MetroDad

MetroDad Mailbag (Nov. 2006)

It's been a looooong time since we've done a MetroDad mailbag. 

For those of you unfamiliar with this aspect of the site, this is when I answer real questions submitted by my readers.   Some of the questions are related to parenting.  Some of them are, um...not. 

As per my usual disclaimer, I'd like to state that I have no professional child-rearing experience and the opinions offered here are solely my own.  In other words, you get what you pay for.

Let's kick things off, shall we?

Dear Metro...My wife and I are expecting our first son in a few months so we've been spending a lot of time coming up with boys' names.  Lately, I noticed that my wife's been suggesting some strange names---Lloyd, Denny, Lane.  Finally, I realized that all the names she's been bringing up are movie characters played by John Cusack.  Dude, I think she's got the Cusack Crush!  What am I supposed to do?  Help!
-Michael (Toronto, CA)

As Chuck Klosterman once wrote, it's much more likely that your wife is not actually in love with John Cusack.  Like countless women born between 1965 and 1978, she's probably just crushing on Lloyd Dobler, the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager from "Say Anything." 

My advice to you is to just forget about it.  No red-blooded American male can live up to the standards set by Lloyd Dobler.  You know it.  Your wife knows it.  Heck, even your unborn kid knows it.  But whatever happens, don't start channeling your inner Dobler.  There's nothing sadder than an overtly sensitive old guy in a black trench coat holding a boom box over his head below his wife's window.  As annoying as your wife's crush might be, just realize there's nothing you can do about it and that, as far as names for your kid go, Lloyd Dobler isn't the worst choice. 

Just be thankful that she didn't want to name the kid Jake Ryan.

Dear MD...Since you're a fellow Korean-American parent, I'm writing to seek your advice.  I briefly remember you discussing a similar predicament before.  Our problem is that we live in an area that is predominantly white and, at least twice a week, some crazy lady will see our 9-month old daughter and shriek, "Oh.My.God!  Asian babies are soooo cute.  I totally want one!"  Every time this happens, I'm stunned into silence.  What's the appropriate response?   
-Henry (Savannah, GA)

My standard reply is:   "FUCK YEAH!  You should totally get one!  Ours is awesome.  She's from Korea but you can get them even cheaper now from China. I hear if you use your credit card, you can even earn miles.  But seriously, if you want one really fast, just go sleep with a bunch of random Asian dudes."

That usually shuts them up.

By the way, my brothers, don't say I never did anything for you.

Hey MD---How did a total city slicker like you end up coming to Berkeley?  You must have stuck out like a sore thumb.  I'm a Bay Area native and I'm going to grad school at NYU.  Got any advice for me?
-Steven (Berkeley, CA)

Don't get me wrong, Steve.  I miss Berkeley.  I've been all over this planet but Berkeley is quite unique. Nowhere else in the world will you find a man with a turban wearing a 49'ers jacket and working in a lesbian bookstore.

But hey, I'm just glad dad is working again.

In all seriousness, moving to Berkeley was easy.  It's much more difficult to make the transition to New York City.  My friend Kin did it once and the first week he was here, he got hit by a car three times.  For some strange reason, he thought that pedestrians had the right of way (by the way, always watch the traffic.  NEVER look at the street light.  In the history of NYC, nobody ever got run over by a street light.)

But hey, I don't want to scare you, Steve.  If you really want to move here, let me be the first to welcome you.  NYC is a  great place and we could use some more Californians around here (so we don't have to fly out there in order to prove our intellectual superiority.)  Just ditch the tie-dye, throw away the Birkenstocks, and stop complaining about our vegetables. 

And remember...if you smell something weird in your building, it's probably just your dead neighbor.

Dear MetroDad...What's the rule on holidays with the family?  More specifically, what's the rule for New Year's?  Just because I'm married with kids, does this mean I have to spend New Year's Eve with them?  Some buddies of mine are going to be in town and I'm thinking of ditching the wife and kids to party with them.  Hell, everyone in my house will be asleep by 10:00 anyway.  Is this legit?  Or is my wife going to go through the roof?
-James G. (New York, NY)

Jimmy G...a lot of people like to say that anyone can be a father but that it takes a real man to be a Dad.  What a crock of bullshit.  Ditching your wife and kid on New Year's Eve to suck beer bongs and tequila shots with the fellas?  THAT takes some serious fucking balls. 

Let me know how that works out for you.

MD...Recently, you mentioned your man-crush on Alec Baldwin's character on "30 Rock."  Don't you find it amazing that Baldwin has made such an amazing comeback?  After all,  it was just a few years ago that he was a total nut job married to that train wreck, Kim Basinger.  This has to be the greatest comeback of all time.  What do you think?
-Al (Evanston, IL)

Alec Baldwin's comeback has to rank right up there with Ali's "Rumble in the Jungle," Michael Jordan's post-retirement championships, and Seabiscuit's return to glory.  Five years ago, Baldwin was literally getting by on cameos in "Friends," "The Fairly OddParents"  and "The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie."  Ever since "The Cooler,' he's by far the best in everything he's been in. 

But, in all honesty, I think my man-crush on his "30 Rock" character is really just an extension of my enormous crush on Tina Fey and her writing for the character.  There's simply nobody on television getting better lines than Alec Baldwin right now.  Sadly, it's really the only reason to even watch the show.  However, at least every episode, you can count on Baldwin's character making you snort with laughter...

''The Italians have a saying, Lemon: 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' And although they've never won a war or mass-produced a decent car, in this area they are correct.''

"I like you, Liz. You have the boldness of a much younger woman."

"Your shoes, they make you look bi-curious."

"Sorry I'm late. I was at a luncheon for Ann Coulter's 60th birthday."

Dear MetroDad---We've just had our third child and, due to the soaring costs of daycare, we're contemplating getting a nanny.  None of our friends have nannies and we're just starting to interview potential candidates.  Got any advice for us?
-Adam (Miami, FL)

Hiring a nanny to care for your children is a difficult decision that shouldn't be taken lightly.  After all, you're basically letting a complete stranger into your home and allowing her to watch your most precious assets all day long.  That fact alone can make you fraught with anxiety. 

Did you know that when people install hidden nanny cams, more than 20% of the nannies end up getting fired the very next day?  Is it any wonder that sites like this exist? 

We don't have a nanny anymore.  However, I can pass on some valuable advice based on our past experience.  Here it is...

1. No good-looking nannies.  The uglier, the better.  Aside from appeasing your wife, an ugly nanny won't be distracted by potential suitors and can focus her full attention on the children. 

2. Age is a tough call.  Young nannies may show up to work with a hangover or leave to get married.  On the other hand, old nannies smell funny and can't bend over very well.   

3. During the interview, have your wife dial her cell phone and check her ring tone.  If it plays "My Humps" or the theme song to "Scarface," don't hire her.  There's a good chance your potential hiree is a wanna-be gangsta or an undercover skank. 

4. Speaking of skanks, definitely check your nanny's MySpace page.  If she's only wearing a bra and her screen-name is KrazyKatKiller, you might want to reconsider whether she's sufficiently responsible to care for your child.

5. Likewise, check to see whether she has a blog.  For all you know, in her spare time, she likes to bite the heads off bats, torch homeless people, or masturbate while watching Lou Dobbs. 

6. Acceptable nanny duties:  folding children's laundry, cleaning dishes, emptying diaper genie. 

7. Unacceptable nanny duties: running out in the rain for a pack of smokes, chopping up lines of cocaine, massaging your stinky feet. 

8. If hiring an illegal alien, be sure to keep her passport so she can't escape.  Also, don't forget to feed her every once in awhile.  A hungry nanny will have a hard time lavishing your progeny with the love and affection they so richly deserve. 

9. You are required to fill out the appropriate federal paperwork and pay taxes only if you harbor any future political aspirations.  If not, you can pay cold, hard cash.  Just don't be a cheapskate.  Nannies work their asses off and deserve as much money as you can afford to give. 

10. Assume that your nanny will be gossiping at the playground about you.  If you don't want neighbors to know that you like to wear garter belts and your wife is screwing the gardener, don't hire a nanny. 

Dear MetroDad...I love my 10-year old daughter more than life itself.  She's a great kid, stays out of trouble and is always very respectful.  My only complaint is that she and all her little friends are completely hooked on the TV show, "That's So Raven!"  They quote lines from the show, know all the words to the musical segments, and are constantly running around the house saying, "That is SO Raven!"  Please help me before I go absolutely insane!
-Julie (Seattle, WA)

C'mon, Julie.  Lighten up.  You never had a TV show that you and your friends were obsessed with?  For us, it was "What's Happening?"  My buddies and I would dance the robot like Rerun, greet each other by saying, "Hey, hey, hey," and would walk around saying, "Which Doobie you be?" 

I'll agree with you that hearing "That is SO Raven" all the time would make me want to put a bullet in my head but it's all part of the cycle of life.  Think about all the annoying catchphrases from your youth.  Was there anything worse than hearing kids saying, "Where's the beef?" or "Book 'em, Danno!"  Then, you had all the frat boy idiots running around yelling, "Whassup?"  Recently, I've been hearing kids on the subway screaming, "I'm Rick James, bitch!"  Totally annoying, right? 

Sadly, it seems that the use of catch phrases is embedded in the human genome.  Even though I'm 38 years old, I subconsciously still find myself using stupid phrases that I pick up from television.  For example, a few months ago, I started watching "Survivor" for the first time.  Now, I like to end every conference at work by standing up and solemnly saying, "The tribe has spoken."

Could anything be more annoying than that?

As always, feel free to e-mail me any questions or post them in the comments section.

The Highlight of My Wife's Thanksgiving

Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!
BossLady:  Yes, my darling?
Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!
BossLady:  Yes, what is it, Peanut?
Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!  I LOVE YOU!!!

This was the first time that Peanut ever used the "L" word so, needless to say, my wife's heart practically exploded with the joy of a thousand little kittens.  Me?  I was torn between completely sharing in my wife's happiness and thinking to myself, "Yo, what the fuck!  What about me?"

'Cause, you know, I'm petty like that.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the weekend asking Peanut, "do you love Daddy?"  And of course, every single time, she looked me straight in the eye, laughed, and said, "No."  Broke my heart.

Anyone know where I can buy a pony in Manhattan? 

Chaos Theory (Thanksgiving Edition)

Light posting this week, my friends.  Taking some time off for the holiday week.  I'm also helping out with some guest posts over at The Zero Boss because my buddy Jay hurt his blogging hand and he gets a little bonkers if his site is not updated 20 times/day. 

Anyway, to kick off the holiday week, here's another edition of Chaos Theory...

I "QUIT" SMOKING THE WAY NIXON "QUIT" THE WHITE HOUSE

I'm writing this at 3:00 am because I'm discovering that when you give up smoking, you pretty much give up sleep (not to mention civility and the ability to think in terms beyond the next three minutes.) 

As the old saying goes, "Quitting smoking is easy. I've done it a thousand times."  However, I've actually only tried to quit smoking once before.  But I'm determined to succeed this time because I've got to pass my life insurance physical and, being a frugal tightwad, the financial incentive looms large for me.

The physical craving for nicotine is the obvious symptom of quitting smoking.  However, more than anything, you can't believe the hate.  You hate everything.  The fuzz on your sweater.  The Starbucks barrista who gives you the incorrect change.  The lack of mayonnaise on your sandwich.  The babies on the subway.  Darn babies, they think they're so damn cute!  It's all you can do to ensure that life's little irritations don't make you go completely postal. 

And if I eat one more carrot stick, I'm going to start peeing orange.  Wish me luck.

MY CORE DEMOGRAPHIC IS NEAR-MENOPAUSAL AND LIKES ASIAN MEN

When I was single, my friends were amazed at my constant inability to recognize when women were hitting on me.  Being completely clueless, I always assumed they were just being friendly. 

Anyway, I'm fairly certain that, over the past week, two separate women have tried to mack on me.  The interesting thing is that both women were in their 50's.  One woman was French and a dead ringer for Charlotte Rampling.  The other was American and looked a little like Ellen Barkin. 

The latter told me that I reminded her of Jin on "Lost."  Normally, I'd get offended by this and go into one of my patented "you think we all look alike" rants.  However, I let it slide because I realize that older generations are not fully aware of the changing social dynamics unleashed by political correctness.  Besides, believe it or not, sometimes I think a lot of white people look the same too.  Especially when I see something like this.  Shot of doppelganger, anyone? 

DOES COOKIE MONSTER HAVE POOR BODY IMAGE?

Is it me or is Cookie Monster bulimic?  He gorges himself on cookies in a wild frenzy and then purges himself by throwing up?  Is this some sort of subliminal message from the makers of Sesame Street?  The Peanut loves Cookie Monster but I think it's important that I find her some healthier role models.  Or maybe, as usual, I'm over-analyzing the influence of Sesame Street?  Fuck, someone pass me a carrot stick. 

FUNNY OR NOT FUNNY LARGELY DEPENDS ON YOUR LATITUDE

I was recently in Arkansas meeting with some executives at Wal-Mart and all of the conference rooms around me were filled with people peddling everything from puffy slippers to bible bags to cell phone covers.  As I finished my meeting, I stepped out into the hallway and saw a man holding a tiny infant in each arm.  Without censoring myself, I immediately exclaimed, "Holy cow, it's true!  Wal-Mart really DOES sell everything!  How much are they?" 

Needless to say, nobody gets me in Arkansas. 

STOP STICKING CRAYONS IN YOUR VAGINA!

To be filed under the category "Words That I Thought Would Never Come Out of My Mouth."  The crayons are bath crayons and it seems that almost every time the Peanut is in the tub, she's trying to stick one of them into her vagina.  All kids are this curious, right?

5 WAYS IN WHICH I LIVED LIFE DANGEROUSLY THIS WEEK

1. I touched the poles on the subway with my bare hands.  No Purell or anything!
2. I dropped my toothbrush on the floor but used it anyway.
3. I wore a brown belt with black shoes.
4. I took my daughter out for a 3-hour walk and didn't bring a single diaper.
5. When I parked my car, I took my seat belt off.

MY 5 NEW FAVORITE TELEVISION CHARACTERS

1. Hellen Mirren as Jane Tennison in "Prime Suspect"
2. Tina Fey as Liz Lemon in "30 Rock"
3. Rashida Jones as Karen on "The Office" (are you on Team Karen or Team Pam?)
4. Alec Baldwin as Jack Donaghy in "30 Rock" (n.b. nonsexual man-crush)
5. Yul Kwon as himself on "Survivor"  (Rooting for a brother!) 

LASTLY, ON A MORE SERIOUS NOTE...

As I look around me, I can't help but get the feeling that America seems to be an angry place these days.  We're angry that our streets have never been more dangerous.  We're angry that public schools are failing our children.  We're angry that our so-called leaders are more concerned with partisan mudslinging than solving our country's problems.  But more than anything else, we all seem to be angry with one another.

Look, I get it.  We're a PMS nation built on anger.  Heck, the  very foundations of this country were built with anger.  "What, you're going to tax us without fair representation?  You're going to tell us whom to worship?  You're going to treat us like 2nd-class citizens?  Fuck that, you limey bastards!  We're starting our own country!"

However, we seem to have reached a point where the appropriate response to life's irritations is sheer anger and rage.  Every minor tangle is a potential interpersonal Gulf of Tonkin incident.  Funny looks on the subway result in gunshots.  Incidents on the highway result in road rage.  Innocuous slights by strangers end up in wrathful revenge. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  Everyone feels anger.  I don't ever want to NOT FEEL anger. But, as Dennis Miller once said, the collective mistake we're making is this:  Anger used to be a bass line that we used to merely provide a funky bottom to our cultural zeitgeist.

Anger has now broken out into a shrieking Nugent guitar solo that's drawing a rivulet of blood from all our ears.

So maybe during this holiday week when we get together with all of our weird relatives and stuff our faces, we can turn down the dial on some of that hate and take some time to remember how lucky all of us truly are.  In the grand scheme of things, even the most disgruntled among us is living better than 99% of our fellow inhabitants on the planet.

For better or worse, may we give thanks to all that we do have in our lives.  May we remember to help those around us in need.  And may we remember that health, love and friendship should never be taken for granted.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you and your families!

Love,
MetroDad, BossLady & the Peanut

My kid farted on your honor student!

Throw a rock in a NYC playground and you're likely to hit an Alpha-Parent who can rattle off the various achievements of their precious progeny.

Look, Sally's only two but she can say the alphabet!  Peter's four and can play Mozart on the violin!  Did you hear about Ethan?  He can count to ten in three languages!  What does your kid do?

I try not to get caught up in all that competi-parent bullshit.  NYC is brimming with Type-A overachievers and I think it's more than a little twisted that so many of them transfer their own issues and competitiveness onto their pre-schoolers. Lately I've seen some kids wound so tightly that if you stuck coal up their asses, diamonds would shoot out. 

Today, I saw a mom at the playground practically yelling at her kid and forcing him to play.  Go on the slide, Jimmy!  Climb the ladder, Jimmy!  Throw me the ball, Jimmy!  Why aren't you doing anything, Jimmy?  When Jimmy didn't respond, she shrieked at him to get in his stroller because it was time for his music lessons. 

Man, I just wanted to grab that woman and shake the shit out of her! 

Look, I'm not under any delusions.  Like most parents, I think my kid is the cutest fucking kid in the world.  However, objectively speaking, I also realize that, at this point in her life, my daughter is not as developmentally advanced as some other kids her age. 

But in typical fashion, BossLady and I don't stress out about the Peanut's academic development and we're both secure enough to joke about it.  (Typical comments:  "You know, she'd be reading by now if not for all the Ecstasy you took in college!" or "She's ain't that bright, Cletus, but dang she sho' is pretty!")

As an avid reader, it KILLS me that she'd rather run around the apartment sticking hair pins up her nose!  I'm constantly trying to read to her, teach her the alphabet, or engage her in conversations.  Most of the time, she's got no interest.   

But you know what?  The Peanut's a happy kid.  As she should be. She's TWO!  I don't want to raise a stressed-out kid filled with angst and anxiety.  I want her to have fun.  There's plenty of time for her in the future to learn a language, master an instrument, take ballet lessons, or earn a black belt in Karate. 

Right now, she's busy doing much more important things that she truly enjoys, such as...

• Screaming like a banshee just for the fun of it. 
• Walking around with her hands down the back of her diaper. 
• Wiping boogers on my leg.
• Spinning around in circles until she passes out laughing.
• Sitting outside our apartment building and high-fiving everyone who walks by.
• Talking to flowers.
• Throwing all her toys in the toilet just to see what will happen. 
• Laughing at her own farts. 

Oh yeah...and her all-time favorite thing to do these days? 

Play with garbage.

Yup, that's my girl!

Elmo: The Proust Questionnaire

On Saturday night, I was at TenJune, NYC's latest hip celebrity hangout.  During the evening, I came across none other than Sesame Street's own Elmo, drunkenly stumbling out of a bathroom stall with Lindsay Lohan.  I tried to corner him for an interview but his handlers intervened.  However, he did agree to submit his answers to the infamous Proust Questionnaire, the personality test made famous by Vanity Fair magazine.  Although brief, Elmo's answers are revealing, demonstrating for the very first time not only his love for Latina women but also his long-simmering hatred of Kermit the Frog, the high costs of fame and his plans for the future. 

I now bring you the following MetroDad exclusive:

What is your most marked characteristic?
These fucking googly eyes, man.  I've been to every top opthalmologic surgeon on Park Avenue and they all say that there's nothing that can be done about them.  C'est la vie.   

What are your favorite names?
J.Lo, Maria, and Rosita.  What can I say, hermano?  Elmo likes his women like he likes his chicken...spicy!

What is your motto?
Elmo's gotta do what Elmo's gotta do.   

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Richard Milhous Nixon.

Which living person do you most admire?
Alf.  Dude lives like a king off his residuals and he hasn't worked in years.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Bling, man.  I practically sign my paychecks over to Jacob the Jeweler.  My favorite piece is this gold and diamond necklace that spells out "TMX."  The ladies in the clubs love it.   

Which living person do you most despise?
I don't want to name names but he's green and he looks like a fucking frog.

What is your greatest fear?
Three words: celebrity. sex. tape.

What is your greatest regret?
Getting high in the recording studio during the taping of "Potty Time."  I really screwed up that one.  Thank God for good P.R.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
A world without frogs.

On what occasion do you lie?
Every day when I'm on the set, man.  I'm 23 years old.  You really think my best friend is a fucking goldfish? 

What is your current state of mind?
Anxious.  My Sesame Street contract ends next year.  Elmo's headed out to L.A. for pilot season and he's got a couple of film projects on the back burner.  The next few years are "make or break" for Elmo.

What do you consider your most overrated virtue?
My overt optimism. You've got to remember, man, I'm just playing a role.  You really think anyone is this cheerful ALL THE TIME?  The only one on set who's constantly happy is Big Bird and that's because those bird seed milkshakes are really Prozac/Oxycontin cocktails.  Seriously, go back and look at tapes from a few years ago.  The dude was depressed constantly.  Now, he's Mr. Peppy!

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
That they weren't such a motley crew of free-loading sycophants.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Public appearances with various charities and testifying before Congress.  I have to do a certain amount of them each year. It's all included in my contract.  That's why I had to fire Ovitz and leave CAA. 

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Seriously, who do I need to blow in order to get a cup of coffee around here?"

Who are your heroes in real life?
Jay-Z, Kanye, and Condi.

Who or what is the greatest love of your life?
Rosie O'Donnell.  I won't go into details but there's a reason I was booked on her show 14 times. 

What is your most treasured possession?
An autographed copy of "The O'Reilly Factor for Kids."

When and where were you happiest?
Before the show hit it big, Grover, Oscar and I would spend endless nights partying and cruising the city for women.  If we didn't get lucky, we'd usually end up at some obscure after-hours club.  Now when I go out, I need an entire fucking entourage, man.  Plus, the paparazzi are everywhere now.  I miss the old days.

Where would you like to live?
Vila Sésamo, hombre. Comprende?

Which talent would you most like to have?
A baritone singing voice.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
Salma Hayek's panties.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Discretion.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Badonkadonk.

Who are your favorite writers?
Hunter Thompson, William S. Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac.  Been reading a lot of Hemingway lately too.  For those of you who've never read Hemingway, let me sum it up for you: men are men, women are women, drinking is good, lions are dangerous.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Jay Gatsby, Playa-at-Large. 

How would you like to die?
Like Fat Elvis, man.  Long live the King!

Postscript:  Elmo wants you to tune in for a special blog talk radio show from 10-11pm EST on Tuesday, November 14.  Elmo's good friend Kristen will be talking about clueless husbands, feminist parenting, and racy girls toys. Elmo likes girls toys.  Elmo uses them all the time!

5-1, I guess she really is my daughter

THE MAIN REASON WHY I SOMETIMES SUSPECT THAT I'M NOT THE PEANUT'S REAL FATHER

The drama! Good Lord, THE DRAMA! 

As most of you know, I'm a pretty mellow guy who believes that there are very few things in life worth freaking out about.  Therefore, I'm willing to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt because she is, after all, only two years old.  However, lately, she's been acting very diva-ish, a development that I like to blame on Tyra Banks.  (I'm kidding, of course. The kid much prefers watching Jerry Springer.) 

But really, in all seriousness, we're at a point where everything with my daughter has to be done in a very particular way and it's rapidly becoming apparent that I have no freaking idea what that way is. Today, she threw a total hissy fit and broke down in tears because I had the gall to put green socks on her feet instead of brown.  Bad daddy, bad!

FIVE WAYS IN WHICH MY DAUGHTER IS DEFINITELY RELATED TO ME

1.  My stomach and I have a rather tenuous relationship.  Maybe it's from all the scotch and spicy food but my doctor thinks I'm probably suffering from IBD or colitis (OK, not a REAL doctor. I don't go to those. When I say "doctor," I really mean WebMD.) As part of my self-diagnosis, I sometimes take fiber pills throughout the day, a ritual that often leads to periods of flatulence. Basically, I can get downright farty at times.  My daughter, I would venture to guess, probably farts more than any two-year-old on the entire planet.  Seriously, she blows gas like a bean-eating 75-year-old lactose-intolerant truck driver.  It's completely awesome and I plan on recording it sometime in the future so I can play it back for her dates when they come by to pick her up. 

2.  My beautiful wife good-naturedly chides me for my gift of gab but it's true. For a cynically jaded New Yorker, I'm genuinely interested in other peoples' lives and will often talk to complete strangers for hours.  It seems as though my young daughter is becoming quite the conversationalist herself.  Unfortunately, she hasn't figured it all out yet.  Last week, I caught her having some jovially long-winded discussions with (a) some flowers, (b) the dog, and (c) a sandwich.  Let me tell you something, my friends.  There are very few things cuter in this world than hearing your daughter cheerfully say, "Hi, sandwich!  Sit down! I eat!"

3. One of the reasons I quit smoking pot was because I found myself developing some strange form of OCD.  After each hit, I would immediately have to go clean my hands and wash my face. I'm noticing a similar pattern emerge with the Peanut.  When she first started feeding herself, she'd usually finish dinner with her face and body completely covered in food.  Now, she insists on having both her hands and mouth wiped clean after EACH AND EVERY BITE!  If even a single morsel of food gets on her delicate fingers, she immediately looks at me, holds out her hand, and says, "WIPE!"  It's official.  I am now my daughter's personal valet. 

4. Despite my innate and well-documented love of television, I was one of those annoying parents who never let his child watch a second of television until she was 18 months old.  You know, the whole "studies have shown..." blah, blah, blah.  However, what those studies failed to show was the fact that a freakish love of television is apparently embedded in one's DNA.  For my daughter, TV was like love at first sight.  Every night after dinner, she turns to the BossLady and says, "TV now, mama? TV ok?"  Which is funny because that's exactly what I say to the BossLady after dinner. 

5. Speaking of dinner...my daughter and I both eat food like we're in prison.  We crouch over our meals and inhale them as quickly as possible in case some big guy named Ben Dover comes over and shivs us for our applesauce.  We sometimes even use our utensils to guard our plates.  No way we're giving up our chow to any of our fellow inmates unless we get some cigarettes or prison wine in return! 

By the way, did you know that Martha Stewart's prison name was "M. Diddy?"  It's true.  I read it in Vanity Fair upon her release from the big house.  My favorite quote from the article was when she was talking about jail: ""I hate lockdown. It's just hideous."  Unfortunately, they didn't have any quotes from M.Diddy about what it was like to be thrown in the hole and peed on.  Too bad.

By the way, I just googled the term "prison nicknames" and I found this awesome Prison Bitch Name Generator.  Mine's B.F. Goodlick.  What's yours?

Youth really is wasted on the young (a post-Apocalyptic birthday tale)

Today I turned 38, an occurrence that normally would provoke some self-reflection or introspection. 

Unfortunately, I'm still suffering from the Saturday night birthday celebration, an evening that entailed a small group of friends, the consumption of multiple bottles of vodka, and an entire slew of doting grandparents who coalesced to cumulatively take all of our respective children away for the entire weekend.

Given a weekend furlough from the normal rigors of parenting, a few of us married couples went out for a night out on the town.  Many of us were clearly out of practice so we paid dearly for it on Sunday.  Yesterday, I woke up at noon and was desperate for something to clear the cobwebs out of my brain.  I tried a wide variety of traditional medicines (Advil, Pepto Bismol, Alka Seltzer) but they seemed to have no palliative effect.  In desperation, I then turned to some more homeopathic recipes (pizza, Chinese food, McDonalds) but nothing seemed to do the trick.  What was wrong?  Why did my head continue to feel as if I'd spent a weekend with the L.A.P.D.?  Why was my stomach churning like Vesuvius? 

Oh yeah...that's right.  I'm 38 years old. 

Needless to say, this two-day-old hangover is acutely confirming the fact that I am no longer a spring chicken.  Despite my youthful demeanor and boyish deportment, I think it's safe to say that my best partying days are beyond me. 

However, for one brief evening, it was a hell of a lot of fun. 

And if I need any physical reminders of my evening and its lingering effects, I need only look down at my feet.  Whereas my right one seems to be wearing a sock of a bluish color, my left one is cocooned in one that is a very dark brown.  It's like my feet are having a circus party!  Woo hoo!  Happy birthday to me, indeed. 

Halloween Post Script

As an adult, there are few better places to celebrate Halloween than New York City. 

The available activities are incredibly diverse and there's usually something to cater to every type of personality.  Over the course of the evening, you can watch the amazing puppets and costumed freaks at the Village Halloween Parade, run the Spooky Costume Race at Grand Central, attend the Procession of Ghouls at St. John the Divine, take in a scary book reading at the NY Public Library, or take a quick visit to the world's scariest Haunted House.

However, as a little kid, Halloween in the city is even better!  None of this walking from house to house in order to go trick-or-treating.  Hell, that would take forever!

Back in the day when I would go trick-or-treating, my friends and I would draw up strategic plans the night before.  We'd figure out who lived in the biggest apartment building and then we'd map out our route.  Our prime objective was to find a building that housed over 250-300 units.

In NYC, you can't just go around and knock on random doors.  You might end up waking up a serial killer or running into an underground meth lab.  No, there's a certain system that's evolved over the years.  Usually, there are two ways to figure out who in the building is welcoming trick-or-treaters and giving out candy.  People either put a little pumpkin sticker on their door or there would be a master list in the building lobby stating each unit that would be doling out goodies that night. Normally, we'd start on the top floor and work our way down the building.  On a good night, we'd EACH haul in several enormous shopping bags of candy within an hour.  Man, sometimes that candy lasted me for a whole year. 

These days, as New York has become more gentrified, various neighborhoods around the city close off their streets so families can safely walk around and collect candy from various shopkeepers.  Our neighborhood in Tribeca has become one of the more common areas for kids to trick-or-treat so it's always a great place to check out kids in their costumes.  Since the Peanut is still a little too young, we thought we'd play it mellow and just go over to a friend's restaurant and watch people walk by. 

Of course, we had to dress Peanut in costume.  And due to her undying love for all things Elmo, we bought her a cute little Elmo costume, thinking that she'd absolutely love it.  As usual, we couldn't have been more wrong. 

The Elmo costume freaked the crap out of her and she wanted no part of it.  Total and utter meltdown ensued.  I'm talking tears, screams, wails and kicks. 

Perhaps it was the shock of seeing an amorphously hollow Elmo with both his skin and head peeled off?  Maybe she was scared because whatever sucked the skeletal corpus out of Elmo might do the same to her? 

Personally, I like to think that the idea of putting on an Elmo costume raised too many existential questions in her tiny little head.  Who am I?  Am I Elmo?  Are Elmo and I a singular being?  Where do I end and where does Elmo begin?  How did I enter this world? 

Anyway, it's a good thing that my brilliant and beautiful wife suspected this might happen and bought a cheap back-up costume...

Angry Fairy!