

Why? Many reasons. For one, the site is an amazing resource for moms who are looking for cool, new products to make their lives easier. They focus on non-mainstream products and services, particularly those from indie or emerging designers and mom/women-run companies. Go subscribe to their newsletter here.

Secondly, the two women who run Cool Mom Picks, Liz and Kristen, are not only good friends of mine but they're also cool as hell. 

That's why I found myself last Friday night in an East Village karaoke bar with 25 other awesome mommy bloggers who all happened to be in NYC for the weekend. To celebrate the occasion, the Cool Mom Picks ladies rented out a private karaoke room and asked me to come party with them. How could I resist? 25 mommy bloggers, me, and an open mike? Sign me up!

I should have known how things were going to end up when, within minutes of entering the room, I found myself singing Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" with Kristen. Several hours and many vodka shots later, LOD and I found ourselves singing a Kenny Loggins duet. Things get a little fuzzy after that but I have a vague recollection of singing Oasis' "Wonderwall" and clearing out the room.

Ladies, if there are any photos or videos of this out there, please burn them immediately. I am the worst kind of karaoke singer. I sound like a dying frog with asthma yet I have absolutely no inhibitions. My apologies to any of you who had to witness this in person. However, big thanks to Liz and Kristen for hosting such a fun evening.

Now, BossLady, Peanut and I are headed off for a little vacation. Since one of my oldest friends is getting married this weekend at this amazing resort on a private island, we've decided to take some extra time to enjoy ourselves.

I plan on spending my daughter's entire college savings in an attempt to set the record for "Most Spa Treatments Done in a Single Week." When the concierge from the resort called me yesterday and read me the full list of spa services, I just said, "Yes." After all, when else am I going to get a Thai Kalapa Volcanic Earth Clay Spa Ritual? Or a Milk and Honey Body Wrap? Shit, I think the only treatments I turned down were the prenatal massage and the margarita pedicure.

Lest you worry that I not be engaged in more masculine pursuits, I'll have you know that I'll be singlehandedly carrying two enormous pieces of luggage, a stroller, golf clubs, four tennis rackets, thirty-five Disney DVDs, twenty Dr.Seuss books, two stuffed animals, and a hyperactive toddler who thinks I'm her personal horsey. By the time the plane lands, I fully expect to have a pulled groin or a herniated disk. Hell, maybe I will get that prenatal massage.

Anyway, since those damn spa sessions never begin on time and since I expect to have a few free moments between cocktails, I thought this would be a good time for a MetroDad Mailbag. We haven't done one in a long time.

So go ahead. Ask me anything you want. Leave the questions in the comments or shoot me an e-mail. As always, we'll cover anything from the personal to the inane. As always, the weirder, the better.

By the way, quick question for all my male readers out there: Does the Bacon Bra make you hungry or horny? I'm asking for purely scientific purposes, of course.

Field of Dreams: My All-Asian Fantasy Baseball Team

As I've discussed on these pages before, two of my greatest passions in life are (1) being a proud Asian-American man, and (2) baseball.

So it's only natural that I have a special place in my heart for any MLB baseball players of Asian descent (even if they do play for the damn Yankees.) Part of it has to do with the inherent pride when we see people who look like us achieve success in any field. However, a bigger part of my love and admiration for Asian baseball players has to do with the fact that they are our greatest weapons in battling mainstream media's perception of the emasculated Asian male.

Look at some of the Asian baseball players in MLB today. Future Hall-of-Famer and perennial All-Star Ichiro Suzuki, with his matinee idol good looks, has modeled for the cover of GQ while making a strong argument for being one of the best hitters to ever play the game. Hideki Matsui is a modern-day Paul Bunyon who strikes fear in opposing pitchers by putting up some of the game's most awesome power numbers. And stud rookie sensation Kosuke Fukudome is already being hailed as the savior who will lead the Cubs to their first World Series title in 100 years.

Back when I was a slick-fielding Little League shortstop and dreaming of playing for the NY Mets, there were NO Asian players in Major League Baseball. Although the legendary Masanori Murakami briefly pitched for the San Francisco Giants in 1964-1965, it wasn't until Chan Ho Park made his debut with the Dodgers thirty years later that we saw another MLB player of Asian descent.

It makes me extremely proud to look around the clubhouses of Major League Baseball now and see so many Asians playing at virtually every position. I was thinking about this recently and I began wondering whether there were actually now enough Asian baseball players in MLB for me to draft an All-Asian Fantasy Baseball team. And how would that team stack up against the rest of baseball?

Let's take a look:

CF Ichiro Suzuki (Seattle Mariners)
2B Tad Iguchi (Chicago White Sox)
RF Kosuke Fukudome (Chicago Cubs)
LF Hideki Matsui (NY Yankees)
3B Akinori Iwamura (Tampa Bay Devilrays)
C Kenji Johjima (Seattle Mariners)
SS Chin-Lung Hu (Los Angeles Dodgers)
1B Kaz Matsui (Houston Astros)
DH Johnny Damon (NY Yankees)

SP Daisuke Matsuzaka (Boston Red Sox)
SP Chien-Ming Wang (NY Yankees)
SP Hiroki Kuroda (Los Angeles Dodgers)
SP Akinori Otsuka (Texas Rangers)
SP Kei Igawa (NY Yankees)

RP Hideki Okajima (Boston Red Sox)
RP Chan Ho Park (Los Angeles Dodgers)
RP Cha Seung Baek (Seattle Mariners)
RP Takashi Saito (Los Angeles Dodgers)

Few notes:

(1) I put Kaz Matsui at 1st base because there currently no Asian 1st basemen in MLB. I figured he was well-suited because of his glove skills. He's lost some arm strength over the years and Chin-Lung Hu is more of a natural shortstop.

(2) Yes, Johnny Damon is half-Asian. His mother is Thai. You didn't know that?

So let's take a look. How does my All-Asian Fantasy Team measure up?

Actually, I think we look pretty damn good. We've got a great blend of veteran leadership and young players. We've got a nice mix of guys who can get on base and guys who can hit for power. Even though Ichiro is probably the sole Golden Glover, the defense is pretty solid.

Our pitching staff is led by D-Mat and Chien-Ming Wang. I'll put those two aces up against any 1-2 combo in baseball. Kuroda was a freaking stud in Japan and could have a monster year for the Dodgers this year. Otsuka and Igawa should be more than serviceable filling out the back end of the rotation.

The bullpen is probably the team's biggest weakness. Saito is a decent enough closer. Probably better than most others in MLB right now. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much we'll get out of Okajima, Park, and Baek. The plus side is that our starting pitchers tend to eat up a lot of innings so a top-notch bullpen might not be as important.

You know what? This is a pretty damn good team. I'll bet they could win 80-90 games. Put them in the National League and they might end up making it to the World Series. How great would that be?

Play ball, my Asian brothers!

Cross-posted over at Rice Daddies.

Is there any better time of year than the start of Major League Baseball? I just got my season tickets in the mail and I'm looking forward to long summer evenings at Shea Stadium. We love going to Met games as a family. In fact, I think BossLady holds the Shea Stadium record for most cotton candy consumed during a single game. And Peanut thinks the greatest thing in the world is when everyone stands up to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame!"  These are some of the fondest memories I think we'll all cherish as the Peanut gets older. Hopefully, she'll still want to go to the game with her old man.

Let's go Mets!

Chaos Theory: April 2008

AND SO IT BEGINS...

Recently my 3.5-year-old daughter has gotten into the habit of rolling her eyes at me and sighing. Are you freaking kidding me? It starts that early? I thought I had at least another 5 years.

Oh well...at least she doesn't give me the hand and say "whatevah!"

TV: TOOL OF THE DEVIL OR MAGICAL PARENTING MACHINE?

Am I a bad parent because I'm trying to teach my daughter how to operate the remote controls for the TV so I can get a few extra hours of sleep on the weekends? It's frustrating as hell. I don't understand why she can't comprehend the concept of powering up the plasma with the black remote, turning on the cable and 5.1 surround sound system with the silver remote, and then switching on the Tivo with the white remote. Jesus Christ! How hard can it be? Even my parents can do it!

CHASING IMMORTALITY AND NORMAL-COLORED PEE

I recently read an interview in Wired magazine with Raymond Kurzweil, the brilliant scientist and pioneer in the fields of health, artificial intelligence, the technological singularity, and futurism. Apparently, he has been working with several of the world's leading longevity physicians and is on an advanced nutritional regimen that involves taking 180 to 210 vitamins and mineral supplements a day.

Hell, I figured this couldn't hurt so I started trying a modified version. I started taking some advanced multivitamins, niacin, Coenzyme Q10, and CLA.

I stopped after one week because my pee looked like nuclear waste from Chernobyl. It was radioactive yellow. I've never seen anything like it in my entire life. It also smelled like the urine of a Frenchman who had been subsisting solely on a diet of asparagus, Gorgonzola cheese, and andouillette.

Too much information? Sorry, my friends. Let's move on.

THREE (MORE) PHRASES I NEVER THOUGHT WOULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH

(1) "For the last time, I do NOT want to look at your poop."

(2) "Please stop shoving edamame up your nose."

(3) "I really don't like it when you wake me up by licking my entire face."

 

READING IS FUNDAMENTAL

Been on a bit of a reading tear over the past two weeks. And because so many readers often e-mail me and ask what I'm reading, I thought I'd do another set of short book reviews.

Quick thoughts:

Lush Life: A Novel (Richard Price): It's only April but this has to be on the short list for one of the best American books of the year. Presently, there is no better writer chronicling urban life in this country. His dialog and attention to detail are masterful.

His Illegal Self (Peter Carey): I've always been amazed by Carey's versatility. His ability to master so many different genres, his brilliant sense of social context, and poetic mastery of the English language make him one of our greatest modern authors. However, I think I must be the only person on the planet who didn't like this book. I just didn't "get" it.

The Player of Games (Iain M. Banks): I used to read a lot of science fiction when I was younger. Mostly stuff like Asimov or Bradbury. I hadn't really read any in over 20 years. A friend sent me this and I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn't know people whose work focused on science fiction could also be such talented literary writers.

Bangok 8 (John Burdett): Don't believe the hype. I give this book the finger. This so-called exotic thriller romanticizes Thailand in a patently absurd and shallow manner. You'll feel no human connection to any of the chapters and the plot lines take forever to develop. If you're interested in this genre, check out Colin Cotterill's series of mysteries set in Laos. Much better written.

Also, I'm pleased to announce that two friends of mine have released books this past week. Rebecca Woolf's "Rockabye: From Wild to Child" chronicles her entry into motherhood and Pamela Paul's "Parenting, Inc." breaks down the business of parenting. I've received advance copies of both and am still reading them. They're both fantastic reads. Go check them out!

PARENTING JOKE OF THE DAY

One night a wife found her husband standing over their newborn baby's crib. Silently she watched him. As he stood looking down at the sleeping infant, she saw on his face a mixture of emotions: disbelief, doubt, delight, amazement, enchantment, skepticism.

Touched by this unusual display and the deep emotions it aroused, with eyes glistening she gently slipped her arms around her husband.

"A penny for your thoughts," she whispered in his ear.

"It's fucking amazing!" he replied. "I just can't see how anybody can make a crib like that for only $46.50!"

This joke is dedicated to my friend Greg at DaddyTypes, who has taught me that there are more people than I ever would have imagined who can afford to spend $3,000 on a crib!

LIFE IMITATING ART

My daughter and I spend a lot of time together so it's only natural that she's picked up some of my colloquialisms and expressions. However, she's at that age where she will instinctively pick up any adult phrase and start employing it immediately with her peers. I had no idea how far things had gone until I went to visit her at daycare the other day.

As we all sat in a circle listening to the teacher quietly read us a story, one of the Peanut's classmates let out an audible fart. Immediately, my tiny little daughter stood up and yelled, "Hey, who stepped on a duck?" Her comedic timing was impeccable.

I've never been so mortified and proud at the same time.

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I'M MISSING SOMETHING HERE?

Asked for a reaction to the news that he'd been endorsed by reality-soap bad girl Heidi Montag of "The Hills," John McCain told Time magazine: "I’m honored to have Heidi’s support and I want to assure her that I never miss an episode of 'The Hills,' especially since the new season started."

 

THE TERRORISTS HAVE WON!!!

Have you seen this mind-boggling article in Philadelphia magazine? Over the course of the piece, we learn about:

1. An eight-year-old receiving a bikini wax.

2. A ten-year-old getting microdermabrasion.

3. Numerous children under ten getting highlights.

4. Nine-year-olds getting professional makeup lessons from Vogue photo-shooting makeup artists.

5. Birthday parties where all the little girls get a full day's worth of beauty treatments.

Apparently today's girls are spending much of their time looking in the mirror. They have a new obsession — a self-obsession — and it's being aided and abetted by their mothers. What the hell is wrong with these mothers? Why can't they just let their kids be kids?  Shouldn't we call Protective Services on them?

This disturbing beauty obsession among young girls has apparently gotten to the point that there is a chain of full-service spas/salons targeting young girls scheduled to launch soon.

This makes me gasp, cringe, cry, throw up, and want to send my daughter off to a convent. With all that's going on in the world around us, it's hearing things like this that make me lose my faith in humanity. 

Oy vey, someone get me a freaking cocktail.

Patria Potestas (Daddy Power!)

When I first started this blog, I never really believed that anyone would be interested in hearing a guy blather on about fatherhood.

After all, let's face it. We still live in a world where men are not really encouraged to discuss their inner feelings. Most of us just don't want to hear about it.

If society has taught us anything, it's that there's a fine line between being a strong, confident man who is in touch with his feelings and being a giant wuss who cries at every father-daughter dance, likes to bake banana bread, and loves Jane Campion movies. Iron Man meet Iron John.

So yeah, really, who the fuck would want to listen to some random NYC Asian-American dude talk about being a dad?

But four years, ten pounds, and two colonoscopies later here I am. Still standing.

In fact, this is my 337th post. It's hard to believe. 337 times I've released my mental diarrhea out into the public arena. Who knew I even had that much to say?

Since its inception, this blog has been my own personal soapbox. It not only serves as a place for me to transcribe my personal journey into fatherhood but also lets me vent about the truly important issues of the day that seriously affect all of us.

Like sitting at the pediatrician's office yesterday, I jotted down an observation. Look, I wrote it on this napkin. It says: DO SOMETHING FUNNY ABOUT BABY DROOL. You see, that's the joy in writing this blog. Taking on the big guys.

Anyway, four years ago when I started this site, there weren't really any dad bloggers around. In fact, as far as I knew, it was just me, Greg, LOD and a small handful of others.

Then, along came Dutch, Danny, and Matthew. Pretty soon, more and more dads started entering the blogosphere. It's almost as if they started springing up in waves. I loved it. I've always enjoyed reading new dad blogs and wanted to give all of them as much attention as I possibly could. In fact, whenever I had free time, I'd do various write-ups introducing all the new dad blogs as they came online.

As I've said many times before, mommy blogs are like the giant 800-lb gorilla of the parenting blogosphere. They are an amazing revolutionary force of sheer will, spirit, and determination. They're fantastic and I love all of them. (Don't forget I was always on your side, ladies, 'cause I don't want to get hurt in the coming revolution. And by the way, don't you all look sexy today! Did you lose some weight? Is that a new haircut?)

What the hell was I talking about again? Ah yes, mommy blogs as 800-lb gorillas. Well, if that's the case,  then daddy blogs are like the tiny gnat on the gorilla’s ass. Although our numbers are growing larger by the day, in all honesty, most people don’t even know we exist.

That's why I was so surprised to learn that Guy Kawasaki's amazing new site aggregator, ALLTOP, now has a channel featuring just Dads!

Alltop is an amazing, new kind of site. If you are interested in celeb gossip or politics or gaming or fashion or geeky stuff, the top posts in a wide variety of different genres are covered all in one place, without you having to load anything into a feed reader. It's absolutely brilliant.

The fact that there are now enough dad bloggers out there to justify their own channel on Alltop is amazing to me and warms the cockles of my soul. At last count, Alltop listed 81 different daddy blogs! How cool is that? I can't wait to see more and more added to the list.

Thanks to Guy and AllTop for recognizing the growing popularity of Dad bloggers. Now, go check them out here.

And if any of you know some other dad bloggers out there who either aren't on the list or I've never mentioned before, leave their URLs in the comments below.

Speaking of fathers...Al Copeland (the mack daddy of fried chicken and legendary founder of the Popeyes restaurant chain) passed away this week. I was so upset that I poured out some cajun gravy and dirty rice for my homie last night. Rest in peace, Al. Thanks for making the world a better place than it was before you entered it.

Suburban City

As a true New Yorker, I don't think I could ever live in the suburbs.

I just can't picture myself in the front yard in a robe and boxers screaming at those damn O'Reilly kids to get the hell off my damn lawn and keep their damn freaky music down. I can't stand the thought of complete strangers being able to just walk up to my front door and ring my doorbell. I also suffer from terrible allergies and have severe reactions to polo shirts, Dockers, pastel sweaters, light-beer drinkers, and Stepford wives.

But most importantly, I don't know what the hell I would do if (1) the roof leaked, (2) the basement flooded, (3) the boiler broke, or (4) I couldn't find a restaurant that delivered decent sushi.

Don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against the suburbs and I wholeheartedly understand their appeal. In many ways, the promise of a nice house with a patch of land where your kids can run around in a safe neighborhood and get a decent public school education is the very epitome of the American dream.

After all, very few immigrants would ever risk death to come here for the dream of sharing a studio apartment with 8 other people in a crime-riddled ghetto with burned-out schools and bullets flying. Hell, if they wanted that kind of life, they could have stayed in Karachi. Or Mexico City. Or Baghdad.

However, while the suburbs are personally not my cup of tea, I do often dream of living out in the country, somewhere far removed from the hustle and bustle of urban life.

I'd have an enormous house, abundant acreage, and maybe even a barn and some horses. My closest neighbors would be 5 miles away. I'd drive an old jeep and teach English or History at the local high school.  On weekends, I'd go fly fishing for trout in the creek behind our property. The Peanut and BossLady would fly kites in open fields with all the other local families. At night, we'd all come home, invite a few friends over, roast a pig, and drink some moonshine on the porch underneath the stars.

Yes, my friends. It's true.. Your favorite urban father has a part of him that has always longed for a simple Lake Wobegon life.

Although I've done a lot of things in my life, traveled all over the world, and seen some incredible things, there is a big part of me that pines for a much simpler life than one I've ever experienced. Every time I buy a jar of homemade jam, take a hay ride, or eat cotton candy at a state fair, I think about how different that life would be.

If there is a single metaphorical event that symbolizes my nostalgia for life in a simpler era, the drive-in movie is it. For years, I have always wanted to go to a drive-in theater.

Every summer, I look on the internet to see if there's one nearby. Unfortunately, I've never been able to find one within 150 miles of New York City.

Until this past weekend.

BossLady, knowing of my misguided love for drive-in theaters, made arrangements for us to go to New York City's only indoor drive-in theater and the world's smallest. It has only one car.

Started by artists Ben and Hall Smyth, DRV-IN is a temporary 350 sq ft storefront on the Lower East Side consisting of a 1965 one-of-a-kind Ford Falcon convertible, a giant indoor movie screen, painted starry skies, artificial grass, a potted tree, and a vintage popcorn popper. While the car can be reserved for as many as 6 people, BossLady thought it would be more fun if it were just the two of us. Needless to say, she was right and I had a total blast.

This month, DRV-IN is featuring a list of films that feature Ford Mustangs. We chose the French film, "La Femme Nikita."

Together we sat in the back seat, drank some beers, ate some popcorn, and were ushered back to a time when going to the movies didn't mean packing up the car, driving out to the homogenized chain theater and being forced to sit through 30 minutes of commercials for Starbucks, McDonalds, and American Express while being price gouged for a $15 combo of soda/popcorn.

This is how movies were meant to be seen.

After the movie on Friday night, I decided to keep going with the non-urban phase.  So, on Saturday morning, the Peanut and I drove out to The Doctor's country house, where we spent the rest of the weekend going on pony rides, hunting for worms, going to the local Easter egg hunt, climbing rocks, and counting stars.

You know, I think I could almost get used to this country living.

Nahh...who am I kidding?

Bad Parenting & Child Abuse: Let's Make a Deal

Between our gubernatorial scandal, the crane collapse, the Sean Bell shooting, and the demise of Bear Stearns, there is a lot of bad news filling the local headlines here in New York.

However, for some reason, I find myself obsessed with the tragic story of young Nixzmary Brown, the 7-year-old Brooklyn girl who was systematically starved, abused, tortured, and beaten to death at the hands of her own parents. Every article I read about her has me in tears.

According to her own father's confession, both parents hit Nixzmary repeatedly with a belt, dunked her head in cold water, and used duct tape and bungee cords to tie her to a chair. A litter box was her toilet. The young girl was completely emaciated and, at her death, weighed 37 pounds (roughly the weight of a child half her age.)

The fact that a parent can inflict such pain on their own child is beyond my realm of understanding.

The scary thing is that one need only watch the local news anywhere in the world to hear these horrible tales of abuse. Nationwide, the trend has gotten so bad that there are websites solely devoted to documenting cases of child abuse.

I don't know about you guys but there seems to be a shocking rise in the incidence of child abuse on this planet and I think it augers for the end of the world.  

Look, to a certain extent, I understand man's inhumanity against their fellow man. I don't believe we'll ever see a world without war or conflict. At a purely macro level, human beings are violent creatures intent on seeking conflict with others.

At the individual level, I also get the fact that occasionally people are going to brush up against another individual and hey, their life must end. That doesn't make it acceptable but, at some level, I think we all understand that transaction. As Dennis Miller once said, we're all big boys and girls and we dig our own graves.

But when did we start taking it out on innocent children?

How about we all join in making a little pact with one another?

You've got to promise me that if you ever get to the point in your life where you are so puzzled, confused, and frightened that you feel that the only way out is to abuse or molest a little kid, well then, you have got to fucking kill yourself. You've got to bite the bullet and take one for the team.

Do we have a deal?

Because honestly I can't think of anything worse in the world. What compels a person to take out their anger on a mere child? And how can people do that to their own children?

I get the fact that raising a kid is damn hard work and can often be an exercise in futility. I've frequently thought that parenting is the greatest test of man's patience since Job.

There are times when I've spent an hour cooking my daughter her favorite dinner and she's tossed it onto the floor in a rage of fury. I've walked into her room to see that she's painted the walls with poop. We've gotten into more fights about bedtime than I thought were even possible. She seems to have her most extreme meltdowns at the most inopportune times imaginable. And don't even get me started on how many books of mine have been destroyed because the Peanut ripped out the pages, stuck them in her mouth, and said to me, "Look, Daddy! I'm chewing gum!"

But see, that's where the true test of parenting begins.

When you can stand on the brink of chaos, teeter on the verge of insanity, want to throw yourself off a building and still look at your kid and say, "God damn, I'd do anything in the world for that little munchkin"...then you're ready to be a parent.

Almost.

Run out and get yourself a copy of "Finding Nemo." Watch it 50 times. Pour some milk on your favorite shirt. Now deprive yourself of sleep for about a year.

Ok, now maybe you're ready.

Food, Glorious Food: From Cradle to Ladle

"I come from a home where gravy is a beverage."---Erma Bombeck

Me? I come from a home where nobody ever made dinner. They made reservations.

We joke that our entire family lacks the genetic ability to boil water but I'm not kidding when I say that, one Thanksgiving, my mother served us boiled turkey and stuffing. My father's idea of cooking can best be summed up by his signature dish, ghetto fried rice. Even the dog won't go near it.

The sad reality is that none of us are very good cooks. However, the ironic part is that we're all obsessed with food. Hence, our family memories surrounding food are quite unusual.

Those wonderful smells that conjure up childhood memories of your mother's homemade pot roast? The mental image of your family gathered around a giant feast whipped up by three generations of your family? The thrill of grandpa cooking up his famous five-alarm chili while grandma bakes homemade apple pies?

Yeah, I got none of that.

Our family's shared memories of food revolve around great meals we've had at restaurants together. Like when we discovered that little restaurant in Harlem that made the best Chinese dumplings. Or when, twenty years ago, we knew Tom Colicchio was destined for future greatness when we tried his braised rabbit. Then, there was that time in Italy when we said "screw the Sistine Chapel" because we found a place that made the world's greatest hot-pressed spinach and mozzarella paninis.

Friends of mine consider our family's dining habits to be weird. However, as a wise man once said, "it ain't weird if it's the only thing you know."

"In Mexico we have a word for sushi:  bait."---José Simons

Of all the foods about which I'm passionate, sushi holds a special place in my heart.

I eat it at least 4 times per week. I love the quiet precision required to handle the fish. I love the subtle flavors. I love the artful presentation. And I love sitting at the sushi bar, drinking a few beers, and talking to the chef about his craft.

I've always had this fantasy of quitting my job and opening a tiny sushi restaurant in Manhattan with myself as the chef. The restaurant would only seat 8 people at a time and would allow me to create high-quality sushi in a serene and peaceful setting. It's a dream that I think about all the time.

Unfortunately, there's only one real sushi school in the United States and it's in California. Real sushi chefs apprentice for years in Japan under a master. Top sushi chefs have been known to spend several years learning solely how to properly prepare rice. Many don't even touch a knife until they've been apprenticing for at least five years.

I'm no spring chicken but, at the same time, better late than never. Don't be surprised if someday you come to this site and there's a post saying, "Sayonara! Gone fishing."

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food."---George Bernard Shaw

On the other hand, I know that a passion for food isn't enough. Hell, I've worked my ass off in enough restaurants in Manhattan to know how difficult it is to survive in the restaurant business. That's why I'm always amazed by chefs who are so passionate about their cooking that they couldn't imagine doing anything else.

Living in New York, I've been fortunate to hang out with a lot of these amazing chefs. During the summers, I've barbecued with Rocco DiSpirito at The Doctor's house. I've downed shots with Mario Batali. I've played hoops with Bobby Flay. And I've broken bread with Jean-Georges Vongrichten. They're all normal guys who just tend to be exceptionally passionate about what they do. I always love hearing what they have to say about food.

It's also why I'm hopelessly addicted to food shows on television. Between all the shows on the Food Network, BBC America's "Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares," and the Travel Channel's "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations," I find myself watching an enormous number of television shows that revolve around food.

How bad have things gotten for me?

Well, last night, I had a dream that Paula Deen was my best friend; Giada De Laurentiis was my second wife; Bourdain was my drinking buddy; Bobby Flay was my next-door neighbor; and Gordon Ramsay was my personal chef.

Thankfully, in my dreams, I still hated Rachel Ray.

"Life expectancy would grow enormously if vegetables smelled as good as bacon." ---Doug Larson

Two months ago, I had my annual physical. I discovered that I had abnormally high LDL cholesterol, blood pressure, and triglycerides. Now, I generally eat pretty healthily and I work out on a regular basis so it was pretty clear to my doctor that these are genetic traits. However, he's fairly conservative and doesn't like the idea of putting patients on statins (like Lipitor) unless it's a measure of last resort; his rationale is that once you're on them, you're on them for life.

Instead, he proposed that I work with a nutritionist and together we would conduct a three-month experiment to determine whether a change in diet could significantly improve my blood health.

I'm currently subsisting on a diet of egg whites, spinach salads, fish, almonds, whole-grain bread, flax seed, and steamed vegetables. I'm allowed to cheat off the diet for one meal a week. I know this sounds limiting but my cheat meal last week was General Tso's chicken wrapped in two slices of pizza.

In all seriousness, I feel great. Without even trying, I've lost 10 pounds. I've never crapped so well in my entire life. And I've discovered that jogging 5 miles while watching the Food Network doesn't make me want to kill myself.

My blood is getting tested again in two weeks but I don't know if I can hold out any longer. Today on the subway, I almost licked someone's face because she smelled like butter. Yesterday, I saw a short guy in the elevator wearing all brown and I thought he looked like the cutest piece of foie gras I'd ever seen.

I know this diet is healthier for me but this is really no way to live. In the grand scheme of things, I drive way too fucking fast to be worrying about my cholesterol.

"How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?"---Charles De Gaulle

Despite my love of food, I'm no food snob.

The French? Those cheese-eating surrender monkeys are food snobs. Every time I go to Paris, I end up getting in an argument over my belief that the only new contributions of French cuisine in the past 50 years have been Au Bon Pain and the Croissanwich.

Screw them!

As much as I love food, I hate eating pretentious food that has no personality behind it. Give me good old-fashioned American road food any day of the week. Serve me some ribs from Dreamland BBQ or The Salt Lick. Throw me a couple of lobster rolls from Red's Eats. Order me buffalo wings from The Anchor Bar. Or what about cheesesteaks from Gino's? Pizza from Grimaldis? Burgers from the Shake Shack? The curry chicken puffs from Yank Sing? The chili dogs from Pink's? The fried chicken from The Horny Toad?

Good Lord, is it any wonder my cholesterol is through the roof? Damn!

"We are the only culture that can stand in front of a microwave with a burrito in it and scream 'FASTER! FASTER!'"---Ross Brown.

Since BossLady works longer hours than I do, I pick the Peanut up from daycare every day. When it's warm out, we'll go to the playground for a few hours. Otherwise, we'll come home and read or play imaginary games together.

One activity that we like to do is make dinner together. When she was younger, I'd let her nuke things in the microwave. She would put some mac-and-cheese in the oven and I'd lift her up so she could press all the buttons. While it cooked, she would squeal with delight.

Now that she's almost 3.5-years-old and has a little more patience, I've been teaching her how to cook. We started off making some homemade tomato sauce. Then, we moved on to making sandwiches together. Now she even knows how to cook fish and steam vegetables.

However, I think I've created a monster.

Last week in daycare, the teachers cooked pasta with the class. My little 3-foot gourmand was so shocked that she felt compelled to tell the teachers that they were doing it all wrong! When I asked her what her teachers were doing wrong, the Peanut gave me a look of disgust and said, "Daddy, they put Ketchup on their noodles! Isn't that gross?"

Ladies and gentlemen, I now bring you the first in a recurring new series of videos called "How To Cook Like a Three-Year-Old." Today's lesson is "Pasta"

Cooking Pasta with the Peanut from Pierre Kim on Vimeo.

THE LAST SUPPER

Recently, I've been reading a slew of food-related books. In the past few weeks, I've finished Anthony Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential," Bill Buford's "Heat," and Michael Pollard's "In Defense of Food." Lately, I've just started reading "My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals."

It's fascinating to read what 50 of the world's greatest living chefs would want to eat for their final meal on the planet. Laurent Tourondel wants nothing more than a BLT sandwich made in his own kitchen. Alain Ducasse would have a simple roasted quail in Madiran wine sauce, then smooth celeriac puree with nutmeg, and a finish with apple slices. Thomas Keller says he would begin with half a kilo of osetra caviar, followed by some otoro, a quesadilla and a roast chicken, Brie with truffles, and for dessert either profiteroles or a lemon tart.

Some chefs pick the food of their youth, the simple dishes that remind them not only of home but also of why they became chefs in the first place. Others are less sentimental and simply pick their favorite dishes from their favorite chefs. Everyone has a choice and it seems to verify the old adage that you can tell a lot about a person from what they eat.

Personally, I think my last meal on this planet would be a Peter Luger's porterhouse steak with sides of creamed spinach, bacon, and German-style potatoes. I'd finish with some Junior's cheesecake. And I'd wash it all down with a bottle of first-growth Bordeaux. I'm not quite sure what that says about me.

What about you? What would be your last meal on the planet? Give me all the juicy details.

Chaos Theory: March 2008

UMM. THANKS, COACH!

Yesterday, my not-quite-3.5-year-old daughter smacked me on the butt and said, "Nice job today, Daddy. I'm really proud of you!"

IF HILLARY HAD WON, THEY'D HAVE GONE WITH "VANILLA ICE"

After John Edwards dropped out of the race, Ben Cohen and Jerry Grenfield, co-founders of legendary Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, publicly endorsed Barack Obama for president. Those of you in the U.S. know that Ben & Jerry's is famous for naming flavors for those they admire; past flavors include "Cherry Garcia" (named for Jerry Garcia) and "Americone Dream" (named for Stephen Colbert.)

Recently, Slate Magazine held a funny contest to name a new ice cream flavor for Mr. Obama. Some of my favorite entries included "Obamana Split," "Baracky Road," and "Barackademia Nut."  Ready for the winning entry?

"Yes, Pecan!"

Man, I love this country! Is that brilliant or what? What flavor would you make up for McCain?

THREE PHRASES I NEVER THOUGHT WOULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH

(1) "Eat your broccoli or no dessert."

(2) "Stop putting Cheerios in your vagina."

(3) "Bend over so I can wipe your butt."

 

CHECK YO HEAD!

On Tuesday night, I saw the Beastie Boys in concert (that's right, mofos. On a SCHOOL night!)

The concert was fantastic. The Beastie Boys and I are roughly the same age and in many ways, I consider their music to be the soundtrack of my youth. Throw in the fact that they're native New Yorkers and I feel even more of a special kinship with them.

Quick thoughts:

(1) The crowd was very strange. I expected a typical cross-demographic representation of B-boys, club kids, hip hoppers, and hipsters. However, the audience was predominantly a bunch of thick-necked white guys from New Jersey. Lots of air-punching going on.

(2) When the tickets say that doors open at 7:00, you know that the band probably won't come onstage until 10:00. In a previous life, you would have spent those three hours drinking with your friends or trying to meet women. Now, you spend those three hours quietly calculating how much you'll ultimately have to pay the babysitter.

(3) Also to be filed under "Sign of the Times," you will incredulously leave the concert before the band is done playing because you want to "beat the rush." Teenagers will look at you scornfully with disgust.

(4) When you're no longer 25 years old, you can't run around onstage for 3 hours straight. The Beasties are no different. I found it amusing how they would alternate high-energy songs with funky mellow instrumentals. It reminded me of myself trying to jog.

(5) I was always a big fan of MCA (aka Adam Yauch.) I used to run into him at bars, concerts, or parties back in the day. Now, I think it's funny that the only time I see him is when I'm at the playground with the Peanut and he's there throwing a frisbee with his daughter. Man, the times they are a changin'.

PARENTING JOKE OF THE DAY

A woman gets on a bus holding a baby.
The bus driver says: "Holy shit. That's the ugliest baby I've ever seen!"
In a huff, the woman slams her fare into the box and takes a seat near the rear of the bus.
The man seated next to her senses that she is agitated and asks her what's wrong.
"The bus driver insulted me," she fumes.
The man sympathizes and says: "Why, he's a public servant and shouldn't say things to insult passengers."
"You're right," she says, "I think I'll go back up there and give him a piece of my mind."
"That's a great idea," the man says. "Here, let me hold your monkey."

3 THINGS A MAN SHOULD NEVER DO...EVER

(1) Wearing a toupee or use spray-on hair. Toupees always look fake. With spray-on hair, you're essentially painting your head. If you're going to paint your head, then while you're at it, why don't you just wood-panel your testicles, ok?

(2) Ask a policeman, "You ever shoot anybody with that thing?" Ask a woman, "Hey, you got a license for that ass?" Ask yourself, "What would Martha Stewart do?"

(3) Shout out a response to "Are you ready to rock?" (That question is, and always should be, completely rhetorical.)

BANNER VOTE

Thanks to everyone who submitted MetroDad banners for the site. I can't believe how many you guys sent in. It was awesome. Thanks so much.

Here are my five favorite banners that readers submitted. I'm not sure which one I'm going to use. Tell me which one you like best. The designer of the winning banner will receive (1) a brand-new Apple Shuffle, (2) a full ensemble of work-out/casual athletic clothing, and (3) a $50 American Express gift certificate.

Vote for #1-5. (Click to enlarge)

Which one do you guys like best?

 

Fresh Tracks

When I was seven, I told my mother that I wanted to learn how to ski.

Like most immigrants new to the country, my mother had never gone skiing before in her entire life and, at the age of 33, didn't feel compelled to start learning anytime soon. However, she was adamant in her desire to expose me and my brother to everything this country had to offer.

After doing some research, my mom found these discount group tours that would take us to the mountain and provide ski lessons. I remember how she'd wake up before sunrise in order to pack breakfast, lunch and snacks. Then, the three of us would get into this giant bus with a bunch of strangers and drive for several hours to the mountain. While I was in ski school, she would sit inside the lodge all day with a book and my little brother by her side.

Those early bus trips fostered my deep-seated love for skiing. Since then, I've been fortunate enough to ski at more than 50 different mountains in four different countries. I love it.

For a city boy like me, there are very few things in life more enjoyable than waking up early, putting on my ipod, and skiing by myself in the great outdoors. I love the peace and quiet. I love the solitude. I love the thrill of challenging yourself to overcome your fears. And besides, what's more fun than writing your name in pee on top of a secluded mountain?

Ever since the Peanut was born, I've been waiting to get her up on skis.

In fact, ever since she could speak, I've been working on getting her excited about skiing. If she asked me whether skiing was fun, I'd always reply, "Well, do you like chocolate cake? Ice cream? Penguins at the zoo? Staying up past your bedtime? Skiing is just like all that stuff...but even better!"

So, after waiting all season to find the right weekend, I finally decided that I was going to take Peanut skiing for the first time this past Sunday. Although at 3.5 years of age, she's still a little too young, I wanted her to get in a couple of days skiing this season so she could start getting really excited about it.

Fast forward to Sunday morning.

The night before, BossLady and I had gone to a friend's dinner party for his 35th birthday. It was an intimate gathering with a few close friends. However, my buddy counts among his close friends Sting, P.Diddy, Josh Hartnett, Dean Winters, and several other recognizable names. The dinner was totally bizarre and I think I ended up drinking half a bottle of vodka. I vaguely remember an extremely drunken conversation with P.Diddy, where I ended up giving him a man-hug and saying, "keep doing what you're doing, man."  I'm lucky his bodyguard didn't beat the crap out of me for being such an idiot. Oh well.

Needless to say, I woke up early Sunday morning with a massive hangover. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the car, drive two hours, and give the Peanut ski lessons. All I wanted to do was die a slow death or eat bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches all day in front of the television.

But then suddenly I got the image in my head of my mother waking up before dawn so that her oldest son could learn how to ski. She didn't even like skiing and was doing everything possible to allow me to learn.

How could I not do the same for my own daughter? Selfish bastard!

I popped out of bed, swallowed about 10 Advils, and then jumped in the car with the Peanut. Three hours later, she was up on skis for the first time in her life. She was so tiny compared to all the other kids. And although there was one occasion where she had a mini-meltdown, she eventually started having a great time and was soon tearing down the mountain yelling "Yippee!"

She loved riding on the "magic carpet."

And hitting her friend C on the head while wearing helmets.

When we got home, she was so excited about having gone skiing that she wouldn't shut up about it. First, she talked BossLady's ear off over dinner. Then, she demanded on calling my brother and my parents to tell them that she "went skiing for the first time by her big-girl self." She even wanted to call all her teachers and friends at home to tell them about it.

Honestly, I don't know who was more excited: me or her. It was so amazingly cool to see my daughter having so much fun skiing for the first time. I felt like I'd been waiting for this moment forever and it only served to remind me about how many things I want her to experience during the course of her lifetime.

As the old bumper sticker says, "Life is short. Carpe Skiem."

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What activity are you dying to do with your kid? Now or when they get older? And for parents of older kids, did you always find your children receptive to sharing some of your interests? Or were they like, "Pshaw, old man. Camping is for losers."

 

Apropos of Nothing: 3 Thoughts on Fatherhood

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

I am a man well suited for the modern era.

I'm excellent at cocktail party conversation. I have a wicked backhand. And I can make my own sushi.

However, because of those traits, I thank God every day that I wasn't born a caveman. Living in a society where premiums were placed on brute strength and hunting skills would have been difficult for me. Unless I did something drastic like invent fire, I imagine my days as a caveman would have been extremely short-lived.

As the old joke goes...the lion may be the undisputed king of the jungle, but airdrop him into Antarctica, and he's just a penguin's bitch.

Why am I bringing this all up?

Because my daughter is a million times tougher than me. Seriously, she's like from the old country or something.

Unlike her coddled father who requires a steady supply of sinus medication and cashmere blankets to make it through a winter, my daughter is a freaking beast of a human being. She's never cold. She runs faster than Marion Jones on steroids. And I've seen her bounce straight up after taking hits that would crumple a professional rugby player.

And in her 3.5 years on this planet, she has NEVER been sick!

Until now.

Sure, she's had the occasional fever. And a few times, we've had to keep her out of daycare. However, everything she's ever had, she's recovered from within a day or two.

However, ever since Saturday night, the poor Peanut has been sicker than hell. She's had a terrible fever. She's been diagnosed with strep. She's completely lost her voice. And until yesterday, she couldn't even keep any food down in her system.

If it were me, I'd be crying for my mommy and e-mailing all my friends to visit me on my deathbed.

My daughter isn't complaining a bit. She just sits there and toughs it out. Sometimes, it's almost scary how tough she is.

I look at her and I now know what it means when they say certain traits skip a generation. My father is a tough motherfucker. He was physically abused by his parents in Korea until he ran away from home as a teenager. He survived for years as a street urchin, sleeping outside in the snow without a jacket or even a blanket. Later, he got shanghaied into the U.S. Army and even bullets couldn't slow the man down. The Army was so amazed by his toughness, they gave him a Bronze Star.

I used to look at myself and be amazed at the fact that such toughness could leave the gene pool in the span of a single generation. But now, looking at my daughter, I see it never really left in the first place.

Oh well...tennis, anyone?

IT'S THE ABRIDGED VERSION, DAMMIT!

Over the course of the Peanut's lifetime, she has often favored one parent over the other. In the past, BossLady and I used to joke about it. Whoever was most favored at the time could frequently be seen running around the apartment naked, yelling "I'm number one! I'm number one!"

However, with great power comes great responsibility.

The person with Most Favored Parent status is adamantly required to put the Peanut to bed every night. No substitutions are allowed and no one else is permitted into the bedroom. These rules are strictly enforced by the Peanut.

For the past 6 months, I have been Numero Uno. At first, I was completely excited and honored. I hadn't been #1 in almost a year. It almost felt like I'd won an Academy Award. Every night, Peanut and I would go to her room at precisely 8:00 pm. I'd read her books for half an hour. We'd talk about what we were going to do on the weekend. And then I'd lie down on the floor next to her until she completely fell asleep. By the time I'd left her room, it could sometimes be as late as 9:30 or 10:00. Ridiculous, right?

Now, I don't read her books anymore. Or stay in her room. I've got the whole bedtime routine down to under a minute.

What's my secret?

Abbreviated stories and Starburst candy. My daughter will do anything for a Starburst. Natch, make that 1/4 of a Starburst.

Now, at 8:00 pm, we go into her room. I turn off all the lights and I say, "Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cinderella who lost her shoe and became a princess. The end. Go to bed."

Then, like a lion feeder at the zoo, I toss a few pieces of Starburst on her bed and run out of the room.

I know I should feel guilty about this but, shit, American Idol comes on at 8.

FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE!

What the hell happened to manners in this country?

I know I've riffed on this a million times before (and maybe living in New York makes it worse) but there are times when I find myself gripped by an overwhelming desire to smack our entire country upside its collective head.

You can't get out of the subway in the morning these days without some idiot trying to spawn upstream into the train while everyone else is trying to get off.

Don't even bother sneezing in an elevator anymore. Instead of having people proffer a kind, "Bless you!," you're more likely to hear them utter, "Better not get me sick, asshole!"

And to the lady in my office building the other day?  When I hold the door open for you, the correct reply is "thank you," not "I got it myself."

I always swore that if I was only going to teach my daughter one thing, it would be manners. I don't care if she never learns how to read a single book. She's going to be the best-mannered functional illiterate in the whole damn country.

So far, everything is going according to plan. For a 3.5-year-old, the Peanut is unfailingly polite. I couldn't be happier.

Lately, she's learned the concept of "the compliment."

For those of you with toddlers, it's a fascinating phase. In the adult world, flattery is a lost art. Compliments have become valueless currency that no longer bear any meaning. However, for little kids, compliments are not only a way of being polite but also a manner in which to express their love or admiration.

And because we see kids as being wholly honest and forthcoming, we always take their compliments to heart. We then praise them for being so nice. However, this creates a cycle in which the child seeks praise so she doles out compliments constantly. It can be cute but it can also be annoying.

The other day, Peanut was in full-compliment mode. Those are nice jeans, mommy! Hey daddy, I really like your sweater. This is the best spaghetti ever. You're such a good daddy. I really like your boots.

Blah, blah, blah.

I really started tuning her out when she began complimenting the dog.

However, right before bedtime, she came up to me and said, "Daddy, you have really great hair."

Needless to say, homegirl got two Starbursts that night.

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You guys have sent in some great banners. Keep them coming. I'll post my favorites by the end of next week and we'll decide on a winner. Thanks.

Love in a Backward World

"Whether you see Valentine’s Day as a chance to shower a loved one in gifts or a good excuse to order an extra-dry gin martini, you’re probably going to think about love at some point today. So watching Chris Vincze’s graceful and very clever short film EVOL is a great way to treat yourself to a lighthearted take on the subject du jour.

To shoot EVOL, Vincze had his two leads, a mopey man and a sweetly bookish woman in the middle of busy London, perform all of their actions backward. Then he reversed the film in postproduction — showing us a couple who find each other because they’re out of sync with everyone else. The technique fits the film’s story perfectly: It’s magical, unashamedly corny, a little disorienting, and constantly surprising. Which, in our experience, is pretty much like falling in love." (via VSL)

Quick V-Day story: I headed out to the gym this morning at around 6:15 am. Usually when I get back home, Peanut and the BossLady are either sleeping or just about to wake up. This morning, I walked into the apartment to see Peanut sitting at the kitchen table by herself. She gave me an enormous grin and cheerfully asked, "Hi daddy! You want to share some chocolate with me?" Turns out she had opened one of the boxes of chocolate meant for her teacher and inhaled half the box. She was still bouncing off the walls when I left for work. There are few things in life that are as simultaneously funny and scary as seeing a toddler on a sugar high. 

Happy Valentine's Day, BossLady! You will always be the love of my life. I love you dearly.

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you out there as well. Don't forget to hide the chocolate. And keep sending in those banners! They're great.

Long Live the Asian Leprechaun!!!

Thanks for sharing all your embarrassing childhood family stories.

Not only did I laugh my ass off reading all of them but I also now feel much better knowing I wasn't the only kid with a bowl haircut who grew up riding a girl's bicycle while wearing orange corduroys and eating a kimchi sandwich.

So many of you submitted so many great stories that had me both laughing and cringing at the same time: Crapping your pants in your dad's police car. Boys being dressed in their older sisters' hand-me-downs. Getting your hair cut by your mother in a style that can best be described as Romulan-meets-Caveman. Having your parents show naked pictures of you to all your friends. Watching in horror as your mother comes to your school dressed as a clown. Opening your lunch box in school only to find a giant pig's foot in it. And let's not forget all the shocking training bra stories!

The list goes on and on. It's a wonder that ANY of us ever survived our childhoods, isn't it?

However, as with any contest such as this, there can only be one winner. And like most of you, the clear winner for me was Stephen Joyce's traumatic tale of going to school on St. Patrick's Day dressed like a leprechaun:

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"Wow, this is like reading my life story. Like you, I try to play a bigger role in the raising of my two daughters and I sometimes wonder what kind of impact I'm having on their formative minds."

"Anyway, the story that always brings tears of laughter to my wife is the one of my very first St. Patrick's Day. My family moved from Malaysia to Canada in 1977 and it was my very first year at a public school. Since the tradition for St. Patrick's Day is to wear something green, my Mom thought it would be great if I went to school in an all green outfit, oh heck, how about a leprechaun outfit."

"Yep, that's right, my Mom sewed me a full on leprechaun outfit complete with a little hat and shoes, all made out of felt. Did I mention the green tights. Needless to say, there is nothing quite as hilarious to a group of second graders than a little Asian kid wearing green tights and walking around in the miserable March rains wearing green felt slippers. For added embarrassment, my second grade teacher ask me to stand on my chair so that all the kids could have a good look at my costume. Nice."

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All hail the Asian Leprechaun! Congrats, Stephen. With a story like that, you deserve a great prize. E-mail me your shipping address. You are now the proud winner of (1) a brand-new Phillips Senseo Single-Serve Coffee Pod System (2) a DVD of the hit comedy "Borat", and (3) an autographed poster of Mandy Moore.

Now, for some quick housecleaning...

(1) I've always hated the way that this site looks. Long-time readers may remember that the previous style of this site was even worse and was best described as looking like a pumpkin threw up on a pile of poo. As for this template, is it me or is it really hard to read? The font seems small and it's hard to read against a grey background, isn't it? What's your opinion? All I care about is the writing. How can I make this site as easy to read as possible?

(2) I also would love to have a new banner. However, if you haven't guessed already, I'm completely design illiterate when it comes to anything related to computers. That's why I'm coming to all of you for help. So many of you are so incredibly talented when it comes to this stuff. How about we have a contest? Design a banner that you think would be great for this site. I'll pick my favorites and put up the finalists for a vote.

The winner will receive (1) a brand-new Apple Shuffle, (2) a full ensemble of work-out/casual athletic clothing, and (3) a $50 American Express gift certificate.

E-mail me your entries over the next few weeks. Let's see what you've got! Feel free to pass the word along.

(3) If any of you are interested, here's a brief interview I did with the lovely Karen Cheng, Australia's version of Dooce, Design Sponge, and Smitten Kitchen all rolled up into one. Karen is an amazing blogger who apparently gets more traffic than google. Read her site and you'll quickly see why.

(3) One last thing...Valentine's Day is coming up. For those of you with kids, how the hell do you find a babysitter? And do you think it's true that nothing says "I love you" like a big-ass plasma television for the bedroom? Or is that kind of like the time Homer gave Marge a bowling ball for her birthday?

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