MetroDad

Tales of Tryptophan, Turkey & Texas

We just returned from visiting the BossLady's folks out in Dallas.  As always, we had a wonderful time.  The grandparents were absolutely thrilled to hang out with the the Peanut and we all enjoyed our little inter-generational love-fest.  Personally, I've always thought that 4 days is the perfect amount of time to spend with ANYONE'S parents so, despite our jolly-good time, I'm glad to be back in NYC. 

Anyway, as I usually do when I'm a little jammed up in the office, I thought I'd engage in a little random chaos theory.  If there's a unifying thread to all this, let me know.  My shrink and I would love to hear what it is.  Otherwise, I hope that you and your families all had a great Thanksgiving and that none of you burned your houses down by deep-frying a turkey. 

SHE'S NOT MY BABY.  I'M JUST THE MANNY!

You know that nightmare baby that you sometimes encounter while flying?  The one who cries incessantly, only pausing to moan or whimper?  Well, flying out to Dallas, our little Peanut was THAT BABY.  She'd woken up too early that morning, was thrown off her schedule and was overtired all day.  By the time, we got on the plane, she was in total meltdown.  How bad did it get?  At one point, I took her to the bathroom to give our fellow passengers a break.  Suddenly, she stopped crying.  I don't know whether it was her fascination with the blue toilet water or the fact that she unrolled about 800 feet of toilet paper in a 3 foot space but I wasn't going to disrupt the silence.  We ended up hanging out inside the toilet for about 20 minutes!  You should have seen the smile on her face!  When people knocked on the bathroom door, I just grunted loudly like I was battling a giant turd.  Unfortunately, when we came out, Peanut started wailing again.  And as I handed her off to BossLady, I could have sworn I heard myself say, "Here's your daughter, lady.  I'll be at the bar!"

BRIBERY, COURTESY AND "THE PRICE IS RIGHT"

We travel enough with the Peanut to know that there are good flights and there are bad flights.  And usually, you don't know which one it's going to be until you get on the plane.  That being said, I like to think we're pretty courteous people who respect the rights of those around us.  I bring this up because we were so scarred by the flight out to Dallas that we started coming up with a game plan for the return flight.  I won't go into details but the plan involved buying a large box of ear plugs, a few bags of candy and a stack of Continental drink vouchers.  We didn't have to use any of them but, just out of curiosity, would that have made things better?  Has anyone ever given you a sympathy bribe on a plane before?  Because I'm thinking about packaging these up and marketing them to itinerant parents.  What do you all think?  Is this a million dollar idea (or just a 5 cent one)? 

TURKEY IS A GATEWAY DRUG TO AMBIEN

We don't eat turkey on Thanksgiving.  The last time BossLady and I ate turkey was 7 years ago.  We were dating long-distance.  She was in L.A. and I was in NYC.  One weekend, she took the Friday night red-eye and arrived at my apartment around noon.  We lounged around for awhile and then decided to order in some buffalo wings for lunch.  And although the wings looked suspiciously large, they were mighty tasty so we indulged ourselves to our heart's content.  Feeling a little full, we decided to lie down and take a nap.  The next thing we remember was the sound of my phone ringing...14 hours later!  Turns out the buffalo wings were Turkey wings and we'd both overdosed on Tryptophan.  BossLady had to leave a few hours later so it turns out that she'd flown a total of 10 hours just so we could have a meal and a long nap together.  We swore on a jumbo wing that we'd never eat turkey again.

IS THERE A SWEETER PHRASE THAN "JACK-IN-THE-BOX DRIVE-THRU (OPEN 24 HOURS)"?

Last time I wrote one of these chaotic posts, I ended up discussing my love of Jack-in-the-Box.  Well, it turns out that they opened a 24-hour establishment less than 5 minutes away from my In-Laws' house!  (For those of you who are vegetarians, please proceed to the next post.  Otherwise, NSFW.)  Not only did I go there every day to get my beloved Sourdough Jack with cheese and extra bacon, BossLady was reunited with her Spicy Chicken Club.  And the Peanut?  Her new best friend is the Oreo milkshake.  God bless America.  God bless fast-food.  And God bless Dallas (where, judging by the increasing girth of its denizens, I think a baby's first words are, "Hey, dude. Can I get fries with that?")

BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST THAN TO HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL

The in-laws don't have cable TV, TiVo, DVR, high-speed internet or Wifi.  Sometimes, I felt like I was on a bad episode of "Survivor: Plano."   

I WAS ONLY GONE FOR 4 DAYS BUT IN BLOGGINGBABY.COM TERMS, THAT'S LIKE 275 POSTS!

Ahhh...God bless Blogging Baby!  Without them, how else would I have kept up on Jennifer Garner's pregnancy, Rod Stewart's newborn and the state of lesbian cloth diapering in Western Mongolia?  Just kidding.  I can give them a little shit because all my favorite bloggers are now working for them.  And if you want to play a little game, here's a pretty fun link that allows you to try and match up the bloggers with their baby photos.  I'm guessing my buddy Dutch is the one dressed like a street urchin, Jay is the weird kid with a goatee and Stefania is the cute one.  In a similar vein, we'll be running a similar contest over at DadCentric next month (except there, you're going to have to match the blogger with a drunken photo of his ass!)

THE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN WEIRD, DYSFUNCTIONAL & JUST PLAIN CRAZY!

During the past four days, I've watched BossLady's father unconsciously rip a flurry of belches at the dinner table that would have made Belushi proud.  Another night, I watched as he decided to start repairing the motor of his edge trimmer...on the kitchen table...at midnight.  I also got to witness BossLady's mom and her cooking OCD.  Watching her in the kitchen is like watching Iron Chef on amphetamines (and by this I don't mean me doing some smack and watching TV.  I mean it's as if the Iron Chefs took some meth and started cooking.)  I love watching my MIL.  She'll cook until she's absolutely wiped out and collapes from exhaustion.  When she wakes up?  It's right back to the kitchen.  If the results weren't so gastronomically amazing, it would be almost frightening to watch. 

It's funny because these idiosyncrasies of her parents are sometimes embarrassing for the BossLady but, on the other hand, I think they're absolutely endearing and totally charming.  These weird habits of her parents only make me love the BossLady more.  But of course, after thinking about it for awhile, I can see where she's coming from. I know there are PLENTY of times when my parents will do something that not only drives me to the brink of insanity but also absolutely embarrasses the hell out of me.  Witness...

Whenever we’re in a restaurant and my father wants something, he snaps his fingers and yells, “Senor!”  It doesn't matter whether the waiter is Chinese or Italian, my father somehow believes that Spanish is the universal language for the food-services industry.  Similarly, he also doesn’t believe it’s necessary to have an empty mouth when having a conversation.  These are basically two of the many reasons I don't invite friends out to dinner with my folks anymore. 

I was once playing golf with my mother and some of my buddies when we looked up the fairway and saw her sitting in the middle of a giant orange tree. After climbing down, she then ran over to us yelling “Here, boys! Eat, eat!  Oranges!  Vitamin C! It’s good for you!” Not only was I completely embarrassed but she then went on to birdie the fucking hole.

I'm not even going to bring up my father's ability to clear out a room with his farts or his tendency to cut his nails in public.  The list literally goes on and on.  But as I sit and think about it, I wonder whether it's all some sort of manifest destiny.  In a way, I think parents are supposed to embarrass their kids.  It's all part of some cosmic circle involving payback and penance.  And knowing this?  I can only begin to think of the numerous ways that I'm going to embarrass the Peanut in front of all her friends as she gets older.

But want to know the truth? 

I can't wait!

 

 

Giving Thanks

During the past week over at DadCentric, I’ve been writing about the bizarre history of past Thanksgivings.  I’ve also posted about how, for me, Turducken symbolizes all that is great about America. 

But as I sit here tonight in Dallas, stuffed out of my gourd and staring ay my MIL’s collection of refrigerator magnet business cards,  I'm thinking about what Thanksgiving really means to me.  In a year that has witnessed a country at war, the loss of countless American lives and several natural disasters of epic proportions, I think that this Thanksgiving stands out as a time when we should all truly think about the things for which to be thankful.  Whether large or small, there are many things in life that we all both respect and appreciate.  Here’s my 2005 short list…

MAJOR DOMO...

A happy & healthy family.  The Peanut was only 7 weeks old last Thanksgiving.  Now, she’s a beautiful and healthy 13-month-old girl who loves nothing more than to scamper around all over the place at full speed.  Not only am I thrilled to see her running and climbing, I’m thankful that everyone in her family is well enough to run and climb alongside her.  May we all continue to keep up with her as the years go by.

A dysfunctional family.  Sure, they’re all healthy but man, nobody drives me nuts like my family.  But, at the end of the day, you’re stuck with them.  And likewise, they’re stuck with you.  So…this Thanksgiving?  As we all sit around with our crazy uncles, our psychotic aunts and our senile grandparents?  Remember...you are not alone!  And as the years go by?  Who knows?  YOU might be that crazy uncle or psychotic aunt! 

My friends.  Coming from an incredibly small yet remarkably dysfunctional family, I’ve always had extremely close friendships and I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that friends are the family that you get to choose.  I have great friends.  They’re smart, funny, interesting and caring.  And for the most part, I’ve known many of them forever.  I realize how rare that is and I’m thankful to have all of them be a part of my past, present and future. 

My wife.  Before I met the BossLady, I was becoming somewhat comfortable with the idea that I might be alone for the rest of my life.  It wasn’t that I hadn’t met any beautiful or interesting women.  It was just that I hadn’t found one with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.  I was living a fairly independent life and I was cherishing all the freedom.  Besides, I can be a moody, goofy, strange and eclectic motherfucker.  Maybe I was better off alone.  But then, the BossLady came into my life and turned it upside down.  Meeting my soul mate and learning what it means to commit our lives to one another is something for which I’ll always be thankful.  Sharing parenthood with her makes it even more special.

NOT TO BE DISMISSED LIGHTLY…

Role models (v. 2005).  Kudos and respect to Pat Tillman, Chuck Hagel, Sandra Day O’Connor, Lance Armstrong and George Galloway.  One day, I’ll tell my daughter stories about all of you.  I’ll explain to her that no human is perfect and how, as individuals, you all had your faults.  But I’ll also explain to her how all of you stayed true to your beliefs, always spoke your mind, never took shit from anyone and, if necessary, took your licks to remain faithful to your own ideals and principles.  I’ll tell her your stories and explain how, in Daddy’s opinion, right ultimately prevails over might. 

Hope, faith and charity.  First, there was the Asian tsunami.  Then, there was Katrina.  And right after that?  The earthquake in Pakistan.  After each and every natural disaster, Americans consistently reached into their hearts, their pockets and their souls to assist those who desperately needed our help.  As a nation, we may have a ways to go before we are able to adequately tackle society's problems, both at home and abroad.  However, as individuals, we proved once again that there are few people as selfless and generous as us.   

Only 25 months until we have a new president.  Liberal or conservative, it’s hard to imagine how anyone can be supremely enthusiastic about our current president.  I’m not talking about partisan politics or party loyalty.  I’m talking about a general dearth of leaders in this country.  Where are the leaders who will inspire us as a nation?  Who will motivate us to greater heights?  Because while I would never disrespect the office of the presidency, I eagerly look forward to the next election and hope that we can achieve some sort of paradigm shift in our selection.  From top to bottom, we deserve far better from those who seek to represent us. 

My fellow passengers on Flt. #1137.  I am so sorry that my daughter’s overtiredness caused her to be so cranky during the entire flight from NY.  I apologize profusely.  I cannot believe how incredibly patient and understanding all of you were.  While your advice was greatly appreciated, I continue to be blown away by your kindness.  Thanks for truly embracing the holiday spirit and being so amazingly cool.

MINOR BLESSINGS.  Roasted chestnuts.  The return of Fiona Apple.  TiVo. Good books read by the fireplace.  Homemade pumpkin pie.  Pitchers and catchers reporting for spring training in 3 months.  Regular bowel movements. The decreasing popularity of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears.  Grandparents.  And new babies. 

So on this day of stuffing our faces and watching football with our weird relatives, may we all remember how lucky we truly are.  May we all remember to help those around us in need.  And may we all remember that health, love and friendship are never to be taken for granted. 

From all of us to all of you…Happy Thanksgiving to you and your families!

Reflections on a Monday Morning (as a Paean to Dooce)

Monday mornings are a bitch, aren't they?  Commuting to work via the NYC subway system not only sometimes inflicts salt to the wound but also often truly tests the outer limits of one's patience.  With apologies to my friend Heather, I offer a brief glimpse of my Monday morning.  Thankfully, it's going to be a short week. 

How to Annoy Me

Spread your legs wide while sitting in a crowded subway train, thereby taking up two full seats.  Then, cough up a lung without covering your mouth.  Finally?  Refuse to give up ONE of your damn seats for a pregnant lady.  Don't you know how much that fucking pisses me off?  I would have excused the leg-spreading and the coughing.  But there was no way I wasn't going to get all up in your face for not offering your seat to a pregant lady, asshole! 

How to Charm Me

Saying thank you.  People don't realize how far a simple thank you can go.  (Bonus points for remarking that I must be a father myself, asking whether I have a photo of my child, and cooing for an embarrasingly long time while looking at the Peanut's pic on my cell phone.)

Boobs

I saw a man on the subway today and he had bigger boobs than any woman (pregnant or otherwise) I've ever seen.  It was grotesquely fascinating and I found myself rapt with scientific curiosity.   What's the biggest cup size of any man on the planet?  Would it be in the Guiness Book of Records?  Would they have shown it on "That's Incredible!"?  What kind of support system would be needed with a rack that large? 

Poop

No real poop stories from the Monday morning commute.   But last Friday?  There was a man on the train who smelled as if he'd mixed poop with some Indian food and then rubbed it all over his smelly feet.  On the one hand, I was totally grossed out.  On the other hand, I sort of started craving Indian food.  Kind of weird, eh?

Poop (Part Deux)

Yesterday, the Peanut's butt machine-gunned out what looked like a whole carton of Whoppers malted milk balls!  Twice!  We checked her diaper and there were literally about 10 of these perfectly-formed poo balls that were so well uniformly well-polished that they looked they were made by Hersheys.  I was in such total awe that I wanted to zip-lock the balls of poop, stick them in the fridge and show them to everyone who came over to our apartment.

Feeling Guilty

For pretending that I didn't smell the poop in my daughter's diaper this morning and letting her walk around with a diaper filled with crap until the nanny arrived because I didn't feel like changing her diaper due to the aforementioned traumatization of the Whoppers incident.  Feeling guiltier for hearing the nanny in the other room exclaim, "Wow, Peanut!  That's quite a poop!  How long has that been in there?"

I Take Pictures Every Day with a Nikon D70

Ok, I don't take pictures every day with my D70.  But we did take this one recently.  The leaves were changing colors so we decided to take a drive up to Storm King Art Center, an amazing outdoor sculpture and nature museum in upstate New York.  If any of you are ever visiting in the Tri-State area, go check it out.  It's one of New York's secret pleasures.  Anyway, we call this photo "A Man, a Girl and a Biscuit."

   

MetroDad was once MetroBoy

As I mentioned in my previous post, the TV special and album "Free to Be You and Me" brought back a flood of memories from my childhood.  And in thinking about how important that the album was to me as a young boy, I started reminiscing about other memories from my childhood.  Swimming in a stream-of-conciousness, I compiled a quick list of random things that I longingly remember from my childhood...

• Shrinky Dinks
• "50 Facts about the 50 States"
• "Brite Lites"
• Schoolhouse Rock
• Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective
• "James & the Giant Peach"
• Mad Libs
• "Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing."
• Play-Doh
• Pop Rocks, Fun Dip & Dots
• Stickball bats made out of broomsticks
• Mattel Football 2 LED game
• Pogo Sticks
• Home-made ice sticks made with orange juice
• Sea Monkeys
• Felt banners of my favorite sports teams
• Big Wheel & The Green Machine

What I'd like to know is...

(1) Are kids still into this stuff?  As the Peanut gets older, will I be able to share these memories of my childhood with her?

(2) What do YOU remember from your childhood? 

"Free to Be You and Me" (A MetroDad Recommendation)

There are many things that "the boys" over at DadCentric have in common.  We all love our kids.  We're all involved fathers.  And we all try to maintain a sense of humor about parenting.  But another thing that seems to bind us together is our love of music.  Whether it's Chris strumming baby songs to Mia on his guitar, Jason making playlists for Lucas or Peter talking about his earliest musical memories, it's clear that we all share a passion and love of music that we want to pass onto our sons and daughters. 

Personally, I love playing my music for the Peanut, my lovely 13-month-old-daughter.  She loves it when I sing Morrissey tunes or hum The Killers to her.  And when BossLady is making up silly songs and singing them into her stomach, the Peanut absolutely shrieks in laughter.  Of course, to her, it's just melodic noise and she's happy because she's having fun playing with mommy and daddy. 

But the other day, we put on the "Free to Be You and Me" DVD for her to watch.  And though the Peanut was more interested in her bottle at the time, BossLady and I were absolutely in rapture watching it.  A flood of memories engulfed us both and we sat in amazement as we realized that we still remembered all the words to the songs.  Sitting together, we sang along with Marlo Thomas and Harry Belafonte performing "Parents are People."  Cradling the Peanut, we joined Michael Jackson and Roberta Flack on "When We Grow Up."  And who could ever forget "Helping" by Tom Smothers? 

But not only did we remember the words but we also came to realize how important of a role the album played in our lives.  Thinking about it wistfully almost brings a tear to my eye. 

It's easy to look back at this record as a dippy, feel-good paean to the sensitivities of the 70's.  Using poetry, songs, and sketches, the basic concept of the album and TV show was to salute being oneself; the thematic message was: you, whether you are a boy or a girl, can achieve anything you want.  Maybe it's because this issue strikes such a chord with me now that I have my own child or maybe because this album is like a cult classic to me, but watching it now is an absolutely incredible feeling.  It's so optimistic and uplifting in its goal to teach children valuable lessons through music.  It's really what kid music should be all about. 

And though I'm going to continue to play my music for the Peanut and though I'm sure we're going to be listening to The Wiggles soon enough, I'm going to recommend to all of you to dust off your old copies or to buy the DVD for "Free to Be You and Me." 

Because sharing YOUR childhood with your son or daughter is a trip down memory lane that I think you'll all truly enjoy. 

Confessions of a Grammar Nerd

In the interest of complete disclosure, I want to admit something to all of you that I've been holding out on ever since I started this blog.   It's only fair that I come clean now.  I almost feel like I've been lying to all of you by omission.  But, Internet, I'm here to expose myself now and finally tell the truth...

I am a complete (and borderline dysfunctional) grammar and punctuation freak.

It's not that I get appalled when I hear someone butcher the English language.  It's more like every fucking bone inside me writhes in pain.  I'm not like normal people.  I've come to accept that about myself.  It's something I've worked on internally for many years.  But sometimes I kid myself into thinking that I've got it under control and can safely reenter the world as a functioning member of society.  But last night, I had one of those conversations that rapidly reconfirmed the fact that I'll never be completely cured.  It turns out that I can't even order dinner without raising a ruckus. 

Witness my phone conversation tonight with Carl's Cheese Steaks...

Me: "Does the steak chili have beans?"
Carl's: "Yeah, a few.  Less than regular chili though."
Me: "You mean fewer?"
Carl's: "What?"
Me: "You mean your chili has fewer beans, not less."
Carl's: "Are you fucking kidding me?  You want the God damn chili or not?"
Me: "Yes, please.  How long will it be?"
Carl's:  "When it's ready, I'll have someone bring it over to you."
Me: "You mean he'll take it over."
Carl's: "What?"
Me: "Um, nothing...Please don't spit in my food!"

Ok...so I left out that last part about spitting in my food.  But let's face it, people.  I've worked in the food service industry for years.  I've scrubbed floors, prepped food, bussed tables and waited on hundreds.  Let's be honest.  We all know that he totally spit in my food.  Or dropped some rat shit in there.  Maybe even coughed on my cheese steak.  And you know what?  I totally deserve it.  I know I deserve it.  And I still can't help myself. 

Part of the problem stems from the fact that my mother was a linguistics major in college.  She speaks six languages and has always been a stickler for correct grammar usage.  It's funny because English is nowhere near her native language but, when I was a child, she was constantly correcting my grammar.  She'd even correct my friends' grammar.  It used to drive me fucking nuts!  It's probably what drove me to therapy.  (On the other hand, my father came to this country barely speaking a word of English.  I like to think I'm the illegitimate love child of Strunk, White & Fu Man Chu.) 

But as if my problems at home weren't bad enough, my parents then chose to send me to a very small prep school that was famous for its traditional focus on the classics.  In particular, the school was known for producing a bevy of talented writers (famous alumni include Jack Kerouac, William Carlos Williams, James Salter, Robert Caro,and playwright Ira Levin.)   So not only was I a seventh-grade geek studying Latin, I was also being exposed to an environment that had a zero-tolerance policy for incorrect grammar or punctuation.  I'm not saying my teachers used the cane but there were several times I thought I was going to pee my pants because I was having problems with the subjunctive. 

Life, over the years, hasn't gotten much easier.  It's tough being a stickler for punctuation these days.  The feelings of panic, anger and isolation are not easily understood by others.  Frank McCourt once wrote about missing his bus because he was so angry to see a billboard with the movie poster for "Two Weeks Notice."  Who was responsible for this?  Where was the apostrophe?  The producers certainly would have used it if the film were named "One Month's Notice" or "One Week's Notice."  What happened to "Two Week's Notice?"  Do you care?  Probably not.   But my problem has deep-seated ramifications that affect my daily life.  Witness...

I stopped going to Food Emporium because all their checkout signs said, "10 items or less" (it should be "fewer.")

When someone asks me when I finished college, I literally flinch on the inside when I say "I graduated from Cal in '91." (instead of "I was graduated from Cal in 1991.")

I loved Steve Carrell's work on "The Daily Show" and I continue to love him in "The Office."  But this past year, I really did cringe every time I saw reviews of "The 40 Year-Old Virgin" (correct title should be "The 40-Year-Old Virgin.")  I almost couldn't go to the movie. 

And although I'm lactose intolerant, I still would never order sweets from a restaurant that listed "Deserts" on its menu (Remember..."cold desserts taste good in the desert.")

I know I've got a problem here.  I'm really trying to get better.  But in actuality, it's probably much worse than you think.  In fact, don't even get me started on bad spelling, dangling participles, misplaced modifiers or mix-ups regarding "they're", "there", and "their."  I'm working on it, my friends.  But does anyone else have the same fucking problem?  Am I really the only one who cares about this crap? 

CORRECT GRAMMAR IS THE ONLY THING THAT HOLDS US TOGETHER AS A SOCIETY, PEOPLE! 

(I'm the only one, aren't I?) 

 

 

Dadcentric

I'm pleased to announce that a bunch of the boys and I have gotten together and launched a new website to write about fatherhood.  It's called DadCentric. 

Aside from myself, I'm joined by an illustrious group of fathers.  Many of them are probably familiar to you.  We've got Chris of Rude Cactus, Tony of Cheeky's Hideaway, Jason of Pet Cobra, Chag of Cynical Dad, Peter of Chocolate Makes it Better, Warren of Mr. Big Dubya, and WhiffleBoy. 

Although there are a lot of Mommy and Parenting sites, there's not a whole lot out there for the other half of the parenting equation. So several of us got together to create a site for dads. What you'll find there are tips, stories, advice, reviews, links, and blather...all related to the noble art and science of fathering (and all written with a sense of humor.)  Of course, none of us have any professional experience that qualifies us as experts on fathering.  It's more like a forum or roundtable for discussion.  But it's pretty cool and I think you'll enjoy it.  Go over and check us out. 

Most of the other dads are much more prolific than I am.  I'll mostly be posting a lot of my sporadic brain farts and random musings on fatherhood over there.  In fact, if you want to hear some of my invaluable contributions to the site so far, you're more than welcome to go over and read...

My profound thoughts on the topic of circumcision

How I learned to stop worrying and love "the bomb"

The lengths men will go to protect their daughters

So stop by for a visit, say hello to the boys and come back to tell me what you think!   

Breaking the 4th Wall

When I first started this blog, I thought it would be the web-based equivalent of talking to myself.  I thought it would be a therapeutic way for me to chronicle my transition into fatherhood.  How was I going to adjust from being a care-free guy who loved living a life of spontaneity to becoming a dependable father whose sole responsibility would be to care, nurture and love his infant daughter?  Was my entire personality and inner essence going to be inalterably transformed?  Could I really give up the velvet rope for the velvet slipper?  Was my life going to revolve around the sippy cup?

But I also started this blog to try and find a community of like-minded fathers who were bent on being great parents but who didn't take themselves too seriously.  I wasn't looking for guys who were "too cool for school" and just happened to have become fathers.  No, I was seeking out guys who were taking fatherhood as seriously as me, who always knew they wanted to be fathers and who also knew that humor and a good attitude were valuable tools of the trade.

And I found these cool dads.  I also found a bunch of cool moms.  And surprisingly, I found a bunch of cool people who are neither moms or dads.  And throughout all of this, a funny thing happened...

I fell in love. 

(Ok, maybe Love is a tad strong.  I just thought it would be a nice dramatic literary effect.  Don't worry.  I'm not the drunk party girl who swears she loves you, vomits in your living room and then passes out at your front door.  You know what I'm talking about, right?)

Anyway, in all seriousness, I really did kind of fall in love...with all the readers of this blog who comment and lead me to their own blogs.  I truly consider blogging buddies to be friends.  I'm invested in their lives.  I care what happens to them.  When shit goes bad for one of them, I find myself worrying like a mother hen.

It's funny because the BossLady doesn't read very many blogs.  She basically reads mine and Greg's.  So, in a way, it's like I've made all these friends without her.  And often, I find myself talking to her  about one of my blog friends as if they're either friends from work, friends from distant places or friends I made when I was younger...

"Did I tell you that Dutch & Wood are moving from SF to Detroit?  Dutch told me that they can get a mansion there for almost nothing!"

"Speaking of SF, I wonder if RBrown has found a place to live yet.  Do we know anyone there who could hook her up with a pad?  What do you think about setting her up with one of the SF boys?  By the way, did I tell you her tampon story?"

"I feel badly for Anne.  Her mom just passed away this past week.  Also, it's the one-year anniversary of Weigook's father-in-law passing away.  I wonder how they're both holding up."

"Remember that conversation we had about how crappy parents sometimes make the best grandparents?  MIM just wrote about that on her blog."

"Hey, honey.  What do you think about just getting an Ikea kitchen?  Stephania and her husband are installing all the cabinetry from Ikea and investing in great appliances."

"Remember I told you about Tony?  Anyway, he gave me some great networking resources to think about for potential new jobs.  I think we're going to grab a scotch together one of these days and have a little bitch session together." 

See what I'm talking about? 

Maybe I'm overthinking it all. Maybe we're all just a bunch of voyeuristic turds who are fascinated by the daily transactions of other people's lives. But I feel like it's more than that. And though I can't quite put my finger on it, I'm sure someone much smarter than me will be able to. Because I think the friendships forged over the blogosphere are real. And I'm pretty sure if I met most of my blog buddies in the "real world", we'd get along fabulously.

I bring this all up because I'm breaking through the 4th Wall for the first time and will soon be meeting up with two of my favorite blog friends, Jay and Kim.  They're two of the first people that I ever met online via blogging and I'm looking forward to meeting them.  I couldn't picture two people I'd rather lose my virginity with more.  I know everybody else meets up with blog friends all the time.  I've just never done it before.  That's all.  Will it hurt?  Just kidding.  It actually just made me think of how the internet has changed the social dynamics of society and how we interact with one another.  I mean, I knew it was good for porn and online shopping. But for making new friends?  Who would have thunk it?      

Anyway, let's turn the mic over to you. What do you think about forged friendships via blogging? How do you think blogging has changed the way we interact with one another? How do you feel about blogging in general? How do you feel about the people whose blogs you read? Throw anything out there.

Let's see if we can figure this shit out.

Brown is the new black, Kanye is the new Lennon & 37 is the new 25

So...not to make a big deal out of it or anything but, this Sunday, I'll be turning 37 years old.  I'm not entirely sure how that's possible because I could swear it was only yesterday that I was just a young man wearing leather pants and running around the city.  But I checked my passport again and, sure enough, it's not a typo.  I'm definitely turning 37. 

But do you want to know the truth?  I'm really totally cool with turning 37.  Normally, I'm fairly introspective on the eve of any birthday.  But this year, I've probably been less reflective than any other year.  Turning 37 just doesn't seem to be much of a life-defining milestone for me now. 

When I turned 18, I thought it was great. In my youthful state of naivete, I mistakenly thought being eligible for the draft signified some sort of actual entry into adulthood.  Ha!

Turning 21 was also semi-eventful but only because I could drink without getting hassled (not that big of a deal but I guess I handled it better than some people.) 

Then, of course, came 25, which had all the melodramatic Sturm und Drag of the whole "Oohh...I'm a quarter of a century."

On the eve of my 30th birthday, I actually was fairly reflective.  I spent quite a bit of time trying to take stock of my affairs and contemplating how I wanted to lead the rest of my life. 

At 35, I did a little more of the same.  But it was much different because, at 35, I was pretty comfortable with whom I had become and, most importantly, I'd already found the love of my life (Yes, that's YOU, honey!)

So now I'm turning 37.  I've got a great wife and a beautiful child.  Both make me happier than I probably deserve to be.  I know I'm a lucky guy and, if you know me at all, you also know that I don't take anything for granted.  At heart, I'll always be a strangely cynical pessimist.  But what can I say?  Even I've got to admit that life is pretty good.  I've got a roof over my head.  There are a couple of steaks in the freezer.  And when I take off my shirt, I can still see my penis without holding my gut in.   

In general, I don't really know what it means to turn 37 and I've had a tough time being able to gain any real perspective on it.  So, as usual, I thought I'd make out a few lists to try and clarify things for myself. 

Here are some other 37 year-olds who make me feel kind of young and cool

Ashley Judd
Owen Wilson
Tony Hawk
Cuba Gooding Jr.
Kyle Minogue
Naomi Watts
Halle Berry
Will Smith
Billy Zane

Here are some people that (for one reason or another) I CANNOT believe are also 37

Gary Coleman
Mary Lou Retton
Celine Dion
Toni Braxton
Carnie Wilson
Ricky Lake
Barry Sanders
Vanilla Ice
Margaret Cho
Sammy Sosa

Here are some things I did when I was 25 that I'd still like to do now (if only I weren't 37)

• Grab a beer, pack the bong & rub one out every night before the 11:00 pm SportsCenter.

• Consider the celery in my Bloody Mary to be my Saturday morning breakfast.

• Fit into the aforementioned leather pants.

• Eat dinner every night over the kitchen sink.

• Spend entire weekend days lounging in bed, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and doing the NYT Sunday crossword puzzle.

• Slather Tabasco sauce on everything from pizzas to french fries to salads.

• Ski the bumps, play full-court hoops, or run 10 miles without feeling like "Big Puss"  took a tire iron to my knees.    

 

That's a relatively short list.  So basically, I guess it only reconfirms the fact that I'm feeling pretty comfortable with turning 37.  I've come to accept many things about my life and I'm totally cool with them.  I know now that I'll never fulfill my dream of pitching for the Mets.  I'll never be the youngest Mayor of New York City.  I'm not going to walk on the moon.  I probably won't be getting that PhD in history.  And I think it's pretty safe to say that I'll never be the Asian Eddie Vedder (in fact, I've probably got a better chance of being the Black Neil Diamond.) 

But I can also look back on my life so far without any major regrets.  And though there's always room for self-improvement, I know I'm trying hard every day to become the best man, husband and father that I can be.  While I may not lead my life according to the principles of any organized religion, I know I'll always be faithful to The Code.

So on the eve of my 37th birthday, I leave you the wise words of my main role model, Homer Simpson...

 "I used to rock and roll all night and everyday. Then it was every other day. Now I’m lucky to find a have an hour a week in which to get funky."

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Chaos Theory

Work kicked my ass today.  When I wasn't in meetings, I was getting smacked around by Murphy and his damn laws.  Then, I came home only to attend ANOTHER meeting for our building's Condo Board.  My stomach is growling.  My head is pounding.  And my liver is threatening to kick my ass if I don't give him some Scotch soon.   So in lieu of a real post, I offer you this smorgasbord of intellectual cow dung (categorized and titled for your easy viewing pleasure)...

IT DEPENDS.  HOW MUCH DOES A VAMPIRE MAKE?

The Peanut wants to stick her finger up your nose.  She also likes poking her fingers deep into your ears.  And if she really likes you, she'll nuzzle up close and bite your neck.  Either she's got a hugely successful career ahead of her as one of Manhattan's leading E.N.T. doctors or she's going to grow up and be a vampire. 

VETERINARIAN SOUNDS GOOD TOO!  HOW MUCH DO THEY MAKE?

The other night, BossLady and I watched with amazement and jaws agape as the Peanut chased the dog around, trying to stick her tiny finger up his butt!  Never in my lifetime did I ever picture myself chasing an infant baby around my apartment and yelling, "NO, Honey!  Please do NOT stick your fingers up the dog's anus!"

JUST IN CASE THERE WAS ANY DOUBT THAT (1) I'M GOING TO HELL, (2) MY DAUGHTER IS DESTINED FOR THERAPY, AND (3) MY UNRESOLVED ISSUES WITH GUILT AREN'T GOING AWAY SOON.

I have this terrible habit of saying things out loud solely for my own entertainment.  It's like a fucking disease!  I don't know how to describe it.  It's some sort of combination of verbal diarrhea, oral masturbation and Tourettes Syndrome.  For example, when my lovely wife was pregnant and approaching her due date, she was understandably large (I can say this now because she's lost all her pregnancy weight and now looks more beautiful than ever.)  Anyway, one night when I was standing near her, she started walking backwards towards me ass-first.  Without even thinking about it, I started  yelling "Beep, Beep" (i.e. the sounds that garbage trucks make when they're backing their shit down the street).  She was totally pissed off at me and I ended up being banished to the couch that night but I thought it was so funny that I think I chuckled myself to sleep. 

Anyway, I bring this up because, recently, the Peanut has started running.  When she's going at full-speed, she's a little unsteady so she tends to run with both hands straight out in front of her.  The other day, we were out in public and Peanut started running over to me.  I started calling her "Franken-Baby" and now I can't stop.  Unfortunately, the nickname seems to have stuck.  You think she's going to be affected by it?  God, I'm such an asshole!

PANTERA, PINATA, PANERA...WHATEVER!  JUST GIVE ME A DAMN JUMBO JACK WITH CHEESE!

There are many things I miss about living in Berkeley.  My quality of life there was fantastic and I was surrounded by a truly great group of friends.  Instead of going to class, I would often spend my days sailing in the Bay, digging for clams at Pt. Reyes, skiing in Tahoe, harvesting grapes in Napa or spending lazy afternoons hiking up in the hills.  Life in the Bay Area was great and there are times when I miss that part of my life a lot.  But Dude, you know what I really miss more than anything?  Fucking Jack-in-the-Box.  Is there a greater fast-food establishment known to mankind?  You can keep your Chipotles, your Paneras, and your White Castles.  Give me Jack-in-the-Box or give me death!  BossLady and I were watching Larry Sanders the other night and they had a scene that took place at "The Crack."  I swear to God that a small part of me got a little choked up just thinking about all the Jumbo Jacks and Sourdough Burgers I consumed there during my Cali years.  I just checked their website and the closest one to downtown Tribeca is in Statesville, NC.  According to Mapquest, that's 601.7 miles away and will take me 10 hours, 7 minutes to get there!  Who's with me?  Let's go!

I DIDN'T MEAN SIAMESE TWINS!

Memo to my honky friends (and White people everywhere)...You really should try to avoid saying things like, "Asian babies are SOOOO cute.  I TOTALLY want one!"  Another phrase to avoid is "Oh my God!  She's so cute.  She's like a little China doll!"  Fuck you!  How come when two Caucasian babies are standing side-by-side, nobody ever says, "Ooohh.  Look!  Twins!"  But put two Asian babies within 10 yards of each other and all of sudden it's like they're Chang and Eng! 

"YOU SHOW THAT TURD WHO'S THE BOSS, BUDDY!"

Usually, I save that line for when I'm peeing at a urinal in a public men's room and some anonymous stranger is grunting in a nearby stall (like I said, I'll say anything to amuse myself.)  But lately, I've been using it as a mantra for the Peanut, who seems to be in some sort of bowel purgatory.  This weekend, I don't think she pooped once!  But for the past three days, she's been crapping about four times a day.  It's amazing yet horrifying to watch.   I guess it's safe to say that she's inherited her father's Irritable Bowel Syndrome.  I feel so bad for her sometimes.  Of all the things she could have inherited from me, why did it have to be my bowel irregularity?

I ADMIT THAT I USED TO WATCH 90210, PARTY OF FIVE, WONDER YEARS, DALLAS & DYNASTY.  SO WHAT?  I STILL PEE STANDING UP!

Many of you long-time readers know that I've watched my share of television over the years.  I think I've demonstrated this to you before.  But for those of you who didn't know this about me, I think I certainly outed myself to you in my last post.   Some of you readers seemed especially surprised that I actually admitted to watching "girlie" shows like Party of Five and 90210 (or as RBrown says, "PO5 and 12.")  Allow me to explain. 

As the offspring of immigrant parents, everything I learned about American culture came from television.   Of course, I was never allowed to watch television because my Asian parents were forcing me to do 5 hours of homework every night.  But unbeknownst to my parents, I used my  genetically-inherited math and science skills to fix an old portable television and hide it in my bedroom.  So while they thought I was studying in private every night, I was really watching Falconcrest, The White Shadow and my beloved Mets.  As a young child, I literally subscribed to the theory that if it wasn't worth watching, then they never would have allowed it to be on TV. 

Ultimately, I ended up overdosing on television and become somewhat of a Luddite.  Maybe it was because I discovered the joys of alcohol and women.  Maybe it was because I had simply watched a lifetime's worth of television.  But during my early 20's, I started boycotting television.  I disconnected the cable and tossed my TV.  Choosing instead to nurture my literary side, I started reading incessantly.  Being an insomniac speed-reader, I must have averaged about 15-20 books per month. 

But now?  I'm a full-time working parent.  And although I still read prodigiously, I find that there are times when there's nothing I'd rather do than zone out and watch TV.  And you know what?  I've got no regrets.  I'm back, baby!  And though I try and maintain standards when it comes to watching television, I'm not ashamed to say that I love the idiot box.  And if TiVO were a woman, I'd probably sleep with her. 

Anyway, bitches, I've got to run.  "Laguna Beach" is about to start!