MetroDad

The Itch

I stole this from CityMama. It's a cool tool that lets you map out all the countries that you've visited in your lifetime. Here's my map:

create your own visited country map

Seeing all my travels mapped out like this, I even somewhat surprised myself. I knew that I'd been to a lot of places but I'd never really counted them up before. Totalling them up now, it's hard to believe that I've visited 38 countries! Not too bad. But the amazing thing is that there's still so much more of the world that I want to see. I feel like I've only scratched the surface.

As I've mentioned before, I've always had a pretty bad travel bug. It's something I inherited from my mother and it's certainly something that I want to pass down to the Peanut. There are few things that I enjoy more than travelling overseas. Now, don't get me wrong. I love America. I love everything this country stands for. I love our individualistic spirit and I love watching the tumultuous clash of democracy in action. And every time I leave the country on my travels, I come back loving America even more. My only gripe is that we're a very insular country. Though much of this has to do with our geographical isolation, I find that most Americans are reluctant to travel abroad. They're used to a life of 1st-world luxury and shun places that may not offer the creature comforts of home, thus depriving themselves of really seeing how the vast majority of our fellow citizens on the planet live.

My own father is a classic example. Like I've mentioned before, it's my mom who has the travel bug. Before she retired, she was a schoolteacher for many years and therefore always had her summers off. So, every summer, she'd take off on one incredible journey after another...hiking Mt. Fuji in Japan, sailing in the Ukraine, or going on safari in Mozambique. After one fantastic trip to Russia, she wanted to return and decided to take my father with her. They spent two weeks there. They visited Red Square, the Bolshoi, St. Petersburg, and the Volga. They saw everything. I was so excited for them that when they returned, I remember asking my father how the trip was. His answer? "The food was terrible and the toilet paper was like cardboard." (Sadly enough, it was neither the first nor the last time that I would question whether he truly was my biological father.)

Anyway, I've always been a firm believer that familiarity doesn't breed contempt. In my opinion, it more than likely breeds understanding. Do you know why you see fewer racial tensions in Queens than you do in West Texas? It's because in Queens, you have immigrants from 10 different countries all living in the same brownstone apartment building. You buy your groceries from the Dominican family down the street, wash your clothes at the Korean laundromat, get your car serviced at the Indian-owned garage, and eat lunch every day at the same Greek diner. Your local neighborhood cop is Irish. Your child's best friend is from the Sudan. And your best friend in the building is from Croatia. Sure, everyone's different. But you know what? For the most part, they share more similarities than differences. You just have to learn to respect everyone's differences. Trust me. It makes the world a much more interesting place.

This is the same attitude that I have about travel. I think it crystallized for me back in 1995 when I went to visit Pakistan for the first time. Back then, the only thing I knew about Pakistanis was that they were a bunch of fanatical Islamic Jihadists, intent on never resting until America had been brought to its knees. I was quickly proven wrong. Just like here in the U.S., the extremists who yell the loudest get the most attention. The moderates get drowned out by the din. Anyway, I made some great friends in Pakistan. Sure, they were Muslim. But the vast majority of Muslims are truly peaceful people. And you know what? They weren't defined by their allegiance to Islam. The similarities to me and everyone I knew were revealing. Their biggest concerns were the safety of their families, the education of their children, the price of food in the local market, and the incompetence of the federal government. They cared less about tensions in the Middle East than they did about Uncle Sohail's drinking. They hated the extreme fundamentalists who were giving their country a bad name. They loved Baywatch, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Diet Cokes. And more than anything else in the world? They wanted a reliable health care system. Hmm...not so different after all, eh?

I don't know what point I'm trying to get across here. I'm still at jury duty and I think the 2 Vente Iced Coffees are numbing my cerebral cortex. But I'm just saying that the next time you're thinking about packing up the family and spending a small fortune at Universal Studios or going down to Mexico to sit on a beach for two weeks? Instead, think about travelling overseas. A gondola ride in Venice will probably be a lot more memorable for your child than a ride at Magic Mountain. Take the kids to Ireland so they can see where Grandma Callahan grew up. Or maybe drive up to Old Montreal so the kids can see buildings that date all the way back to the early 1600's.

From what I've learned and been told by other parents, most of these trips are a lot cheaper than going to Disneyland or Busch Gardens. Sure, they might be a little more difficult. But hey...nobody said experiencing life to the fullest was easy.

One more reason to thank Al Gore for inventing the Internet

As we speak, I'm currently in the jury room at one of the courthouses in downtown Manhattan.  I've run out of postponements so I'm here to fulfill my civic duty. 

When I was younger, I used to love jury duty.  I treated it like a mini-vacation.  What was there not to love?  It meant I didn't have to go into the office.  I could wear whatever I wanted.  I could try a few restaurants downtown that I normally wouldn't visit.  I might even be put on a case that would prove to be semi-interesting. 

But now?  None of those things mean anything to me.  I'd rather be in the office.  I've got responsibilities, dammit!  And it just so happens that a lot of things are going on at work that I have to deal with. 

But I will say that there are two bright aspects to my current state of affairs.

(1) I'm currently sitting in the courtroom they they use to film "Law & Order."  Although I generally like to remain nonplussed about many things, I've got to admit that it's pretty damn cool.  For those of you who don't know, some of the show is shot at a studio in L.A.  However, virtually all the exterior and courtroom shots are filmed on location in New York.  Since I've seen pretty much every episode of the show at least once, I recognize every single detail...the paintings in the courtroom, the hallway outside the jury room, and the steps leading up to the courthouse.  In fact, I keep expecting to run into Jack McCoy in the bathroom, Emil Skoda in the hallway or Arthur Branch in the deli across the street.   

(2) I can hardly believe it but the jury room is configured with Wifi.  Figuring that I would be here all day, I brought 3 newspapers, the New Yorker and the latest novel from Haruki Murakami.  At the last minute, I grabbed my computer, figuring that I could at least draft some e-mails during the day.  But now?  Woo hoo!  I can surf the net all day until I get called for a trial.  God bless the Internet! God bless the man who invented it.  And God bless New York County for giving me wireless access in the jury room.

I'll keep you all posted if anything interesting happens.  But for now?  Just remember that...

"In the criminal justice system the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups. The police who investigate crime and the District Attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories."  Doink, Doink!

The Flip Side of Fatherhood

Hey, you all know how much I love being a father. And if you know me personally, you might even know what a bad dancer I am.

Why do I bring this up? Because I just met someone who couldn't be happier that he's NOT a father and who also might possibly be the world's greatest dancer. At the very least, I think he's got the best "That's Not My Baby" dance that I've ever seen.

What do you think?

Brothers in Arms

Happy Father's Day to all my parenting brethren!!!

This being my first Father's Day, I'm understandably experiencing a slight case of sappiness. For those of you who came here expecting some of my occasional snarkiness, I'm afraid that I'm going to disappoint today. You see, on Friday, the awesome women at Peanut's daycare gave me a card when I came to pick up my lovely 8-month old daughter after work. They had fingerpainted my daughter's handprints all over a large piece of paper. On the top of the card, they wrote "Happy Father's Day." But on the bottom, they had written "These little hands hold all the love in the world for you." Oh man, I know my little baby didn't write out the card but I was so touched that I swear my eyes practically welled with tears. (I know, fatherhood has really fucking softened me up. But you knew this about me already, remember?)

So like I was saying, this is my first Father's Day. And whereas in the past, the day was merely a reason for me to buy my pops a steak dinner and give him a new putter or golf shirt, things are completely different today. Because although it may be selfish, today is the day that I celebrate how much I absolutely love being a father. I always thought that I would love having a kid and I've always loved being around children. But now, it's different. Fatherhood has changed me. I never realized that I had the capacity to love someone in the way that I love my daughter. I never knew that, in one singular moment, my entire life's priorities could change so quickly. I never imagined that being a father would become, by far, the most important aspect of my life. I never realized the amount of joy that I would get from one child's smile.

But most importantly, I'm proud of the fact that I think I'm turning into the father that I've always wanted to be. As regular readers of this blog know, I've always had a somewhat rocky relationship with my own father. There's a cultural/generational/personality gap that's made it tough to have the kind of relationship that I'd always hoped we'd have. After years of tumult, we've finally learned to coexist in a somewhat copacetic manner. But as my shrink says, the greatest fathers are usually those that had bad role models. Well, I hope so. Because I expect greater things out of my relationship with my daughter. And I know it all starts with me. I don't take fatherhood lightly. I think about it quite a bit. I read about it a lot. And I question myself at every step of the journey. Aside from being quite introspective about it, I'm always actively seeking out other people's advice. That's part of the reason for this blog. I like throwing out topics that are on my mind and getting some feedback from various perspectives.

Anyway...they say that "men who change diapers change the world." And while I'm pretty sure that a woman came up with that phrase, I do think there's a modicum of truth in it. Personally, I think it's a pretty interesting time to be a father now. I really dig the idea that we're more involved with our kids than previous generations of fathers seemed to have been. It's not always easy but, like they say, few things in life that are worth having come easy.

So to all my fellow dads out there? This Bud's for you. Enjoy the cheesy ties and giant bottles of cologne. Revel in the fingerpaint drawings, the homemade ashtrays and the handmade pencil holders. And while you may hear it from your kids. You may even hear it from your wives. Let me be the first guy to say to you...

Happy Father's Day! (Pretty fucking cool, isn't it?)

Like a sailor without a fucking boat!

A man is driving his five year old to a friend’s house when another car races in front and cuts them off, nearly causing an accident. "Fucking douchebag!" the father yells. A moment later he realizes the indiscretion, pulls over, and turns to face his son. "Your father just said a bad word," he says. "I was angry at that driver, but that was no excuse for what I said. It was wrong. But just because I said it, it doesn’t make it right, and I don’t ever want to hear you saying it. Is that clear?" His son looks at him and says: "Too late, douchebag."

I hate to admit it but I like to swear.  Not only do I like to swear but I think I'm pretty fucking good at it.  You see, I've always thought there was a certain poetry in being able to swear properly.  Sure, anyone can say curse words but it takes a true artisan to swear properly.  It involves a fine understanding of syntax, structure, and iambic pentameter.  The difference between cursing and swearing as an art form is like the difference between Yoda and Yeats.  (Speaking of Yeats...when asked once what he thought of poets who could not write properly, he candidly wrote, "was there ever a dog that praised its fleas?"  And again, that's what I think of people who don't swear properly.  If you can't do it right, don't do it at all.)

Why am I bringing this up?  Because now that we have a young and impressionable 8-month old daughter living in our midst, I've got to learn to swear less like a sailor and more like a choir boy.  As most of you know, I like to talk to my daughter non-stop.  We spend hours and hours having one-sided conversations.  Not only do I think that this will help her speech development but also it makes me feel less crazy to know that I'm actually talking to someone besides myself.  So this morning, as we're getting ready to go to daycare, I turned to my little Peanut and cooed, "You ready to go, baby?  You got your little hat on?   'Cause it's hot as a motherfucking bitch out there today!"

Once I was done shocking the shit out of my wife, the BossLady turned to me and screamed, "DO NOT TALK LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF OUR DAUGHTER!" 

Really, no follow-up spousal lecturing was needed.  I knew that what I'd said was COMPLETELY wrong and that I was going to have to seriously curb my language in front of my lovely young daughter.  After all, I do want her to grow up and become an upstanding and gentle young lady.  So I swore to my wife that I would rein in the foul language while at home.  And certainly, I'd make the best effort to never curse in front of the Peanut again.

But then I started envisioning what would happen if I continued swearing.  And then my overactive imagination started envisioning different scenarios where certain phrases might come out of the Peanut's mouth as soon as she learned how to speak.  Like what, you may ask?

First, I pictured her talking to the nanny....

"Hey, Shitwitch!  How about getting your fat ass off the motherfucking couch and doing a little turnover on these fucking Pampers?  This motherfucking diaper's filled to the rim with Brim." 

Then, I pictured her talking to my parents...

"Yo, Grandma Moses.  I know we're fucking related and all but do I have to see you ass-clowns every motherfucking weekend?  And while we're on the subject, I know I'm pretty fucking cute but can you please wipe that shit-eating grin off your fucking face?" 

Of course, the evil madman in me thinks these scenarios would be semi-hilarious.  But in reality, I know better.  And I sincerely do want to stop swearing in front of her.  It wasn't how I was raised and it's not how I want to raise my daughter either.  It's just hard to remember because of the fact that she doesn't speak.  So sometimes I'll be talking to the BossLady and forget that the Peanunt can overhear us.  And next thing you know, I'm cursing like a sailor again.  But I'm going to try harder from now on.  I swear.  On a fucking motherfucking stack of bibles.  Oops! 

Shit.  This is going to take some fucking time. 

T.G.I.M.

I think regular readers of this blog know how completely infatuated I am with my 8-month old daughter. She's truly the apple of my eye and I organize my life to spend as much time with her as possible. Honestly, I don't know of very many fathers who spend as much time with their child as I do. I'm sure part of this is motivated by the fact that my parents never spent much time with me as a child so I'm overcompensating to make up for it. But also, the truth is that I love spending time with the Peanut. I love reading to her. I love taking her on long walks every day. I love sitting on the floor and playing with her constantly.

So is it wrong for me to say that, every Monday, there's a small part of me that is glad the weekend is over? Because I've got to tell you that being with the Peanut all weekend can be absolutely exhausting. There's still a part of me that likes to stay up late on Friday and Saturday nights. Unfortunately, there's no more sleeping in until noon. Nope, the Peanut is like a human alarm clock. At 6:00 am every morning, she starts crowing like a rooster for someone to come get her out of the crib. I can't really complain because, on the flip side, she's a great sleeper. Ever since she was 3 months old, she's always been able to sleep 12 hours throughout the night. (For this, I thank one of my readers who early on suggested this book. Seriously, if you're having sleep issues with your child, give it a quick read. It's a very dry read but there are some great points in it that you might be able to incorporate into your life.)

Where was I? Oh yeah...the weekend. Is it just us? Or do other parents feel this way too? I just think it's funny how, in a past life, weekends used to be about relaxing and catching up on sleep. Now, it's all about activities, juggling naptimes and leaving the house with enough formula so you don't get stranded with a hungry baby. It's sometimes physically and mentally exhausting. Let's run down our weekend for you real quick. Friday night, MetroBro babysat the Peanut so BossLady and I could go see "Cinderella Man." Needless to say, the 9:00 pm showing didn't start until 9:30 so we didn't get home until midnight. Once home, I checked Sportscenter to see whether my Mets had won and then read a few chapters from Kazuo Ishiguro's new book. Fell asleep around 1:30. Then, sure enough, at 6:00 am, the Peanut let us know she was awake. Since it was BossLady's turn to get her, I was able to sleep until 7:00. Then, the three of us went out for a walk with the dog. For the rest of the day, we took the Peanut to the park, got stuck in the pouring rain, went to test drive a few cars, rented a car, went to visit the grandparents for a few hours, went out to dinner and then came home after a long day. I think I ended up crashing out around 10:00. Sunday, up again at 6:00, out the door by 7:30, had a family breakfast outdoors in Battery Park, walked the dog, took a short nap, headed out in 95 degree weather to the Big Apple BBQ Fest, stuffed our faces, went to BuyBuyBaby, walked a few miles over to the Hudson River Park, took Peanut to the kiddie water park in the West Village and then walked home another few miles in the baking sun. Gave the Peanut a long bath, fed her and put her to bed. Had dinner with the BossLady and fell asleep absolutely exhausted by midnight.

Maybe it's partly due to the heat in NY right now but the weekend was pretty tiring. But to tell you the truth, I'm pretty sure all our weekends are like this. I feel a little guilty about waking up on Monday morning and looking forward to going back to work. Man, life has changed!

Anyone else feel this way? Or am I no longer a contender for Father of the Year?

Venus & Mars go car shopping

For those of you who don't live in Manhattan, it must be strange to imagine a city where the vast majority of its citizens don't own a car. On the one hand, people living here are quite proud that most of us aren't polluting the environment with gas-guzzling SUVs, that our public transportation system is by far the best in the country and that, relatively speaking, we don't suffer from massive traffic congestion. But you want to know the real truth? The reason most people don't have cars is because it's so damn expensive!

Do you have any idea how much parking costs in Manhattan? According to a Colliers International survey, the AVERAGE parking spot in NYC costs about $500/month. However, in some prime residential areas, monthly fees have been known to exceed $750. If you own a SUV or a very high-end luxury car, the garages tack on an extra $100. Oh yeah, and by the way? The NYC tax on parking garage fees is 18.5%!

So the pragmatist in me realizes that it doesn't make sense to spend $250 per month on car payments if I'm spending $700/month in parking and $150/month in insurance. No way, man! My mommy didn't raise no dummy (actually, she raised two. But that's another story.)

Since I've been married to the BossLady, we've never entertained the thought of owning a car. Whenever we felt the need to escape the urban jungle for a long weekend or make a quick trip out to Ikea, we've always just rented a car at our local Avis. Sure, we got screwed over a few times but that was just part of the cost of doing business. But after the birth of the Peanut, we decided that we couldn't take the risk of hauling all our crap to the rental agency, only to have them tell us that our car wasn't available (even though we'd confirmed five times already). So we decided to join zip car, a car sharing service that works great in cities like Manhattan.

However, since I need to do quite a bit of travelling for work, my company is going to pay for us to lease a car. All we have to do is pay for the garage. And somehow, the always-enterprising and resourceful BossLady did some research and used her C.S.I.-like skills to locate a garage near our apartment that will rent us a space for under $300/month. This is momentous news in the MetroDad household. Since the Peanut is going to be raised in the city, I want to be able to take her on weekend adventures at a moment's notice. After all, every kid needs some fresh air, right? I have visions of us driving to pick out pumpkins every Halloween, going apple picking in the Fall, taking nature hikes up in Storm King, driving up to Maine during lobster season or just taking long leisurely drives to enjoy the change of seasons.

Now, the problem is finding a car. See, I've always been a car guy and have always driven sports cars my entire life. I realize that fatherhood makes it impractical to buy a 2-seater but, since I haven't had a car in a long time, I was hoping to get something that was still sporty, fast and fun to drive. So with that in mind, BossLady and I went shopping last weekend for cars. Here's where passion and pragmatism collided.

We decided that the smartest solution was to lease a pre-owned car from a certified dealer. This way, we could get more "bang for our buck." At our first stop, we both fell in love. Unfortunately, it was for different cars. I loved this car but she loved this one. Went to another dealership. I loved this but she loved this.

You see a pattern growing here? Everywhere we went, I fell in love with a fast car and BossLady fell in love with a bigger car, like a larger sedan or a station wagon. Her argument is that a sports car or sports coupe is great for right now but what about when L'Enfant Part Deux enters the world as planned in the next few years? Damn! Why does she have to be so damn smart and practical? I knew I should have married someone dumber! (Just kidding, honey.) She's right and we both know it. I mean it's not like we're getting a minivan. You already know how I feel about those.

Anyway, I asked some of my guy friends about this dilemma. Here are some of the answers I got...

"It doesn't matter. Ever since I became a father, I haven't driven over 55 mph."

"I told you to buy a sports car before you got married. But did you listen? No."

"Are you having some sort of mid-life crisis that I should know about?"

"Dude, just shut up and listen to your wife."

I think I'm going to go with that last suggestion. It's always worked out for me in the past. But maybe if I'm lucky, I can get Xzibit and the boys from West Coast Customs to come over and Pimp My Ride. 'Cause nothing looks more badass in New York City than a purple station wagon with flames on it and a custom-built diaper genie inside it.

Sleeping Commando!

Sorry I haven't updated the blog in awhile. The "real feel" temperature in NYC has been in the mid 90's over the past week and the MetroDad family has been without any A/C. The contractors working on the building's roof are behind schedule so the water cooler hasn't been turned on yet. Hence, we're not allowed to turn on the air conditioning until the end of the week. Since it's hard to write when sweat keeps hitting your keyboard, I apologize for being a little remiss in keeping up the blog.

If you happened to be roaming around in Tribeca and somehow walked into our apartment at any time over the past week, you'd think that we were the founding members of a new Asian-American urban nudist colony. The heat and humidity are so sweltering that, as soon as we all get home, we immediately take off our clothes and rush to take a cool shower. Yesterday found myself, BossLady, the Peanut and our French Bulldog all in the shower at the same time. Good clean family fun.

The Peanut handles the heat better than the rest of us. Being only 8 months old, she loves being naked all the time. Want to see her scream? Try putting a top over her head. For that one nano-second that she can't see, you'd think we were torturing her. But she's figured out that the heat means she gets to sleep in only her diapers so she's pretty thrilled about that. It's pretty likely that we'll never get her in pajamas again.

The BossLady and I aren't doing quite as well. The heat has exiled us from our bedroom and we're now sleeping on the floor of our living room with several fans pointing in our general direction. Last night, I even put a couple ice packs under my pillow. It's like some sort of freak urban camping experience. It fucking sucks. I can't even enjoy being next to my naked wife because skin-on-skin contact seems to raise the temperature another 10 degrees.

And you want to know the worst part of all this? There's nothing on TV! Last night's choices were "The Unauthorized Story of Mork & Mindy," "Fire Me, Please," and "The World According to Jim." You want to know what's worse than watching "The World According to Jim"? Watching "The World According to Jim" with sweat dripping down your ass!

See you in a few days!