MetroDad

Let's hug it out, bitch!

Jason over at Pet Cobra asked me last night to do a guest entry for him. And since the guy is not only a fan of "Entourage" but also shares my strange sense of humor, I was more than happy to oblige.

In the entry, I wrote about my fascination with blogging as a new form of social interaction and I meandered into this stream-of-conciousness ramble about forming friendships with people based on reading one another's blogs. I'm not sure whether I came up with anything relevent to add to the conversation and I certainly didn't break any new ground in social theory. We'll leave the heavy lifting to guys like Malcolm Gladwell, Larry Lessig and Andrew Sullivan.

But if you're so inclined, go over and check it out and let me know what your thoughts are on the subject. You can find my guest entry here.

Parents Behaving Badly

Ever since becoming a parent, I've found myself morbidly fascinated by news stories chronicling the latest examples of bad parenting. It's amazing to me how some people can be such bad parents. Whether its exposing their children to extreme risks or just being completely irresponsible and ignorant, these parents often make me seriously question the human race. I get so angry reading these stories. I shake my fists in fury and curse these bad parents. But more than anything else, my heart goes out to these kids who have the misfortune of beng born to idiot parents.

I'm not sure what makes these stories so compelling. Part of it may be the tragic nature that drives mainstream news. Part of it may be because these stories make me feel good about my skills as a parent. But I think a large part of the appeal is that, since becoming a parent, I'm more attuned to ANYTHING involving kids. I'm hooked on the uplifting stories as well. So maybe it's all just a case of taking the bad with the good.

I've spoken to other parents about this before and it seems I'm not alone. But thankfully, the ever-reliable (and my daddy blog guru) Jay of Zero Boss fame has started a new blog to chronicle all the latest cases of bad parenting. Go there and check out the dark underbelly of parenting life...

PARENTS BEHAVING BADLY

Ange, BradDad, Zahara & MEEEEE!

As regular readers of this site know, I often like to like to throw out some love to new blogs that are just getting their feet wet. There are so many great ones that get started all the time and discovering them is like finding a cool new band or a new favorite author. Most of the blogs that I recommend to all of you are parenting blogs. But now, for the first time, I want to introduce to you a very special blog, written by a very special child. Ladies & Gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome...young Maddox Jolie.

As many of you know, Maddox's mother is none other than Angelina Jolie. And though he's only 4, Maddox has proven to be quite an astute observer of his surrounding environment. He's insightful, sensitive and interesting. But more than anything else, it's his "voice" as a writer that makes his blog so compelling.

"Ange told me we might be getting another one. I'm not so sure if that's good," reads one entry posted shortly after Angelina adopted her second child, Zahara Marley Jolie. Maddox continues: "Zahara and Ange have been sleeping together a lot, and Hero [his nickname for Brad Pitt] usually sleeps in a tent outside and prays and talks to himself and builds fires and draws pictures of houses."

He also refers to Brad Pitt as "BradDad," as when he mentions recently that "BradDad caught meningitis two weeks ago. I wonder if it has anything to do with Zahara and the other stuff we brought home from Africa."

So if you want to know what life is like for celebrity offspring or if you just want to know why Maddox is always being carried by his mother, check out Maddox's blog.

He walks!

Design Public

To kick off their new Baby & Kids section, Drew from the ultra-hip SF onlne store Design Public asked several designers and parents whether they'd be willing to contribute entries to their site. The only mandate was that all entries should be somewhat centered around the theme of "Children & Design." Being a total polymath of random information, I told Drew I'd be more than happy to share my profound innermost thoughts on the subject. (Meanwhile, who knew I even had any thoughts on the subject? God forbid I turn down an open microphone!)

Unfortunately, I probably shouldn't have had that bottle of Japanese Sake before I started writing. I tend to start babbling incessantly, confessing my deepest secrets and throwing down challenges when I drink Sake. Turns out this was going to be no exception.

But anyway, if you want to hear my drunken thoughts about modern design, here's my contribution to their site. Let me know what you think.

"Blistex in the Sun"?

So maybe I'm a little late to the party but BossLady and I finally saw that Sir Mix-a-Lot "Baby's Got Backpack" commercial for Target.  And being complete goofballs and total dorks, we both immediately jumped up off the couch, started shaking our rumpuses in the air and began bumping butts.  After proving once again that Korean people have no rhythm, I sat back down to ruminate on what has to be the saddest commercialization of music for advertising that I've ever seen. 

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not going to get all holier than thou and start preaching from my soapbox.  I think it's safe to say that the words "Sir Mix-a-Lot: and "artistic integrity" have never been uttered in the same sentence.  Every artist has the right to profit from his work.  And I would imagine Sir Mix-a-Lot could use the money these days.  In fact, there's big part of me hoping that Windex buys the rights to his other big hit from the 90's, "Press 'Em Against the Glass."  Now, THAT would be funny!

Anyway, like I was saying, I don't disparage the rights of an artist to profit commercially from their work.  But a little piece of me dies when I hear songs by independent, anti-establishment artists used to shill consumer products.  Here are the Top-5 past or present commercials that have made me cringe most...

Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" (Royal Carribean Cruise Lines)
Nothing says maritime comfort like a song about shooting up heroin. 

Rolling Stones "Brown Sugar" (Pepsi)
If you like crazed interracial sex with slaves, you'll love Pepsi. 

Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz"  (Mercedes)
If there was ever an anthem for anti-materialism, this was it.

John Lennon's "Instant Karma" (Nike)
If Michael Jackson's not going to hell for sodomizing young boys, selling the rights to this song should guarantee him a spot. 

The Smith's "How Soon Is Now" (LaBatts Beer)
Songs about alienation and suicide really make me want to go to a club and drink beer. 

There are other pairings of songs and commercials that just don't make any sense to me.  Two that come to mind are Aphex Twins "4" being used in an anti-drug commercial and Peaches' "F*ck the Pain Away" in a McDonald's commercial.  But the artists in my top five all played important roles in my life at one point or another so I'm putting them in a specal category.  I know we all have to do things to put food on the table but it kills me to hear these songs used in commercials.  Sometimes, I don't even want to watch network TV because I'm afraid I'll see something like AT&T using The Clash's "London Calling" in a commercial. 

Is it just me?  Does this piss anyone else off?  Am I crazy to let this bother me so much?  I'm a little nuts, aren't I?   

(By the way, if you happen to like Sir Mix-a-Lot AND you like bibles, you'll LOVE this link)

Monday Wrap-Up

It's 8:00 am on Monday morning. I'm in my office at my desk but having a hard time getting started. While chugging down some coffee, I thought I'd throw out a few items.

-I've lived in NYC, on and off, for most of my life. I don't think it's ever been hotter or more humid than it was this weekend. It was so hot that the streets of Manhattan were practically empty as everyone either fled for the beach or stayed indoors. So many air conditioners were turned on Saturday that ConEd set an all-time record for weekend energy consumption.

-Lots of celebrities seem to be blogging these days. Moby, Gene Simmons, RuPaul, and William Shatner all have their own blogs. The one person whom I thought I'd never see with their own blog? None other than "The Donald".

-I've stayed in my fair of nice hotels during my lifetime. But never as much as Russell Crowe. Seems his one-night stay at the Mercer is going to cost him over $11 million!

-And for an extra $40/night, we'll have a homeless person sleep outside your room and pee on your newspaper! See the latest Vegas attraction.

-If it's true that you learn something new every day, may THIS be the one thing for today. Who knew?

By the way, congrats go out both to my real-friend Jim and my internet buddy Brandon. Both their wives gave birth to beautiful, healthy baby girls last week. And though both fathers graduated from U.Penn, I'm sure the kids will turn out ok anyway.

The Smell of Fear

Living in Manhattan during this post-Apocalyptic era is often a testimony to the enduring fortitude of my fellow denizens. Sure, in the past, we've had to deal with the appalling paucity of affordable housing, the absence of quality public education, and a cost-of-living index so high that restaurants can actually charge $99 for a fucking hamburger.

But, in the wake of 9/11 and the London bombings, living here seems to be taking a greater toll. Imagine living in a place where ones civil liberties can be dismissed in the name of safety. Imagine living in a city where millions of lives are disrupted on a daily basis by ever-changing threat levels. But most importantly, can you imagine living someplace where fear still inhabits the hearts of even the strongest among us?

Don't get me wrong. I love this city. And it's going to take a lot more to get me to leave. I'm only bringing this up now because of events that transpired during my commute home last night. Normally, my commute on the subway takes about 10 minutes door-to-door. But last night, as the train was about 500 yards from the platform, we lurchingly ground to a halt. This is not an irregular occurence in NY so most people didn't even flinch. But after about 10 minutes, the conductor announced that police and emergency personnel were shutting down the station so they could examine the tracks. He didn't know when we'd be able to get moving again and cautioned everyone to stay calm. After another 20 minutes, you could feel the tension in the subway car slowly building. It was eerily silent. Since the A/C was cut off, people were taking off their jackets and rolling up their shirt collars. Was this a terrorist attack? Had there been a bomb scare? You could almost smell the fear in the car.

But me? I couldn't smell the fear. All I could smell was the fucking body odor from the five people standing next to me. The guy directly in front of me smelled like he'd been digging latrines all day. The guy by my side smelled like he'd been rubbing his face with dirty socks. The young Wall Street intern had cleary thought he was supposed to pour the WHOLE bottle of Paco Rabonne on his neck. The lady stepping on my toes decided to eat her 2-day old Big Mac. And I think the nanny in front of me was carrying some used cloth diapers filled with Indian food.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know bad smells. I've walked along the world's most polluted rivers in Bangladesh. I've been elbow-to-elbow with thousands of people on the streets of Karachi during Ramadan. And I've been to factory towns in China where toxic yellow clouds come billowing out of smokestacks. But for some reason, last night was tough for me.

The great Prussian military theorist Carl Von Clausewitz once said that war is the admixture of politics by other means. Well, let me amend that to say that the NYC subway is the admixture of smells by many means. I think it was the combination of all those smells that caused such cosmic dissonance and proved, once again, that the sum is often greater than the whole.

So, to all you terrorists out there trying to put fear in my soul? I offer you my middle finger! Suck it, bitches! Not now nor ever will you cause me to wallow in terror!

But all you smelly mofos on the subway? You win. I'm walking for the next few weeks.

Still my favorite way to wake up

Dear Peanut,

I just wanted to mark down here for posterity that I woke up this morning at 7:15 to find you sticking your little finger up my nose repeatedly and laughing hysterically. Apparently, you've decided that this is much more fun than waking Daddy up by pulling out his hair and then trying to eat it. It's still not as much fun as climbing all over his face but it's a close second.

I wanted to chronicle this now so, in 15-20 years, when you're lying in bed and nursing a hangover? And you wake up to see me and your mother in your room, sticking our fingers up your nose? You'll know why your goofy parents are laughing so hard that they're practically peeing in their pants.

Love,
Daddy

A post where I apologize for sharting

For those of you who don't know, the etymological definition of sharting is as follows:

Shart (v.) - The act of farting in hopes that it will just be air, but to ones' dismay...a little shit comes out.

Basically, this is what I was guilty of doing yesterday.  In an online interview posted elsewhere, I disparaged the popularity of Dooce and, in the hopes of getting a cheap laugh, I poked fun at Heather's ubiquity.  I don't know what compelled me to be such an asshole.  Maybe it was a mild case of constipation but, more likely, it was a mild case of schadenfreude. In reality, I meant to make a completely unrelated point about enjoying personal blogs that fly well under the radar and, in doing so, I forgot that Dooce's popularity should in no way diminish the strength of Heather's writing.

Anyway, I'm apologizing here because, for me, Dooce is what personal blogging is all about.  Heather's writing is raw, unfiltered, emotional and hilarious.  She's never pandered to her audience and her ability to maintain her voice is a credit to her talent as a writer.  Not only is she one of the people who inspired me to blog but she's helped several close female friends of mine help deal with their depression.  Nothing to joke about.   

Sorry, Heather!  Next round of drinks is on me. 

The Centennial

So as it turns out, this is my 100th post here on MetroDad.  I wish I could celebrate this auspicious occasion by throwing all of you a party with an open bar, valet parking and overnight childcare.  Maybe even splurge a little and have the Stones or Coldplay perform for your behalf.  But in lieu of that, I thought I'd just wax nostalgic for a little bit and send you on your way. 

Anyway, it's hard to believe that when I first started this blog in July 2004, the BossLady and I were 3 months away from becoming first-time parents.  It seems like such a long time ago.  I was a semi-nervous future father, spending long nights staring at the ceiling and contemplating the ramifications of fatherhood.  And because it was impossible to find a shrink who worked nights and accepted my crappy health insurance, I started this blog as a way of sorting out thoughts, seeking advice and sharing both the joys and griefs of parenthood.  So far, it's been great.  Writing has proved to be a great therapeutic release for me and starting this blog has been a great way to chronicle my entry into fatherhood.   

Now, just over a year later, my little Peanut is 10-months old.  And, needless to say, it was love at first sight.  It's true what they say; the love for your child is unlike any other love you'll ever experience in your life.  Fatherhood teaches you that love is not a zero-sum game.  Your capacity for love somehow just increases exponentially.  And whereas some people might find having kids is a hindrance or a burden, I've found that parenthood has greatly enhanced my life and made me a better person.   

I'm still amazed at the fact that I'm a father.  The BossLady and I will often spend countless hours just staring at our daughter as she lays peacefully in her crib.  We'll sit there in total silence until my wife eventually nudges me and, with a voice of wonder, whispers, "can you believe that's our daughter?"

The birth of our daughter has taught me so many lessons.  But I think, more than anything else, it's taught me not to take anything for granted.  I'm not a religious man but I know how blessed I am to have a healthy, wonderful baby.  My only complaint is that the time seems to be flying by.  And while I'm sure I could peruse all my literary anthologies and find a deeply profound quote by Neruda, Yeats or Kipling that captures the true essence of how I feel about the passing of time, I think instead I'll just leave you with my new favorite parenting quote (discovered while unsuccessfully trying to take a dump at my doctor's office)...

"The days are long but the years are short."-John Leguizamo (InStyle Magazine, July 2005)

So while I'm looking forward to watching the Peanut grow up, there's a part of me that just wants to freeze her at this moment.  Because this moment?  The one right now?  It's pretty fucking great.  You know what I mean?