MetroDad

A Fairy Home Companion!

Last week, BossLady had a date with one of her gay male friends. They met up after work, went shopping at Barneys, shared a salad for dinner, and then went to see a late showing of "The Devil Wears Prada."

At the same exact time, I was eating a sandwich over the kitchen sink in my underwear, drinking a glass of scotch, watching the Mets game, and training the dog to catch peanuts with his mouth. 

This really couldn't have worked out better and there's a good chance that, for the rest of my life, I will never again have to walk into a shoe store or go to the ballet.  I've told the BossLady that anytime she and John want to do this again, I'll pay for everything. 

Why didn't I think of this sooner?

"Mommy, why did Paris say I have Her Peas?"

Thankfully, the Peanut has only crapped in the tub once.  Unfortunately, I was giving her a bubble bath at the time and didn't notice anything until my hand reached under the suds and came up with a giant turd.  I was kind of grossed out but the Peanut thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. 

In other news, who the hell dresses up like a St. Tropez hooker when they're bathing a child?  Seriously, I haven't seen a suit like that since Shelly Hack wore one on The Pacific Princess.  Or maybe it was Priscilla Barnes.  Whatev. 

A Hug's Life

I am positively head-over-heels in love with my daughter. 

At the age of 21 months, the Peanut has me completely wrapped around her little finger.  Whenever we're together, we spend most of our time being absolutely silly and laughing our heads off.  We're just two goofy kids having the time of our lives.  In fact, if you ever saw us together, you might actually overdose on all the cuteness.  Seriously, it's fucking nauseating. 

But despite our closeness, there's one thing that's always perturbed me about my relationship with the Peanut.  It's something that's been evident since she was born and, thus far, shows no signs of abating.  It's not a huge deal but, in a way, it sometimes makes me feel as if there's a large part of parenting that I'm completely missing out on.  I'm reluctant to make a big deal about it but the fact of the matter is...

The Peanut is NOT a hugger.

Don't get me wrong.  Whenever she sees other kids, she always runs to hug and kiss them.  Whenever she comes home at the end of the day, she immediately throws her little arms open to warmly embrace our dog.  And when it's time to go to bed, she always gives me and the BossLady a quick good night hug.  But it's more like one of those quick man-hugs that you give when you run into one of your boys at a club.  For the most part, she never really wants to hug us.  She's either too busy or she's just too independent. 

The ONLY times that she ever gives us one of those huge neck-grabbing bear hugs is when she's absolutey scared out of her Huggies.  Unfortunately, the kid is pretty much fearless and doesn't scare easily.  In fact, thus far, there are only two things that scare her enough for her to hug us...the ocean and the sound of the vacuum cleaner.  For some reason, those things scare the crap out of her.

In the grand scheme of things, I know that we have a great relationship with the Peanut.  I don't ever doubt her love for us and I know that her lack of hugging is due mostly to her fierce sense of independence.  But we're her parents.  We love her.  We adore her. We'd die for her.  Once in awhile, it would be nice if she would just run up to us and give us a big hug.  You know.  Just to let us know that she cares. 

Anyway, what I really want to know is whether you guys think it's bad that, every once in awhile, we not only turn the Dyson vacuum cleaner on full-blast for no apparent reason but also we try to take the Peanut to the beach as frequently as possible?

We're going to Hell, aren't we?  Shit, I knew it!

Why BlogHim wouldn't be such a good idea...

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In honor of the fact that the 2nd annual BlogHer conference starts in 5 days, I thought I'd re-post this entry from a year ago.  It was originally written after the close of last year's conference. 

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As many of you know, this past weekend marked the inaugural BlogHer conference, an event designed to provide an open forum in which to discuss the role of women within the larger blogging community, to examine the developing code of blogger ethics, and to discover how blogging is amplifying the voice of women worldwide.  All worthy causes and it seemed the event was a phenomenal success.  Female bloggers from around the world were able to not only coalesce as a group but also, as my friend Laid-Off Dad put it, "to name each other's knockers." 

But all kidding aside, a small part of me was a little jealous that some of my favorite bloggers gathered in one place for a long weekend.  I would have liked to meet some of the amazing female bloggers that I read on a regular basis.  But aside from that, I think the fact that a group of women could multilaterally mobilize and organize such a prodigious event is truly a testament to the amazing organizational fortitude of women as a whole. 

You think male bloggers could ever organize an event like this? 

I think the planning of it would be so chaotic and comical that it would almost be worth it to try and organize one just to watch the fireworks.  Personally, here's how I think a male blogging conference would work out...

The two aspects of planning BlogHim that would actually NOT be controversial are location and date.  These are no brainers.  Location?  Vegas.  Date?  Super Bowl Weekend.  Done.  And whereas the women were able to double up and share rooms at one of the 24 hotels servicing the conference, I'm thinking that all the guys could chip in some dough so we could get the Rainman Suite at Caesars. 

The women were organized enough to get corporate sponsors like Nokia, Red Herring, Technorati, Yahoo & Google.  However, I'll bet that the guys would be happy with a couple free cases of Bud Light and the chicks from Hooters.  Because as all guys know, corporate sponsors are for pussies!  Screw The Man!

BlogHer featured an impressive array of symposiums, including "When Globalization is Good for Women," "Blogging for Business," "Mommy Blogging," and "Minority Female Bloggers."  I don't even know how we would begin to organize an agenda for men.  What would it include?  "Blogging Apparel:  Boxers or Briefs?"  "BWI: Blogging While Intoxicated"?  Or maybe "When Worlds Collide: Blogging & Internet Porn"?

What I really admire about BlogHer is that the women bloggers were all so supportive of one another.  Unfortunately, there's no way that you could put several hundred male bloggers in a room together without some sort of competition starting.  Because ladies, if you've ever wondered why your husband's business conferences always include a round of golf, it's because testosterone needs an outlet.  Take away the golf aspect and you'll have a few hundred guys having a drinking contest or starting a food fight.  Don't over think it and wonder why.  It's just how we are. 

Furthermore, you can't put that many men in a room together without a few dozen arguments starting.  That's another indisputable fact.  Men like to argue.  It's nothing personal.  We just like to do it.  Women don't like to argue.  They like to reach consensus.  That's what I love about women. 

But what I love about men is that we'll never shy away from a good argument.  We can spend hours debating anything.  Will Griffey make it to the Hall of Fame?  Is Ashley Simpson hotter than Jessica?  Could Batman kick Jet Li's ass?  Ford or Chevy?  Because men will argue about anything, it's hard to imagine exactly what the controversy would be at a male blogger conference.  But make no mistake, there would be one. 

At the end of BlogHer, it seems that on-line friendships ventured into the real world.  Lifelong relationships were formed, heartfelt hugs were exchanged and tears flowed freely with laughter. 

At BlogHim, I think guys would exchange e-mail addresses (so we could send each other funny photos) and possibly cell-phone numbers.  But tears?  Hugging?  I don't think so.  As guys know, there is still a lot of controversy surrounding the etiquette of the man-hug..  To be on the safe side, I think we'd all just high-five one another and go our separate ways.  We'd say that we'd keep in touch but, within a few months, we'd find a business card in our wallet, look at it, wonder who the bozo was that gave it to you, and then chuck it in the trash.

So unfortunately, I think the only way that a BlogHim conference could ever take shape is if some women organized it on our behalf and kept us in line.  Since that's not likely to ever happen, I'll just take pride in the fact that so many women were able to organize something as cool as BlogHer.  Like I said, there's a part of me that's very jealous that they all had this great opportunity to meet and come together.  And though they did open the conference to men, I was surprised to see that so many men actually did attend.  I was thinking about attending too...but then my balls dropped.  (Seriously, fellas, what would compel you to attend a conference for women named BlogHer?)      

Anyway, kudos to you women for having the wherewithal to pull off such an event.  Guys, we've got to get our shit together and organize a similar event.  Any volunteers? 

Hello? 

Anyone? 

Bueller? 

Awww....fuck it.

To all those attending BlogHer this weekend, have an excellent time.  I expect full updates and detailed reports.  And if any pillow fights or jello wrestling matches happen to break out, please be sure to send photos!

An Open Letter to Tom Hanks

Dear Tom,

You and I have had a tumultuous relationship over the years.  Although I generally abhor the public's obsession with fame, I've always had a hard time accepting you as America's Favorite Leading Man and one of Hollywood's biggest box-office draws. 

Even though I loved "Bosom Buddies" and some of your earlier work, I think our relationship began to disentegrate when you won the Academy Award in 1993 for "Philadelphia."  Mainly, I was pissed because you beat out two of my favorite actors, Daniel Day Lewis ("In the Name of the Father") and Liam Neeson ("Schindler's List) with a performance that was best suited for a Hallmark afterschool TV show. 

Then, the next year, you won for "Forest Gump," beating out Morgan Freeman ("Shawshank Redemption") and Nigel Hawthorne ("Madness of King George").  Sadly, I realized that America was getting a case of Hankmania and that only alcohol could serve as an antidote for me. 

However, I think the nadir of our relationship really reached unfathomable depths back in 1999.  Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band were on their legendary reunion tour, highlighted by a sold-out, 15-show run at Continental Airlines Arena.  Through some good friends, I was lucky to get 2nd row tickets, backstage passes and the opportunity to meet Springsteen afterwards.  Aside from my wedding and the birth of my daughter, I don't really remember ever being so excited.

When I got to my seat, you and your lovely wife were sitting directly in front of me.  Whereas she danced like a normal person, you spent the entire concert doing that spastic dance you invented for your crappy film, "That Thing You Do!"  For more than three hours, I watched as you pointed your fingers in the sky and twisted your hips like a schoolgirl with hemmorhoids.  While I should have been watching Bruce onstage, I found myself absolutely mesmerized by your hypnotic Massai rain dance.  You singlehandedly sucked out all the joy from that concert. 

To this day, whenever I think about that evening, I start twitching and banging my head against a wall.

After that night, I couldn't stand you.  When I watched "Apollo 13," I rooted for your demise and hoped that you wouldn't return to Earth's orbit.  When you spent three hours talking to a volleyball, nobody was more bummed out than me when that passing ship saved your sorry ass. 

But last night, my beloved NY Mets were playing the Reds in Cincinnatti.  Suddenly, the camera panned to you sitting in the stands, waiting out an almost 3-hour rain delay with your buddy Opie.  When the game resumed, the camera came back to you.  Hmmm, I thought.  Not only did Hanks wait out the rain delay, it turns out that he knows how to score a game.  Maybe I was wrong about him?

Then, I hear that you and your closest friends are celebrating your 50th birthday by touring around in a bus and visiting every single ballpark in the U.S.  Fuck!  That's pretty damn cool.  You could have been like most celebrity egomaniacs and celebrated your 50th by renting out Oprah's private island or taking Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton to the Chateau Marmont for a quick menage-a-trois ride on The Polar Express.  But you didn't and I found myself respecting that.

Today, I open the paper and see an article about your birthday adventure, where you're quoted as saying, "the only requisite is that you have to be a serious baseball fan and funny to get on the bus."  The article then goes on to recount how you grew up selling soda and peanuts at Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum when you were a little kid.  When asked which was your favorite team, you replied, "I really just grew up hating France." 

Damn, that's pretty fucking funny!  Aside from the fact that this birthday bus idea is possibly the coolest thing I've ever heard, could I have been wrong about you, Tom?  After all, you seem like a decent guy.  You're a loving husband and a devoted father.  When the rain delay started, you didn't hide out in some luxury box.  You sat in the stands with an umbrella like a regular guy.  Maybe it's time I reevaluated our relationship.  I hate to say this but I think I actually like you now.  Wow, time really does heal all wounds!

But if I ever see you doing that fucking dance again, we're breaking up!

All the best,
MetroDad

Just what The Doctor ordered!

Over the course of my 37 years on this planet, I've generally learned how to take life's little annoyances in stride.  I try not to get worked up about things that are beyond my control and I like to think that I'm as cool as a cucumber when it comes to keeping life in perspective.  Because no matter what happens to me, I always remember that, at the very least, I'm not a starving orphan in Cambodia and also I have great hair. 

However, I'll be honest with all of you.  Last week kicked my ass.

Not to bore you with the tedious details but last week was a non-stop cycle of petty annoyances.  Our car got a flat tire, the CD player stopped working and the engine oil light wouldn't shut off.  Of course, the car has some special tire that's only available at the dealership two hours away from NYC.  The A/C unit in our bedroom blew out and the stifling heat in the apartment forced me to sleep on the couch.  If the repairman can't fix it, a new one is going to set me back over $1,500.  Meanwhile, sleeping on the couch gave me a sore back and a pinched nerve in my neck.  Our home phone went down because we signed up for Vonage in order to save some money and not only does their equipment suck ass but also their customer service reps are completely useless.  To top it all off, I was having some headaches at work, BossLady was PMS'ing, and the Peanut decided that dinner no longer fit into her plans. 

Thank God for The Doctor!

As I've mentioned before, The Doctor is one of my oldest and closest friends and I love him like a brother.  When we were little kids, we would often sit on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, eat ice cream cones, and talk about our futures.  Me?  I either wanted to be the shortstop for the NY Mets, a professional race car driver or a college professor, and I also wanted to spend most of my free time sailing around the world .  The Doctor?  He wanted to work his ass off, pursue a career in medicine, build a successful practice, and become the top cosmetic dermatologist in New York City.

Usually, whenever he said something like this, I'd punch him in the arm and yell, "LOSER!"

Needless to say, The Doctor followed his plan and has become extremely successful.  I'm incredibly proud of him and, having witnessed his hard work and sacrifices over the years, I think he deserves all the rewards that come his way.  Though the two of us remain as close today as we've ever been, our lifestyles are fairly different. 

For example, this past weekend, The Doctor invited us to stay at his house in the Hamptons.  While BossLady, the Peanut and I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic and drove for nearly 4 hours, The Doctor jumped in a helicoptor and made the journey in 20 minutes (29 minutes if you count the time it took for him to drive his Bentley Continental GT from the helipad to his beach house.) 

However, once we arrived at The Doctor's house, all our stresses slipped away.  We quickly put the  Peanut to bed and enjoyed a fabulous meal prepared by The Doctor's lovely wife, Di.  We cracked open some wine, dusted off a bottle of vodka, laughed a lot, and talked until late into the evening.  In fact, for the next few days, we did very little besides eat, sleep, go to the beach, and chill out.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  The whole weekend was fantastic and we couldn't have been with more gracious hosts. 

Unfortunately, it's back to the grind and the sobering reality of the work week.  Accuweather says the "Real Feel" temperature in NYC today is going to be 108⁰.  So while I try to cool off my stinky feet, I'll leave you with the following thoughts that crossed my mind this past weekend:

1. Never drink a cocktail in a hammock while your infant daughter is trying to blow bubbles at you and chase butterflies at the same time.

2. When wearing linen pants, shake twice after peeing. 

3. Don't give peppered beef jerky to a 21-month-old child unless you want to spend the next 20 minutes on the Long Island Expressway listening to what sounds like Mozart's Die Zauberflote being performed by an orchestra of cats who are in the process of being euthanized.

4. I have completely lost the ability to smoke weed.  I smoked a few hits on Friday night and the next morning, I felt like I'd ingested a bottle of Sudafed and been subjected to the Chinese water torture.

5. Is there anything cuter in the world than seeing two little kids hug and kiss each other? 

6. Real men barbecue with charcoal.  Period.

7. There are very few things more therapeutic than a long weekend with friends.  Three days without talking about work, life's daily stresses and the damn A/C unit are almost enough to make you forget those problems exist.  Almost. 

8. If any of you are in the NYC-area and need some cosmetic work or dermatological surgery, be sure to go see The Doctor.  His reputation in the the field is exemplary and his work is extraordinary.  If you do go visit his practice, be sure to tell him that MetroDad sent you.  He said if I sent him 100 patients, he'd let me wash his Bentley.  Whassup, Doc!

Stay cool, people.  Stay cool.

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed & Something Blue

SOMETHING OLD...

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My daddy blog guru and the man who singlehandedly introduced me to the world of blogging, the estimable Jay Andrew Allen, has resurfaced after a long sabbatical.  Many of you may know Jay from his days at BloggingBaby.  However, to me, he will always be The Zero Boss.  Jay was one of the original daddy bloggers out there and has always been one of the funniest, smartest, most spiritual and self-reflective writers I know.  Please go pay him a visit and give him your best regards. 

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SOMETHING NEW...

Usually, kids stops peeing on you by the age of one.  However, Michael Douglas and his family were recently on vacation when he got stung by a jellyfish. 

"So I asked my five-year-old if he would pee on my back. He looked at me like he'd gone to heaven. He was like 'This is what I call a good summer holiday! Pee-pee on daddy's back!' I don't know if it helped, but my son was happy. We'll work it out in 20 years when he's in therapy!"

In other news, R. Kelly goes out and buys a bunch of jellyfish.

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SOMETHING BORROWED...

The Peanut has developed this disconcerting new habit of going up to kids at the playground, taking their toys, and running away with them.  To her, it's just a fun game that absolutely cracks her up.  However, she's gotten bonked in the head by her disgruntled playmates a few times because of it.  Needless to say, we've been lecturing her quite sternly about this and are closely monitoring the situation.  Last week, she went up to some guy and ran away with his beer.  Totally pissed me off.  I hadn't even finished half of it. 

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SOMETHING BLUE...

Former SNL comedian Joe Piscopo is currently paying tribute to Ol' Blue Eyes by touring with a Frank Sinatra cover band.

I'll always have a soft spot for Joe Piscopo because when I was 13 years old and working as a shitty busboy in a greasy ribs joint, he and Eddie Murphy came in and dropped $100 bills on everyone who worked at the restaurant.  However, I think the statute of limitations on good will has run out and even I have to laugh at the absurdity of this. Poor Blue Eyes is probably rolling over in his grave. 

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Have a good weekend, everybody!

Building a kinder, gentler world...one baby at a time!

This weekend, BossLady and I took Peanut to her favorite NYC playground, a beautiful city water park located in the West Village on the banks of the Hudson River.  Afterwards, we grabbed a few hot dogs and some lemonade and sat on a nearby bench to eat.

While we were chowing down and admiring the views of the river, a city sanitation worker was cleaning up all the debris along the piers.  Suddenly, we saw a little boy about 5 years old run up to the sanitation worker and, completely unprompted by any adult presence, say, "Thank you for keeping our beautiful city clean, Sir!" 

At first, this enormous hulk of a man looked down at the tiny boy and just stared at him as if in shock.  But suddenly, a wide grin broke out on his face and, as he patted the boy on his head, he replied, "You're welcome, little man!" 

Needless to say, we thought this was one of those great moments that make New York City feel like the smallest, loveliest little suburb in all of Pleasantville.  And after BossLady professed her love of this little boy and started envisioning his future marriage to the Peanut, we remarked on how unusual it was to meet such a thoughtful and considerate young child. 

Now, as many of you know, I'm a stickler for good manners.  I believe that, aside from opposable thumbs, etiquette and civility are the only things separating us from the animals.  Compassion and consideration for others seem to be dying art forms these days.  Chivalry has gone the way of the dodo bird.  And somehow it's now become acceptable for people to talk on their cellphones in theaters, eat Big Macs on the subway, and step in front of women to enter an elevator.  What the fuck???

Let me pause here to acknowledge the several people who have e-mailed me privately to mention that they enjoy reading my blog but don't understand how a man so obsessed with manners can curse like a fucking sailor.  I know this is a strange dichotomy but all I can say is that sometimes a point can best be emphasized by using the word "fuck."  I also like to think of myself as the Poet Laureate of Cursing or the William Strunk of Swearing.  However, as Dennis Miller once said, cursing can have a place in civilized conversation but it should be used sparingly...like saffron in a fucking paella.

Anyway, as I was saying, I was quite impressed with this young child's manners.  BossLady and I have been desperately trying to cultivate the Peanut with a similar sense of etiquette and civility.  If you ever saw us at home, you'd probably laugh your ass off.  We usually stick Peanut in her high chair and do a little acting routine for her benefit.

ME:  "BossLady, may I PLEASE have a cookie?  PLEASE!"

BL: "Yes, you may have a cookie."

ME: "THANK YOU, BossLady!  THANK YOU very much!"

BL: "You're welcome." 

We will literally sit there and repeat our routine like a bunch of autistic monkeys putting on the world's worst one-act play in history.  Unfortunately, our little Punch-and-Judy show isn't working out that well.  Several months ago, the Peanut was saying "thank you" left and right.  The dog would poop in the corner and she'd say "thank you."  Now, she's either forgotten how to say it or she's decided that it's not really worth all the effort. 

I really don't know where to proceed from here.  I've tried leading by example.  I've tried the carrot and the stick.  What have you got, internet?  How do you raise a well-behaved kid who is both polite and considerate of others?  Is a 21-month-old girl too young to understand the concept?  Or should I send her off to the good people at Manners International?

An inquiring mind wants to know...

Happy Anniversary, BossLady!

Five years ago today, the lovely and beautiful BossLady and I exchanged vows to one another in a Tribeca loft.  It was one of those gorgeous summer evenings and the perfect time to celebrate our union together. 

After all these years together, I still can't believe she agreed to marry me and my smelly feet.  I don't even want to contemplate my life without her.  A life without her is no life at all. 

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Happy Anniversary, honey.  Not only do you rock the Casbah, you make me make me make me make me hungry again!   

You're the coolest cat in town and I'll always love you forever.

The Tin Cup Kid

Amarillo Slim is widely recognized as the greatest gambler, hustler and proposition bettor in history.  Among his most famous bets, Slim beat Minnesota Fats playing pool with a broom and Evel Knievel in golf with a carpenter’s hammer. He took Willie Nelson for $300,000 playing dominoes and Bobby Riggs for $100,000 playing Ping-Pong (with a skillet!) He’s won bets for rafting down the "River of No Return," riding a camel through the fanciest casino in Marrakesh, and driving a golf ball more than a mile.

Me?  I'm no Amarillo Slim. 

However, there's nothing I enjoy more than a good old-fashioned friendly wager.  I used to bet quite a bit with the beautiful and lovely BossLady.  However, we stopped after she owed me more than $1 million.  Now, we still bet but the stakes are different...like loser has to walk around the apartment for 24 hours completely bottomless.  Or loser has to clean out the Diaper Genie.

Speaking of bets, my good buddy Tulse Luper once made a fantastic short film called "12 Cokes and a Snickers."  The film chronicles a sunny day in Marin County, CA.  In it, Tulse approaches various skateboard punks and jaded teenagers.  He offers them $50 if they're able to drink 12 Cokes and a single Snickers bar in 30 minutes...without throwing up.  Watching the kids devise different strategies is hilarious.  Some alternate drinking an entire can and a single bite.  Others try to shotgun the Cokes so they'll go down quickly.  Needless to say, not a single person makes it and the resulting explosion of bile would make Mt. Vesuvius look like a fart in the bathtub.  I'll ask Tulse if I can get a sample of the video to put on the site.  Anyway...

Why am I bringing all of this up? 

Because last week, my beloved New York Mets played the Boston Red Sox in a 3-game series and I made a friendly bet with my buddy and fellow Daddy blogger, Mr. Big Dubya.  We decided that whoever lost would have to wear the jersey of the other team and post a photo on his blog.

Needless to say, the Mets lost.  In fact, they got spanked silly. However, I hope Dubs doesn't mind that I'm not the one posing in the Red Sox shirt.  It was virtually impossible to find one in New York (as it should be.)  I did, however, find a cute little Sox shirt that would fit the Peanut.  And as it much as it kills me to do this, a bet is a bet. 

This one's for you, Big Dubs...

Just to let you know, Dubs, I had to bribe my daughter with several cookies in order to get her to wear a Red Sox shirt!  As you can see from her face, she wasn't too happy about it.  Furthermore, my wife has instructed me that I'm no longer allowed to make wagers involving our daughter.  I think she's afraid something like this will happen!

Go Mets!