MetroDad

Tales of Future Past

In my relatively brief history as a father, I've found that parent-to-parent conversations tend to take two different courses.

On the one hand, you have the mushy unsolicited advice-givers who tend to drop pearls of wisdom like pigeon droppings.  These are the parents who tend to speak in vague aphorisms and love saying things like, "Isn't your life finally complete and wonderful now that you're a parent?" or "I barely remember what life was like before I had children!"  I constantly find it amazing to see how many parents apparently had NO LIFE before they had kids. 

But even more annoying are the competi-parents.  These are the ones who view every conversation as an opportunity to boast about their own child's development.  Does your baby count to 10?  Really?  In how many languages?  Oh, that's cute. Billy is learning Mandarin now, plays the piano, and is a black belt in karate. 

With these parents, I just like to end the conversation by saying, "Really?  Yesterday, my kid painted the walls with her own shit, ate my chewing tobacco, and then farted on the dog.  Can YOUR child do that?" 

Now, don't get me wrong.  Although I generally dislike discussing developmental milestones, I LOVE talking to other parents about their kids.  As the ancient Chinese proverb says, "life consists of the small things."  And I often find that it's the small things that crack my ass up. 

What I really love hearing are the everyday stories that parents tell about their children.  I especially love reading about kids who are slightly older than the Peanut.  It's like getting a glimpse of what awaits me in the future.  Not the cognitive development bullshit but the fun stuff.  The small things in a child's development that crack you up.  Or the funny shit that comes out of their mouths and puts a smile on your face.

As I've mentioned before, this internet thing is weird. In a strange but comforting way, I feel invested in reading about all these children of parents that I hardly know.  I love hearing that Robert wants to start a band that only performs "Life is a Highway."  I think it's hysterical that Elijah is putting socks on his penis.  Or what about the nipple conversations that Kristen and Mimi are having with their daughters?  I can barely keep track of all the kid stories I read on the internet.   

Right now, the Peanut is a little over two-years old and every single day is non-stop comedy.  I guess there are parents of newborns who like coming here just to see what they can expect in the future.  So, in the interest of "paying it forward," here are just a few small things that those of you with younger children can expect after your child turns two.

The following takes place during the course of a single day...

(1) Your child's memory will amaze you.  Things you said months ago when she was a little infant will now come back to haunt you.  For example, this morning, you will be speaking to a matronly woman in the lobby of your building and her shoe will squeak on the rubber mat.  Your innocent little child (who has been shyly clinging to your leg in total silence for 10 minutes) will suddenly look up alertly and yell, "WHO FART, DADDY?"

(2) Your child will be in the midst of being toilet trained.  On a good day, she will go to the bathroom by herself and poop.  The clean-up part?  Eh...not so good.  Today, you will wake up by having your daughter open the door to your bedroom and crawl into your bed.  She will plant a kiss on your cheek and demand that you wake up so the two of you can have cereal together.  You will look up to realize that she is not wearing any diapers.  When you ask her where her diaper is, she will reach underneath your 600-count Frette comforter, pull out a very loaded diaper, and proclaim, "Right HERE, daddy!"

(3) That afternoon, you will be changing your daughter's diaper.  Her stool will have a very gelatinous texture to it.  In fact, if you look closely, you will find some slightly pink mucilage.  When you show your daughter the diaper and ask what the hell that is, she will smile toothily at you and cheerfully pronounce, "I eat GUM, daddy!"

(4) Around this time, your child will mimic everything that you do.  As she will constantly tell you, she's "a big girl now" and no longer wants to be treated like a baby.  This insistent behavior will manifest itself in many ways.  Today, you notice that she has a slight fever and must be kept out of daycare.  Because you have no other alternative, she will come to your office during the day.  She will see you working and, because you are busy, you will end up eating lunch at your desk.  Later that night, she will disappear from sight, only to grab the telephone from your bedroom and rearrange all the furniture in the apartment so that she too can eat at her desk...

And you will laugh...

Because once again, your daughter will prove that life's daily small moments are the ones that you cherish the most. 

Friends, Giant Lobsters, & a Jive-Talking Peanut

One of my best friends, James, is not only a fellow foodie but also a very well-known restaurateur here in Manhattan.  We've been friends since the 7th grade and there's a good chance that our friendship was forged in the cafeteria discussing the culinary origins of that day's mystery meat. 

Anyway, to celebrate the Chinese New Year, James and I decided to organize a special banquet for 15-20 of our closest friends at Ping's Seafood in Chinatown.  Ping's is one of the most authentic Cantonese restaurants that you will ever find in the U.S.  However, some of the dishes take over 3 days to prepare so we wanted to set a date about 10 days from now.  We figured this would be enough time for people to coordinate work schedules and babysitters. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love my friends dearly.  However, trying to coordinate dinner plans with just ONE of them can be difficult.  Making plans with twenty of them is practically an exercise in futility and, logistically speaking, always makes me want to slam my head against a wall. 

To make matters worse, we all tend to share a very sarcastic New York sense of humor.  This morning, I sent out a quick e-mail to everyone advising them of the plans. 

Within 15 minutes, the following e-mail exchange took place:

MD: "Jimmy G and I are planning a Chinese New Year banquet.  We want to go to Ping's Seafood for an authentic banquet dinner.  Some of the dishes (like the 8 pound lobster, the winter melon soup, and the HK abalone) take over 3 days to prepare and you won't find them anywhere else in NYC.  Who's with us?"

Tulse Luper:  "Put me down for two bowls of finch eye stew and a dozen eel flapjacks!  And did Senor Ping mention whether they're still serving the pan-seared aardvark?  Also, The Doctor is requesting no-carb HK abalone."

James: "Just make sure Senor Ping is the one cooking on Saturday (by the way, Senor Ping is the chef, not the name of your johnson!)"

Meg:  "An 8-lb. lobster would have survived on this earth for at least 35 years, but possibly as many as 75 years.  He or she could take up to 15 minutes to die in boiling water!"

The DR: "I hear with a lot of melted butter, mayo and an adept use of tongs, it's not a bad way to go."

BossLady:  "Damn it!  Somebody help me!  I can't stop rolling me eyes!"

Milty:  "Some say that you can 'hypnotize' a lobster by rubbing the top of its head or its abdomen, thereby pacifying it before boiling.  Then, you press the point of the knife into the head and bring the blade right down between the eyes. This kills the lobster as quickly and painlessly as possible."

MD:  "I saw a bumper sticker that said, 'I love all of God's creatures...right on my plate next to the mashed potatoes.'"

Tulse Luper: "I have an 8lb lobster now and no matter how long I boil it..it just won't die."

The DR: "Take it out of your jacuzzi and put it in a pot, bitch."

This banter ended up continuing throughout the day.  Meanwhile, 6 hours and 20 e-mails later, not a single person has even replied whether they're coming to dinner!  I swear, sometimes I'm amazed that they let all of us become parents.  Shaping young minds, indeed!

In other MetroDad news...

(1) Today, The Doctor and I were talking about Britney Spears.  I told him that she shaved her head because she didn't want to get drug tested.  The Doctor retorted, "No way, man.  I was interviewed on "Inside Edition" last night and explained why that theory was wrong.  If they wanted to drug test her, they could have just taken a court-mandated blood or urine sample."  Turns out that the DR examined high-definition close-ups of Britney's head and speculated that she's having medical problems with her scalp.  All the stress and drug use may have been causing her hair to fall out in clumps so she abruptly shaved it off.

See, that's what I fucking love about The Doctor.  The dude doesn't know squat about football but he can discuss Britney Spears' head for hours. 

(2) Last night, I cooked up some mac-and-cheese for the Peanut.  When I asked her whether she liked it, she nodded enthusiastically and said, "High five, daddy!"  After we high-fived, she put her hand behind her back and, with a mouth full of food, said, "heemeeonhefwepsy."  I had no idea what the hell she was saying but she kept muttering the same thing over and over again.  "Heemeeonhefwepsy! Heemeeonhefwepsy!" 

Finally, after she swallowed her macaroni, she wiped her face, turned her back to me, stuck out her hand, and clearly enunciated, "I. Said. Hit. Me. On. The. Flip. Side!" 

Man, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.  I swear...some days, kids are better than TV.

(3) Only 24 hours left until the MetroDad blog name contest is over!  We've got a few more surprise prizes to give away so go over there and put your entries in the comments section.  Hurry1

What is my label when I exit boom status? (A MetroDad Contest)

In their infinite wisdom, the good folks over at alt-parenting site Babble have decided to give me my own blog.   

According to their press release, Babble is:

"a revolution in parenting magazines: a publication that talks to urban parents not just as caregivers, but as fun, smart, intellectually curious people. It will apply Nerve’s tradition of irreverent honesty to the experience of parenting without the infantilizing, hyper-judgmental tone or acquisitive baby-as-accessory bent of so much of today's parenting fare."

I don't know how much help I'll be in fomenting the revolution.  Unless the uprising is waged with loofahs, bottles of scotch, and witty banter, I'm generally not much of a "revolutionary" kind of guy. 

However, I am genuinely glad that Babble approached me with this opportunity.  I subscribe to every parenting magazine available and I've yet to find one that really speaks to ME.  Most of them seem to be written solely for women and tend to promote this weird cookie-cutter cult of stay-at-home domesticity.  Others place far too much emphasis on shopping and product placement.  And very few really ever touch on anything personal or substantive.

But their biggest crime?  None of them are funny!

Forget all the crap regarding hipster parents, urban mamas, AlternaDads, or Grups.  At the end of the day, Babble is just a smart, edgy parenting magazine with a wicked sense of humor about being a parent.  Because as any caring parent who has been barfed on at 4:00 am knows, parenting is very often an existential exercise in hilarity.

Anyway, I'm both extremely honored and humbled to join their irreverent collection of great writers (which include everyone from A.M. Homes to Jennifer Baumgardner to Walter Kirn.)  REAL writers whom I've had the pleasure of reading over the years. 

Current blogs over at Babble presently include Steve Almond's "Baby Daddy,"  Barbara Rushkoff's "A Girl Grows in Brooklyn," and Rebecca Woolf's "Straight From the Bottle."

Me?  I've got no title for my new blog.  And I've got a terrible case of brain flatulence these days.  I've been thinking of a title for weeks and absolutely NOTHING is coming to my mind.  So that's where YOU guys come in.   

Since most of you know me pretty well, I figured you could help me come up with a witty title for my new Babble blog.  So I've decided to have a little contest.  Help me come up with a name for my new blog: a name, label, or catchphrase that I'll take over with me to Babble. 

To increase the incentive and get your creative juices flowing, I've got some great prizes!  Here's what the grand-prize winner will get:

(1) The latest high-end Digital Photo Frame from Phillips.  So new that it's not even available in stores yet.  These things rock the house.  Not only is the picture quality stunning, it's clear that a lot of thought went into the beautifully streamlined design.  They're absolutely gorgeous and would look great anywhere.

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(2) An advance DVD of "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan," the brilliant film starring Sacha Baron Cohen.  With classic lines such as "My moustache still tastes of your testes!" and "What's up with you, Vanilla Face?," this film has already achieved cult status. 

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(3) Your choice of one of my favorite NYC foods that I will personally vacuum-seal with love and send to you.  Winner will select from one of the following:  hot dogs from Gray's Papaya, bagels from H & H, pastrami from Katz's Deli, or bacon from Peter Luger's Steakhouse. 

The contest will close on Friday, February 23 at midnight.  Then, BossLady and I will decide which one we like best and we'll announce the winner.

Ready, set, go!

p.s. Special prize to the first person who correctly guesses the origin of this post's title.  No googling!

 

Are YOU a Hipster Parent?

On Saturday night, I was at this tiny lounge in the West Village drinking with a few buddies.  On the couch to my left was Alan Cumming.  Dancing in front of me was Kristen Dunst.  Standing on my other side was Fabrizio Moretti, the drummer from The Strokes. 

Meanwhile, my buddies and I were engrossed in a rather serious conversation about how our relationships with our own parents influence how we raise our own kids.  Also seeping into the conversation were discussions about the costs of daycare, maintaining a sense of balance in life, and moving to the suburbs.

Suddenly, while looking around at all the surrounding "coolness," I thought to myself, "Oh Fuck!  What the hell am I doing here?  Am I a hipster parent?"

As it turns out, I'm just a sucker for a stiff drink and some good music.

But all this debate, controversy and sturm und drang about hipster parenting has made me completely paranoid.  I detest labels of any kind.  Especially when it comes to parenting.  So how could I determine whether I was a hipster parent or not? 

So, in the interest of self-examination, I created this little poll.  Give it a try yourself and let me know what you think:

ARE YOU A HIPSTER PARENT? 

Does your child own any of the following "ironic" t-shirts or onesies?

1. The Clash, The Ramones, or Sonic Youth (add 1 point)
2. Che Guevara or Mao (add 2 points)
3. I make my child's clothing from sustainable materials (add 3 points)
4. No. They don't sell those at Wal-Mart. (add 0 points)

How would you describe your child's sense of style?

1. A miniature version of myself! (add 1 point)
2. Betsey Johnson circa 1987 (add 2 points)
3. Indie rocker meets Bohemian graffiti artist (add 3 points)
4. Baby Gap meets jelly stains (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite music?

1. Radiohead (add 1 point)
2. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (add 2 points)
3. His own.  He started a rock band with his Park Slope pals (add 3 points)
4. The Wiggles (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite food?

1. Edamame (add 1 point)
2. Roasted foie gras with a fricasse of cremini & shitake (add 2 points)
3. My child is a Vegan (add 3 points)
4. Chicken McNuggets (add 0 points)

What's your idea of the perfect family vacation?

1. Touring the great museums of Europe (add 1 point)
2. Backpacking in Costa Rica (add 2 points)
3. Volunteering at the local soup kitchen (add 3 points)
4. Building sandcastles at the Jersey shore (add 0 points)
   

My child LOVES coming with me to...

1. Cocktail parties (add 1 point)
2. Concerts at the Liberty Heights Tap Room (add 2 points)
3. Jivamukti yoga class (add 3 points)
4. The mall! (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite movie?

1. Anything by Michel Gondry (add 1 point)
2. Anything by Fellini (add 2 points)
3. "Manufacturing Consent" (add 3 points)
4. "Finding Nemo" (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite TV show?

1. The Charlie & Lola Show (add 1 point)
2. The Wire (add 2 points)
3. We don't believe in television (add 3 points)
4. Sponge Bob rules! (add 0 points)

What brand of diapers do you use?

1. gDiapers (add 1 point)
2. Cloth diaper delivery service (add 2 points)
3. I make my own out of hemp and organic cotton (add 3 points)
4. Whatever's on sale at Costco (add 0 points)

What kind of haircut does your child have?

1. A shag (add 1 point)
2. A mohawk (add 2 points)
3. Shaved head (add 3 points)
   
4. Standard bowl cut from Superfine (add 0 points)

How is your baby's room furnished?

1. DWR for Kids (add 1 point)
2. Eames furniture (add 2 points)
3. Homemade crib whittled out of teak (add 3 points)
4. Dirty finger-smudged wallpaper (add 0 points)

What's the WORST thing your child could grow up to be?

1. A corporate drone (add 1 point)
2. An investment banker (add 2 points)
3. A Republican (add 3 points)
4. A career criminal or an ax-wielding sociopath (add 0 points)

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RESULTS

O-14 points:   Congrats!  You're so down-to-earth as a parent that you're truly alternative!  You aren't trying to desperately hold onto your youth by turning your kids into fashion accessories.  You know that kids should just be kids.  Besides, who has time to worry about all these stupid labels when you've already got your hands full with a household of rug rats, a second job, and trying to make this month's car payment?  You'd love to raise your kids to be socially-conscious humanitarians but, right now, you're busy trying to keep them from burning down the house!

15-25 points:   C'mon, admit it.  You're a little bit hipster.  If you take a step back, you know that you're sometimes a little too trendy for your own good, right?  You're a little too old and a little too square to be a hipster parent but it's not always for a lack of trying.  Sure, the kids love listening to The Cure, but you were secretly hoping that they would, weren't you?  Besides, how could they NOT like them?  You not-so-subconsciously play it every time you're in the Prius, right?  Don't worry, man.  It's cool.  I won't tell anyone. 

26-30 points:   You are firmly entrenched as a hipster parent.  Odds are you live near me in Tribeca or in Park Slope.  You and your kids are best friends.  To prove it, you insist that they call you by your first name!  You are definitely too cool for school and you mock anything that has the slightest whiff of mass appeal or corporate commercialism.  No Disney for you!  Dora is the devil!  Elmo is a four-letter word!

31-36 points:   You practice what I like to call "fascist parenting."  You have foisted your own choices onto your child so firmly that he's wound up tighter than a vise.  Your choices are your child's choices.  And while you think you're fostering free thought, you're really only imposing your own.  Your self-righteousness attitude belies an unforgiving intolerance to other styles of parenting. If your child doesn't grow up to be EXACTLY like you, then you will have failed miserably. 

I hope that most of you realize that the above is all completely frivolous and is meant solely for the purposes of entertainment.  It seems that, when it comes to different parenting styles, people have completely lost their sense of humor.  Everyone is so busy labeling other people that we don't realize that, in doing so, we're passing judgment on others.  Why do so many people care how others raise their own kids?  Don't we have more important things to get our panties in a twist about? 

Look, I think most of us parents are struggling with the issue of how best to maintain one's own sense of identity while raising a child.  We don't want to subvert our own interests and personalities.  Yet, at the same time, having a child is certainly a life-altering event (to say the least!)  How do we reconcile all of this and create a sense of balance in one's life?

Honestly, I don't know. 

Like most parents, I'm just trying to raise my daughter to be a smart, polite, sensitive, caring, spiritual person with her own identity.  Her "coolness" (or my own) is not even remotely a concern to me.  Frankly, the whole topic kind of bores the shit out of me. 

Besides, as Being Daddy once said in an eloquently brilliant post called "The Unhip Parent's Manifesto"...

Parenting is not, and never has been, about being cool. Cool is quite simply not a legitimate child-rearing paradigm. And to hold up it up as such is as silly as parenting according to the principles of phrenology or astrology.

Parenting is the greatest of democracies; anyone can participate. But this stands in direct opposition to some of the very tenents of hipsterism: exclusivity, elitism, superiority. And this seems to be what drives hipsters crazy: the fact that anyone can parent well. The dumb and the smart, the ugly and the attractive. Educated and un-. Democrat, Republican. Liberal, conservative. The hip and the unhip. Male or female, straight and (yes, you conservatives out there who proudly didn't think I was talking to you too) gay. The cool and the pathetic. The lot of them can be good parents - amazing parents. There is no formula for great parenting, no indespensible superficial ingredient.

Because love does not discriminate.

I couldn't have said it better myself. 

'Cause you've gotta have faith, baby

I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about my daughter's future. 

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a fairly laid-back guy so I rarely get myself too stressed out about parenting.  However, there probably isn't a single future event/milestone that the Peanut will ever face that I'm not already thinking about: the cost of pre-school, making friends, belly-button piercings, the SATs, orthodontist bills, shitty boyfriends, college, marriage, career, global warming.

Honestly, the list goes on forever.

Now it's bad enough that I spend so much time thinking about my daughter's future but recently I've started to concern myself with something even further removed...HER AFTERLIFE!

I'm more than a little embarrassed to say that my own experiences with organized religion have been somewhat spotty at best.  I like religion and I'm interested in theology.  I'm just not a big fan of church.  I abhor organized religion's growing intolerance and I'm extremely turned off by the scandals that seem to constantly plague them. In general, I like to consider myself a spiritual man who has always chosen bits and pieces of various religions in order to suit my own personal needs. 

For example, when I was younger, I really did believe that idle hands were the Devil's workshop, so I was constantly jerking off. 

Just kidding! 

In all seriousness, despite the fact that I was baptized and confirmed in a Korean Methodist church, I've also fasted on Yom Kippur, sought guidance from Buddha, celebrated Ramadan, and dragged my hungover ass out of bed on many a Sunday morning in order to attend Mass.  It's like I couldn't decide on a religion so I picked all of them!

To their credit, my parents did try to expose me to church when I was younger.  But for them, church was more of a social event where they could meet up with fellow Koreans and eat some donuts.  Although my father donated a lot of money to the church, I'm not sure he was ever motivated by faith or charity.  I think he just wanted better seats so he could be closer to God.   

As I look back, I realize that my personal disillusionment with religion started when I was 8 years old and got kicked out of Sunday school.  The bible teacher was asking us whether we knew God's name and I kept yelling out, "HOWARD!  God's name is HOWARD!"  When the teacher asked me to elaborate, I replied, "Haven't you ever read the Lord's Prayer?  You know, the part where it says, 'Our Father who art in Heaven, Howard be they name.'  Jeez, lady!  And you call yourself a Sunday school teacher?"

In a fit of fury, she kicked me out of class.  However, I was being completely serious at the time and her misplaced rage only served to confuse the hell out of me.  In typical fashion, I just shrugged my shoulders and went down the street to grab a slice of pizza.  Man, my ass still hurts thinking about the beating I got from my dad that night!

Sadly, I never did find God in that church either (but thanks to the basketball court in the basement, I did find one hell of a great jump shot.)

My lovely aunt, on the other hand, is a devoutly born-again Christian.  After losing her teenage son to leukemia and her asshole husband to infidelity, she found great solace and comfort in religion.  And although she's given me enough rosary beads and bibles to start my own congregation, I find her faith to be a beautiful thing.  If anything, helping people cope with life's many shitstorms is the greatest benefit of organized religion.  I truly believe that church saved my aunt's life. 

Sadly, the only times I enter a church these days are when someone dies or gets married.  However, BossLady and I are seriously contemplating attending one again so that the Peanut doesn't automatically assume that our peculiar brand of Agnostic Secularism is the natural order of things.  If the Peanut chooses to eventually opt out of organized religion, we want it to be HER choice, not ours.  As parents, we feel that, at the very least, we owe it to our daughter to make sure she is exposed to religion (or religions) so that she can eventually make her own decision about the role it's going to play in her life. 

And who knows?  Maybe in trying to help the Peanut find her faith, we'll find our own as well.

It's funny being a parent, isn't it?  You spend so much time thinking about how you're affecting your child yet you rarely notice how sometimes your child affects you more.  As I've mentioned, I became disillusioned with organized religion many years ago.  Then, after 9/11 and the loss of one of my best friends, I was convinced that religion was the core root of the world's problems.  Now, a scant two years after the birth of my daughter, I'm contemplating going to church again for the first time in years.  Who would have ever guessed that? 

Certainly not this jaded New Yorker. 

But honestly speaking, there's a part of me that is curious about attending church again.  After all, I see the Lord's work all around me.  A beautiful sunrise, my wife's gorgeous face, my daughter's heart-warming smile, the infield grass at Shea Stadium, and, of course, seeing that asshole driver in the Hummer who cut me off on the Jersey Turnpike getting pulled over by state troopers for a full-body cavity search.

Hmmm...maybe God does have a sense of humor!

In all seriousness, I'd really love to hear your thoughts about religion in regard to parenting and raising kids.  Or your own religious experiences growing up and the role your parents did or didn't play.  I know religion is generally a taboo subject in the snarky world of blogging but let's talk about it nonjudgementally just this once, ok?  A truly inquiring mind wants to know. 

A Strangely Odd Weekend

It's a given that my weekends haven't been the same ever since the Peanut came along.  Normally I wouldn't bore you with the ennui of my daily existence.  However, this weekend was a strange one so I thought I'd share the minutiae (along with, of course, a bunch of throwaway lines that belie the type of lazy writing that I usually detest.  Oh well.  Screw it.  Strange weekend indeed.)

Friday

The Peanut was sick and we had to keep her home from daycare so BossLady covered the morning shift and I volunteered to take the afternoon.  However, by the time I got home from the office, the Peanut seemed to be feeling much better and was itching to leave the apartment.  I decided to take her out for some afternoon tea at a local cafe, where she then proceeded to charm the pants off everyone entering the restaurant by greeting them with, "Hi, people!  I'm eating cake!"  Later, we spent the rest of the afternoon dancing around the apartment together to Dan Zanes.

There are very few things more life-affirming than sharing a cupcake with your two-year-old daughter and spending a few hours together doing silly dances. 

Friday Night

Most of my disposable income is spent on books, films, or scotch.  However, I've had my eye on the FoodSaver V2840 vacuum sealer system for quite awhile.  It finally arrived Friday afternoon and the reviews are right.  It's the greatest single kitchen invention since the microwave.  I spent a solid 3 hours vacuum-sealing everything in my fridge that wasn't nailed down.  BossLady practically had to pry my fingers off the damn thing.   

I wish I still smoked weed so I could start buying marijuana by the pound.

Saturday

I thought my street cred as a parent had been firmly established by now.  However, Saturday proved that the path of initiation is far from over.  As the Peanut and I strolled through Wal-Mart (looking for FoodSaver bags and accessories,) she threw up all over me, herself, and a good portion of Aisle 7.  Ensuing drama included a trip to the pediatrician and the dry cleaner.

My cashmere sweater now smells like an interesting admixture of cheerios, hash browns, Elmo juice, and bile. 

Saturday Night

MetroBro came over to play with the Peanut and have dinner with me and BossLady.  For some reason, the three of us decided to order in barbecue.  This is a total amateur move, kind of like going out partying the night before New Year's Eve.  Needless to say, we stuffed ourselves silly and I started frantically worrying about what we'd eat during the Super Bowl.  I spent the rest of the evening perusing delivery menus online.

As I searched various restaurants, I couldn't help but think what foods would be best suited for some good old-fashioned vacuum sealing. 

Sunday

A good friend's mother passed away and I needed to go to NJ for the wake.  I've known Chris since he was 7 years old.  Almost 31 years.  He's an only child and, in a short period of time, has lost both his parents.  Even worse, they both suffered horribly painful deaths after long bouts with cancer.  Although Chris is 33, he's much too young to be an orphan.  I vow to give Peanut siblings so she'll never face the loss of her parents alone. 

Afterwards, with tears still streaming down my face, I drove to a Korean grocery store so I could load up the car with kalbi (you know, for the vacuum sealer.) 

Sunday Night

We put the Peanut to bed.  I threw a couple of logs in the fireplace.  And BossLady ordered a bucket of chicken wings.  Super Bowl Sunday is about to start.  In all my life, I've never heard so much about race and religion as I did during the pre-game show.  At the end of a long weekend, can't a man just watch some football in peace?  Anyway, after 14 seconds, it becomes apparent that Jesus hates the Colts.  But wait!  Here come the Colts.  It looks like God wants the Bears to lose after all.  Hallelujah!  Go Indy!  Bears will burn in hell!  (By the way, does anyone else think that Rex Grossman should have been named MVP?  And can anyone settle a long-standing bet with my buddy Andrew about whether Rex Grossman is Jewish?)

With all the talk about God during the post-game show, I begin to wonder whether my vacuum sealer can turn water into wine.

If you could pick one thing from New York City for me to vacuum-seal and send to you (aside from a pound of marijuana,) what would it be?  I'm thinking of starting another contest soon and I could use some ideas for good prizes. 

MetroDad Mailbag (Feb. 2007)

Did you know that jet lag kills older mice?  Not the young ones.  Just the older ones.  It's true.  I read it on the internet. 

I wonder how old I am in mouse years.

Never in my life have I had jet lag this bad.  Seriously, I feel like my kidneys are floating in outer space and my balls are six feet under.  I've been home for 6 days and the nausea still hasn't gone away.  As usual, I've concocted my own cure-all (this one involves megadoses of melatonin, scotch, Ambien, crossword puzzles, and chocolate chip cookies.)  A friend suggested sunlight and exercise but it's fucking freezing in NYC and I've got about 40 hours of television backed up on my Tivo.  Who has time to go to the gym? 

Anyway, thanks for all your questions.  Many of them had me laughing my ass off on the plane.  I know I've said it before but my readers are the coolest, weirdest, smartest, goofiest, and geekiest readers on the planet.  One day, I'm going to get us a discounted rate on some group therapy.  As the lyrical medieval poet Eminem once said, "you fucking rock!"

You asked some great questions.  Many of them I’m saving for the next mailbag.  Here are some of the rest... 

Why do so many men have a crush on Tina Fey? Is it the scar? The ridiculous white girl dancing she thinks it is funny to engage in? What? Please, riddle me that, batman. Though I find her funnier than a Kazakh journalist at a formal dinner, I just don't understand the whole crush thing.
(Mrs. Fortune)

Tina Fey reminds us of the nerdy, sarcastic female friend from high school who was always by your side when you were caustically making fun of the plastic cheerleaders who wouldn't date you in a million years.  Also, just like you women, most of us men laugh when we hear women like Giselle or Christy Turlington say in interviews that they were ugly ducklings in high school.  That's total bullshit and I don't ever believe that crap for a second. 

But when Tina Fey says it?  You actually believe her. 

Is she the thinking man's sex symbol?  Maybe.  I don't know.  She does kind of have that sexy librarian thing going on.  But personally, I think I'm just a sucker for a funny chick with a cool scar.  Besides, what's the deal with YOUR crush on John Cusack, eh?  He's not exactly Brad Pitt, is he?

Since you're a foodie, what would be your last meal on earth if you were on death row?
(Leora)

The seared foie gras from Café des Artistes, Peter Luger’s steak, a slice of Grimaldi’s pizza, potato knishes from the Carnegie Deli, a bucket of Blue Smoke's potato salad, and Junior’s cheesecake.  Basically, I’d try to give myself a heart attack before they flipped the switch. 

Dear Metro...My Korean mother has finally told me that I need to get married. Granted, I should bless this saintly woman for waiting until I was 30 to finally get on my case about it. What do you think?  Should I put forth extra effort in finding a spouse? Or should I just go about handling my business as I have been, even if it occasionally means I feel shameful in the mornings and have to catch a cab home?
(Mikeymike)

Parental pressure never ends, my friend.  When I was younger, my Korean mother would call every day and ask when I was getting married.  After I got married, she called every day to ask when I was having kids.  These days, she's up in my grill every day about having a second child.

MetroBro is about the same age as you so he's feeling the parental heat now as well. Since I'm quite fond of my bro, I try to help him out and I've discovered that the best means of disarmament is deflection.  To throw my parents off their game, I like to ask them hypothetical questions that will mess with their minds.  Here are two of my latest gambits:

1. Would you rather MetroBro marry a black girl OR a Korean guy?
2. How would you feel if he had children out of wedlock?

These are like mental tongue twisters for Asian parents and if they don't give your parents an aneurysm, they certainly will keep them lying awake in bed for awhile.

Meanwhile, enjoy your bachelorhood.  Sure, married life is a million times better but you're not going to fully enjoy it unless you have no regrets.  Carpe Diem, my friend!

Have you tried Dinosaur BBQ up in Harlem yet and do you love it?
(pnuts mama)

Every Super Bowl Sunday, BossLady and I shun invitations to group viewings and instead have our own little party.  The week before the game, we plan the menu.  The only requirement is that, by the end of the game, we need to be so stuffed that we actually lose the ability to speak and must resort only to hand signals in order to communicate.  Grunting is also permitted.

Last year, we completely outdid ourselves.  The two of us went to Dinosaur and we wanted to try everything on the menu. We literally loaded up the back seat of our car with massive amounts of ribs, pulled pork, beef brisket, Cajun catfish, creole potato salad, and cole slaw. 

Verdict?  Best barbecue in NYC.  Possibly the best barbecue this side north of the Carolinas. 

I enjoy how you intersperse your literary views in many of your various posts (even if they have to do with poop.) Your book consumption is pretty impressive so it's obvious you read quite a bit. My question: if you could have one author's life, whose would it be?
(Barb)

Tough question, Barb.  I get these huge author crushes all the time.  Past or present objects of my lust and envy have been David Foster Wallace, Haruki Murakami, Margaret Atwood, Matthew Kneale, Jhumpa Lahiri, Mark Leyner, and Chang-Rae Lee.  Their writing always seems so effortless.  I would give my left nut to have their talent. 

Then again...last summer in the Hamptons, I saw Salman Rushdie at the polo matches driving a convertible Bentley with Padma Lakshmi in the front seat and a set of golf clubs in the back. 

I guess that whole fatwa thing worked out pretty well for him.

MD, I am an Asian-American dad and my wife is Euro-Am. At a local store the other night, we ran into an interracial couple where the female was Asian-American and the male was Euro-Am. I felt a strange discomfort and I couldn’t get the thought “Mail order bride and dude with yellow fever” and images of Bai Ling out of my head. The wife, bless her soul, later informed me that she noticed I was being rude and knew what I was thinking. So, here’s my question, “How do I get over my personal hypocritical prejudice?” And no, I don’t believe it’s about “those” dudes getting “our” women.
(Average American)

Dude...I totally know what you're talking about.  In the latest statistical survey of White/Asian relationships, it turns out that 72% of them consisted of a white husband and an asian wife.  And wikipedia tell us that  "Asian American women were 2.5 times more likely to be married to a White American man than Asian American men married to a white woman."

My advice?  Don't sweat it, my brother.  Life is fucking short and we're all getting older.  I used to get into late-night debates with my Asian-American female friends over the semantic and sociological distinctions between attraction and fetish.  Now I just worry about keeping the hair on my head, the cost of Peanut's daycare, and making the monthly mortgage payment. 

Besides, as I get older, I'm starting to think that we should turn this country into a giant mud puddle where race no longer becomes a distinct and distinguishing feature.  As I've always said, there are so many good reasons to dislike people.  Why focus solely on race?    

By the way, I fucking hate Bai Ling.  Not only is she the Asian Paris Hilton but also I think she's playing up the whole geisha stereotype to make a buck.  An Asian friend of mine calls her a whoriental.  Is that racist?

MD! I love to travel and fly quite a bit each year. Most of the time I travel alone--because my fiance hates to fly. On our last trip, he got airsick...so I understand his reticence. And by reticence I mean that he said "I'm never fucking flying again." Up until now, he has flown all his life--his father is an airline pilot. My question is: How can I help him get over this? Also, when we do fly, he is absolutely miserable. I'm pretty much ok with whatever obstacles come our way, but he just stresses and stresses. Is there anything to be done about this? I figure you've had many varieties of travel partners over the years and could offer some advice. Is Valium the only way to go?!?!?
(Sarah Marie)

My buddy Andrew is a bad flyer (and by bad flyer, I mean "he's a total fucking pain in the ass and I'm never going on a plane with him again!")  He doesn't sleep for weeks leading up to a flight.  He's got 1-800-Go-Greyhound programmed into his speed dial. And when he DOES fly, he dreams that someone will sneak up and inject him with horse tranquilizer.  To cure his phobias, he's tried everything from hypnosis to flight class. 

The only thing that works for Andrew is getting completely wasted before the flight.  The downside is that he often arrives at his destination feeling like a zombie and, more than once, he's woken up on a plane with drool all over his face, only to see someone with the cleaning crew shaking him and saying, "Excuse me, sir, you don't have to go home but you sure as heck gotta get outta here!"

According to Andrew, the perfect cocktail is equal parts vodka, valium, and beta blockers.   Shaken, not stirred.   

Dear Metrodad,
How can I, a lowly bi-lingual, 143 IQ, college educated, current Technology Coordinator find a job (for the love of all that is holy) that doesn't make me consider rupturing my own appendix just to get out of going to work? I think, oh advice giver of the internets, that I am asking for career advice. Someday it is my humble goal to make more than 30k a year. Please help.
(Desiree)

The lovely and beautiful BossLady is also contemplating a career change so this has been topic-du-jour at Casa Metro for awhile.  She's looking for something new that will allow her to achieve a better balance between work and family.  Now, we're just trying to figure out what that something "new" should be.    

You, Desiree, are a great writer.  You belong in publishing, advertising, editing, or PR.  I can't even see you as a "Technology Coordinator."  E-mail me. We'll find you something.  Any West Coast employers out there looking for some great creative talent?  Get in touch with Desiree!

This blog doesn't accept advertising but we're definitely not above pimping out friends and family!      

How come you travel all over the damn planet and never have a layover in Atlanta so we could pound a few back? EVERYBODY flies through Atlanta.
(Stacy)

While driving cross-country in 1990, I spent 4 days in Atlanta with two buddies.  One was Peruvian, the other was Jewish.  One night, the three of us went out to a bar and met a bunch of attractive cheerleaders from Georgia Tech.  All of them were blond and I think 4 of them were named Babs. 

Long story short:  None of the girls had ever heard of Korea.  They kept asking if that was a city in Japan.  None of the girls had ever heard of Peru.  They kept asking Jose if he was from Mexico.  None of the girls had ever met a Jew before.  We caught one of them checking my buddy's head for horns!  I shit you not.  We were like a living freak show for them. 

Now, I’ve spent a lot of time in the south.  Hell, Birmingham, New Orleans, and Memphis are three of my favorite places.  But I’ve never experienced anything quite so strange as what happened in Atlanta.  I’m sure your city has come a long way but ever since then, I’ve tried to connect through more race-friendly cities. 

You know, like Mogadishu. 

Who do you like in the Super Bowl? Who will you be rooting for?
(David)

I have passionately hated the Bears ever since 1986 when Jim "Punky QB" McMahon, William "Refrigerator" Parry, and Mike "Samurai" Singletary released that annoying rap song/video "The Super Bowl Shuffle."  That fucking song set rap music back about 20 years.  Remember the lyrics? 

We are the Bears Shufflin' Crew
Shufflin' on down, doin' it for you.
We're so bad we know we're good.
Blowin' your mind like we knew we would

Fuck the Bears.  I'm going with Indy.   

Question: Did the Peanut ever go through a "naked" phase?  I have a daughter just a little younger than yours. We allow her an hour or so of "naked baby" time in the evenings, but any time you change a diaper you are asking for a clothes on-or-off battle. This is only really an issue when we need to get her outside for some reason, which happens more often than one might think. We're in Chicago which requires many layers at this time of year. Any creative ideas for how to get a toddler dressed?
(Stef)

So far, the Peanut has not gone through a naked phase.  If anything, she's become a fashionista like her father.  Have you ever seen a two-year-old girl stare vacantly into her drawers trying to decide what to wear?  It's both sad and funny at the same time. 

The Peanut is still in her pink phase.  Today, she went to daycare looking like a giant piece of fucking cotton candy.  Not only that, she STILL yells at me when I put the wrong color socks on her and she still insists on wearing her little snowboard hat whenever we go outside. 

Sorry, I'm no help here, Stef.  We seem to have the opposite problem.  Anyone else want to take a stab at this one? 

You may have already addressed this in a past mailbag, but since it is on my mind all the time these days (for my family, not yours): are you considering having a second child? Why (not)?
(nonlineargirl)

Yes, we're considering having a second child.  Over the past week, my wife's favorite pick-up line has been, "Hey, are you horny?  I'm ovulating!"

Not quite sure how I feel about this but, on principle, I try to never turn down sex when it's offered to me.

Personally, I think BossLady really wants to start trying now because, according to the lunar calendar, 2007 is supposed to be a very special year for having children.  According to the Chinese zodiac, this will be the Year of the Golden Pig, an event that occurs only once every 600 years.  Babies born this year are believed to have good fortune and will lead comfortable and wealthy lives.  The expected birthrate in Korea is supposed to explode this year.  Many hospitals, banks, and schools are even starting to ramp up for the expected population increase!

Man, my people are fucking crazy.

Did the BossLady ever finish your sweater? What else has she knit?
(Rach!)

Rach...I've pretty much become a knitting widow.  These days, BossLady is still completely engrossed with knitting.  At any given time, she's got multiple knitting projects going on and she could really care less about what I'm doing.  She's a knitting fiend!

But I'm glad she's got a hobby.  Knitting chills her out and, as I like to joke, " helps keep the crazies away."

And yes, BossLady did finish my sweater.  It's awesome.  It doesn't quite fit me perfectly but I absolutely love her for trying. 

Here's a photo of it being worn by our little pint-sized fashionista.

Some day, I'll show you the equally awesome matching hats that BossLady made for me, Peanut, and MetroDog. (Shit, next thing I know, this is going to be a damn knitting blog.  This blog really has jumped the shark, hasn't it?)

No offense to you knitters out there!  I know you're a sensitive lot.  Every time I make fun of the BossLady's knitting, I get like 50 e-mails from enraged knitters.  Did you know that there were enraged knitters out there?  Me neither.  Man, those chicks are fucking nuts!  (Again, just kidding.  Sort of. Maybe.)