MetroDad

The Obligatory Halloween Post

When I was a single man living in the city, I used to dress up as a drunken priest every Halloween.  I invested in a decent costume and I got a lot of mileage out of it.  I think I must have worn my priest costume for a solid 7 years straight.  It almost got to be kind of a joke with my friends.  But the real beauty in the costume was that it allowed me to accomplish a multitude of objectives all at once.  For any single men (or women) out there contemplating various Halloween costumes, I offer you the following advice:

1. The costume must be cheap.  This is important.  No self-respecting man should ever spend more than $20 on a Halloween costume.  If you can get away with just wearing make-up, that's even better.  But under no circumstances should you ever go to a Halloween party wearing the jersey of your favorite professional athlete.  Aside from being unoriginal, there will inevitably be 10 equally unoriginal guys at the party wearing the same uniform.         

2. It needs to be easy to take off and shouldn't impede one's ability to get drunk.  Sure, it's fun to get dressed up in a gorilla costume.  But inevitably, you end up sweating your balls off and emitting strange odors.  It's always a poor decision to go overboard with an overly elaborate costume. Donna Martin dressing as a mermaid for the West Beverly High Halloween party is a classic example.   Julia on "Party of Five"  going as Tippie Hedrin from "The Birds" is another. 

3. You need to look good in it.  Hence, the reason why women on Halloween always dress as one of the 8 million variations of the slutty bunny/cat/genie/nurse/angel/cop/french maid or schoolgirl (this is basically the equivalent of saying "I'm up for some casual sex tonight" or "In my real life, I'm sexually repressed.")  For guys, you need to be a little more original.  Remember, it's hard to look attractive to the opposite sex when you're dressed as Gay Hitler or Screech. 

Anyway, for me, the priest outfit was absolutely perfect.  A little unoriginal?  Yeah, you might say so.  Offensive?  Possibly.  Sacriligeous?  Yeah, I'm REAL worried about that one.  (Sorry, have we met?  My name's MetroDad and I'm going to Hell!)

One year ago, the BossLady had literally just given birth to the Peanut so we weren't really in a position to go out and celebrate Halloween.  I did have some good ideas for costumes but we never got past the conception phase.  One idea I liked was to wear the Baby Bjorn on my back with the Peanut in it and go as the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Instead, the BossLady and I dressed as haggard, overtired new parents with bags under our eyes.  They say reality is always the best costume.

This year, I had a few ideas for some good costumes.  One idea was to dress in one of those old skeleton outfits, wear some fancy clothes on top and tell people I was Nicole Richie.   The BossLady also thought it would be fun if we dressed as Jin and Sun from "Lost."  I could dress as I normally would except with a set of handcuffs on one wrist and a fishing net over my shoulder.  It also could have been funny, being Asian, to dress the Peanut as Maddox Jolie (of course, we would have had to carry her all night because Maddox''s feet have yet to touch the ground.)

In the long run?  I ended up coming to the shocking realization that I didn't even have any Halloween parties to dress up for.  And I also realized that, since having a child, my funnest Halloweens are still probably ahead of me.  Being the goofball that I am, I can't wait to dress up with the Peanut as she gets older so we can all go trick-or-treating together.  It's something that my parents never did with me and it's something that I always swore that I'd do with my own child.  And the Peanut, the BossLady and I have many years to do this together.  I can't wait. 

But as for this year?  Well, I think I'm just going to see where the bunny takes me...

(click to enlarge)

"I heard you quit smoking 2 weeks ago. How's it going?"

"How's it going? Is that some sort of rhetorical question? What are you? Some kind of joker? Fuck you! THAT'S how it's going. Oh. You're being serious. Ummm...not too bad. Could be worse. Hey, hand me those potato chips, will you? THOSE potato chips! Damn, bitch, are you blind? Oh, sorry. No, it's just nerves. What were you saying? Something about smoking? No, really, it's going great. Couldn't be better. Cold turkey? Hell no! Where'd you hear that? My blog? Fuck that! No, I'm using the patch now. Yeah, it works great. Can't you tell? Hey, you going to eat the rest of that burger? No? Well, pass that over here, bitch! How about those fries? You just going to stare at them or you going to eat those too? What was I saying? Oh yeah. The smoking thing. Well, to tell you the truth, I thought I'd feel healthier. No, no, I'm still glad I quit. Definitely glad I quit. Hey, you want to go get some ice cream? No? Well, fuck you then. Edgy? Me? I don't think so. But thanks for asking, asshole!"

Nature, Nurture & the 2-Drink Minimum

One of the coolest things that the BossLady and I are noticing about the Peanut these days is the development of her personality.  I'm not going overboard here and saying that we can already see defined character traits or anything like that (c'mon. The kid's only 12 months old!)  But we are slowly starting to notice the evolution of a unique and independent sense of humor.  She's generally a pretty easy-going and well-adjusted kid so she often walks around with a cute smile on her face.  But we're now starting to notice that there are some things that just crack her shit up and tear her to pieces.   

Not surprisingly, the Peanut doesn't find my hand puppet reenactments of Supreme Court confimation hearings very amusing.  Also, unlike other babies, she's not always enamored of funny faces.  She will laugh when being tickled...but only if the tickler is the BossLady. As for playing Peek-a-Boo?  Most of the time, she can take it or leave it.  It depends on her mood and the amount of poop she's got in her diaper.  So what DOES tickle her funny bone and fire up her giggle synapses?  Here are a few recent barnburners...

The other day, I was napping out on the couch and the Peanut silently crept up to me and quickly rammed her tiny little finger up my nose as far as it could go.  I jumped up suddenly and screamed "What the Fuck?"...only to look down and see the Peanut laughing her ass off hysterically at my reaction.  Seriously, she thought it was so uproariously funny that I thought she was going to wet her diapers (just kidding.  The kid pees like a racehorse.  Her diapers are ALWAYS wet.)

The Peanut also seems to be a big fan of dichotic humor.  In other words, when she sees something that contradicts her normal perceptions of reality, she thinks it's a hoot.  Every once in awhile, I'll put baby clothes on my head, wear her bib around my neck, suck on a pacifier and pretend to drink from her bottle.  Cracks her up every time.  Even though she can't speak yet, I can look at her expression and hear her inner voice thinking, "you are one strange and funny motherfucker.  I'm not exactly sure why I find you amusing but that is some seriously funny shit."

Like I said before, she's not really all that ticklish.  But once in awhile, the dog will sneak up behind her and suddenly start licking her feet.  All of sudden, her face will break out into a giant smile and she'll go into a giggling fit.  I'm not sure whether she's laughing at the fact that it feels funny to have a dog's tongue on one's tiny toes or because she thinks it's hilarious that the animal whose food she's always eating got her back.  Maybe she's learned that revenge can be sweet...and funny.      

Toilet humor also cracks her up.  Not the kind of toilet humor involving dirty jokes or off-color language.  I'm talking about actual humor revolving around the toilet.  The other day, I was taking a leak when the Peanut pushed open the bathroom door and came barging in.  She grabbed one of her little bath toys (a rubber turtle), peered over the rim of the toilet and dropped the turtle in.  Although a smile came on her face, she didn't start really laughing until I palmed her head like a basketball and tried to keep her at arm's length while I finished taking a leak.  Ever seen a grown man pee into a toilet containing a plastic turtle with one hand palming his daughter's head and the other hand holding his johnson?  Now, THAT'S some funny shit.  We BOTH had a good chuckle over that one.   

Hmmm...and I wonder where the Peanut gets her sense of humor.  Anyway, I have to admit, she's much funnier than I am.  Maybe she'll have a long and distinguished career in stand-up comedy.  Who knows?  Can you imagine?

("Thank you.  Thank you.  I'll be performing here at The Crib all night.  There's a 2-drink minimum and please make sure all bottles are sanitized before entering the club.  You've been a great audience.  Really.  By the way, nice boobs, lady.  You packing any milk in those bazookas?  Whatta you say we go backstage and grab a drink?  You burp my back and I'll burp yours.")   

 

Blogging doesn't pay the bills

I seem to have noticed recently that every blogger seems to harbor dreams of becoming a full-time writer.  While I've often entertained that notion myself, I've pursued that dream in the past and it didn't work out so great for me.  In fact, it probably would have been more accurate to describe myself as a waiter rather than a writer.  Besides, I quickly realized that writing is not necessarily the world's most sought-after commodity.  It may be a poor reflection of our society but what can you do?   

Anyway, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a SAHD.  I'm actually a full-time squirrel in the working world.  That's right, my friends.  MetroDad has a full-time job.  Don't get me wrong.  There's actually nothing I'd rather do than stay home and raise my daughter full-time.  Unfortunately, I spent my entire trust fund on comic books and baseball cards so I'm forced to actually work for a living (although sometimes I feel like I'm just working for the nanny.) 

In my non-blogging life, I design and produce clothing for most of the nation's top sporting goods stores.  How I ended up in this line of work is a long story.  After stints in the Foreign Service, at a political think tank in DC, and as a tennis pro, I find myself here in the land of fashion.  Remind me to tell you all about it sometime (the short end of it is that there aren't many job opportuntities for Poli Sci/English Lit majors.) 

Anyway, there are many things I like about my job.  The primary thing is that, over the years, it's allowed me to travel to places around the world that most people would never even think about going to in their lifetime.  While on the one hand, that's certainly shaped my perspective on the world, it's also obviously less important ever since the Peanut was born.  I can't stand to be away from her for one night, much less a whole month.  But aside from the travel, I also enjoy the mix of creativity and hard-nosed business acumen that my job requires.  Also, I take great pleasure in the fact that I'm actually constructing something physical (as opposed to pushing paper, moving money or being a lawyer.)

Besides the fact that my job affords me a pretty good quality of life, the main reason I chose this profession is because I always envisioned myself as being a very involved parent.  This probably has a lot to do with the fact that my parents weren't around much when I was a kid (Psych 101, thank you.)  And although I bust my ass and work long hours, my job remains flexible enough so that when the time comes for Peanut's after-school soccer games, I'll always be able to make it.  When she has a ballet recital in the early afternoon, I'll be there.  If she's not feeling well at school and needs to be picked up in the middle of the day, it'll be no problem for me to leave and go get her.  Because although I'm a new parent and I may not really have any idea of what's truly important, I'm pretty fairly convinced that a large part of being a good parent is simply being there.  It may not work for everyone but, for me, it's a personal decision that I made a long time ago.   

The flip side to all of this is that my job is not my passion.  It's not something I envision myself doing for the rest of my life.  The stress levels are extremely high and I think it's beginning to have a deleterious effect on my mental well-being.  Ever since I started my company, I've thrived on the challenge of it all.  But after 10 years of doing this successfully, I'm looking for new challenges.  The question is whether I'll find them in my professional life or in my personal life. 

In a way, the birth of the Peanut has complicated my career decisions.  While my current profession allows me to pursue certain self-indulgent passions (like travelling, skiing, food and a steady IV drip of single-malt scotches), it also provides a cushion for the Peanut.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm no Rockefeller.  When the time comes for her to go to college, I don't know what the hell we're going to do.  But I do know that my two primary goals in life are to be there for her at all times and to provide her with everything she needs.  Am I looking to buy her a pony?  No.  But do I want her to take music lessons, ballet classes, go to summer camp and travel with me around the world?  Absolutely.

So I'm stuck somewhere between a rock and a hard place.  On the one hand, I've got a well-paying job.  On the other hand, there's no way I can continue doing this for another 20-30 years.  I need to find something that either provides a greater challenge or allows me to be more creative.  And though it may sound crassly materialistic, I enjoy the lifestyle I have today and I'd like to be able to maintain it.  In a way, blogging has been somewhat of a savior for me.  It allows me a creative outlet that I can do in my spare time.  And though I knew blogging would be therapeutic for me before I even started doing it a year ago, I've been pleasantly surprised by how much I've enjoyed it.   So where does this all leave me? 

As I see it, I've only got a few options:

(1) Suck it up and stop being such a whiny bitch. 
(2) Cash out of my apartment and move to Arkansas.
(3) Start playing Powerball.
(4) Get a new job. 

Anyone out there have any advice?  Anyone else feeling the same way?  Anyone got a job offer for me?  Talk to me, people.  I'm always open to sound advice or commisseration. 

Daddytypes: As brought to you by Slate

Our favorite gadget-obsessed father and erudite man-about-town, Greg of DaddyTypes, has a very funny piece in today's issue of Slate Magazine. Befitting his status as purveyor of all things Daddy-related, Greg's article is (as he calls it), "the first chapter of his dissertation on stroller-buying." Those of you who read daddytypes regularly will appreciate the semi-ironic humor in that phrase.

But go check out Greg's essay. And congratulate him as he joins the ranks of such fellow Slate luminaries as Jacob Weisberg, Ann Hulbert, Mickey Kaus, and Michael Lewis.

R.I.P. Rosa Parks (1913-2005)

There are very few people who can say that their actions and conduct changed the face of the nation, and Rosa Parks is one of those individuals.  Where would we be as a country without her?  Too many times, we cast the title of hero on those who are undeserving.  But in Rosa Parks, I feel it can be said that she was truly a rare American hero.  As a nation, we owe her a debt that can never be repaid.  May God bless her soul and may she rest in peace.  May she serve as an inspiration to us all and remind us that right will always defeat might.

"I would like to be known as a person who is concerned about freedom and equality and justice and prosperity for all people.  Each person must live their life as a model for others."-Rosa Parks

Seven

Though I usually tend to avoid memes, quizzes and personality tests like the fucking plague, my fellow comrade in fatherhood, Not-For-Profit Dad, forced me into doing this by threatening me with a very large stick.  Just kidding.  He's not really the violent type.  He actually just threatened to blackmail me (and several other of my favorite bloggers) if I didn't post this. So without further ado, here's my List of Sevens...

7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die

1. Rock out onstage with Pearl Jam.
2. Become completely fluent in French. 
3. Spend a year on my own sailboat.
4. Throw out the ceremonial first pitch at a Major League baseball game.
5. Publish a book.
6. Drive an F1 race car.
7. Dance with my daughter at her wedding.

7 Things I Cannot Do

1. Ballroom dance.
2. Draw, paint or sculpt.
3. Carry a tune.
4. Drive under 30 mph.
5. Touch a snake, a spider or a mouse.
6. Tie a bow tie.
7. Wear anything pink, tye-dyed, or Day-Glo. 

7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex

1. Intelligence.
2. Quirky sense of humor.
3. Unconventional beauty.
4. Sense of adventure and spontaneity.
5. A good vocabulary and a love for grammar.
6. A caring and generous heart.
7. A love of children.

7 Things That I Say Most Often

1. What are we doing for dinner?
2. Come here and give me a kiss.
3. It's your turn to get her.
4. Holy shit do I need a fucking scotch!
5. I'm just going to read for a little bit.
6. Hey honey!  What's got two thumbs and loves blow jobs?
7. Can you believe we made her? 

7 Celebrity Crushes

1. Tina Fey  (Seriously crushing her. The scar only makes her more attractive)
2. Zhang Ziyi  (looks like the BossLady)
3. Mary Louise Parker  (God's gift to the theater.  Billy Crudup is a fucking idiot.)
4. Michelle Yeoh (45 years old.  Gorgeous.  And can still kick your ass in a Hong Kong minute) 
5. Tilda Swinton   (Freakishly beautiful)
6. Jhumpa Lahiri (her writing moves my soul and rocks my world)
7. Sarah Silverman (smart, funny, weird looking and has a mouth like a truck-stop whore)

7 (or more) People I Want To Do This

1. Dutch & Wood  (my favorite blog couple.)
2. Jason, Jay and Chris  (the Boys)
3. MIM  (Can't wait to hear her choices.)
4. Cookie, Virgo  and Bacon Grease  (The Three Musketeers)
5. Queen of Ass, The Dog's Breakfast and Stacy  (because I know they won't want to.)
6. City Mama, Linda and Weigook Saram  (My Seoul Sisters)
7. The Pope  (Dude. He's the fucking Pope!)

And though she doesn't have a blog (despite my constant pleading to start one), my beautiful wife...the BossLady.

1.8% of a lifetime

1.8%. Or 10,080 minutes. That's how much of the Peanut's life we missed while the BossLady and I were away on vacation last week. One week may not seem that long but 1.8% of a lifetime sure does.

I have no other frame of reference for comparison but I have to say it's amazingly cool being the parent of a one-year old little girl. The Peanut is absolutely adorable right now. I've never seen such a good-natured kid. She runs around like a madwoman. She screams "quack, quack" whenever she sees a duck (real or inflatable.) She yells "dog, dog" whenever she sees our dog. And she loves yelling "mama" and "dada" (although I'm often called "mama" and Bosslady "papa.") So it was with great anxiety that we left her in New York for a week while we were gallivanting on the Riviera. Not because we didn't think she would be in good hands but because we didn't want to miss a single step in her development.

Thankfully, we have multiple video cameras in our possession and we instructed everyone to shoot as much video of the Peanut as possible while we were gone. Everyone complied. So when BossLady and I came home, we were able to watch tons of video footage of the time that we missed. Here's what we missed:

-The Peanut has learned to climb steps on her own.

-She even knows how to go back down them.

-Her hair is long enough to put in berets now.

-She's discovered that she loves ice cream. Seriously loves ice cream. As in scream like a banshee if you give her a taste but don't let her finish the whole bowl.

-She's turned into the ultimate baby kisser. If she sees any kid in a stroller, she will go straight up to him (or her) and plant a wet one on their cheek.

-She claps whenever she hears someone singing ABCs and, when they're finished, she squeals in appreciation.

Even in the one week that we've been home now, we're seeing her learn new things every day. It's fascinating to watch. A little frightening. But fascinating none the less.

FYI...Speaking of frightening? 1.8% of MY lifetime? 0.666 years. The "Sign of the Beast." Eerie coincidence? I think not!

The Regularity

Upon further inspection, I've noticed another commonality between myself and the Peanut. We both like to poop at exactly the same time every day. It's bizarre. Every morning at 8:30 when I'm sitting on the can, "dropping the kids off at the pool" and reading the sports section? At precisely the same time, the Peanut freezes in her tracks. Her little cheeks get all flushed. And she squeezes out a few turds into her baby Huggies.

The cosmic timing of it all is so remarkable that it's almost preternaturally uncanny. Or as Magic Johnson once said (of playing with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar), "it's like we have ESPN or something."

Party like it's 1999

On Sunday, the BossLady and I threw a baby shower for two of our closest friends.  The husband has been one of my best friends since I was 13 years old and I was the best man at his wedding.  His wife is truly awesome and she's quickly become one of our favorite people.  Together, they're one of our closest "couple" friends so it was an easy decision for us to want to throw her a baby shower a mere two weeks before her due date.  We thought we'd keep the whole thing casual and decided to have a Sunday afternoon barbecue/baby shower for a few close friends and their kids. 

Holy crap!  Little did we know that our apartment was going to be transformed into a massive daycare center.  Originally the plan was to invite a few friends over for an intimate shower.  Maybe just have 6-8 couples over and enjoy a leisurely afternoon of steaks, burgers, bloody marys and champagne.  However, we forgot that everyone has kids now.  So before we knew it, we had 16 adults in our apartment being completely outnumbered and overrun by 10 little kids.  It was pure comedy. 

Remember.  We live in downtown Manhattan.  We don't have a backyard.  We've got a living room.  And though it's pretty spacious by NY standards, there's nothing like having 10 kids running around to make it feel a lot smaller.  But it was hilarious watching the kids go wild in our apartment.  Before we knew it, the kids were all over the place, letting their inhibitions and imaginations run rampant.  The older kids looked after the little ones.  New friendships were formed immediately.  Toys were shared and books were read together.  The whole scene was absolutely adorable.  All the kids were amazingly well-behaved.  They were having a blast but they were always polite and mindful of not going completely bonkers. 

But for me, it was astounding to look at all these great parents and reminisce about the fun times we've all shared together over the years.  The mom giving her son a "time out" was the same girl who used to sneak out to Studio 54 when she was 17 years old.  The dad wiping his daughter's face was the same guy who went a whole month without showering during the summer of '90.  The mom kissing her daughter's boo-boo was the girl who used to love drinking cosmos and dancing on the bar.  The dad singing "ring around the rosies" was a former Calvin Klein model at the age of 17.  The mom holding her newborn used to throw wild parties where it always seemed by the end of the night that all her fashion editor friends were making out with one another.  That other dad kissing his daughter's face all night?  He used to be the guy who never wanted to go home after a night of debauchery. 

It's funny.  The amazing thing to me is not that they all turned out to be highly successful people.  For me, that was never in question.  Nor is it the fact that they all became such great parents.  I never doubted that either.  Looking around during the baby shower, seeing all the kids playing and thinking about all the great and memorable times I've had with some of their parents over the past 20 years, you know what was the most amazing thing to me?

I think that our most enjoyable times together are actually ahead of us.