MetroDad

Why I Love New York (Reason #6,214)

Like many other parents here in New York City, I sometimes contemplate leaving the urban jungle for the greener pastures of the surrounding suburbs. 

I'll admit that there's a small part of me that would LOVE to live on a cozy little cul-de-sac where the Peanut can play freely (and safely) in an enormous backyard while I don an apron, drink beers with the neighbors, and cook up burgers for the PTA.  There's a part of me that would LOVE to come home and not be greeted by the three drunk homeless people permanently camped out on my doorstep.  And honestly, who wouldn't mind having more than 4 cubic feet of closet space?

But then I remember that whenever I'm hanging out in the suburbs for too long, I start freaking out.  Firstly, I'm fucking allergic to grass.  Secondly, I hate beer.  And lastly, my body goes into toxic shock when I can't get any good sushi for a week. 

Truth be told, I love living in Manhattan.  I thrive off the energy here and I love the fact that shit can happen at any time.  I love that instead of seeing "Good Luck Chuck" on one of four screens at the AMC Empire 25, I can catch a midnight showing of "Swordswoman of Huangjiang, VI" at MoMA.  I love that, on a random afternoon, I can run into Arcade Fire on a street corner, panhandling and playing a set of Cure, Pixies, and New Order covers. I love finding cheap $15 tickets to an off-Broadway show and discovering that it's an experimental performance piece starring Mary Louise Parker, Stanley Tucci, and Lorraine Bracco.

Really, where else is a guy like me going to live? 

Look, I'm the first to admit that it's not easy living here or raising a kid here.  You've got to really want it.  New York can kick your ass in a million different ways. 

And while some people in the suburbs can sit comfortably on their back porch, sip some iced tea, gaze out at a gorgeous sunset and peacefully revel in the beautiful quietude of life, I'm the type of guy who sits there thinking, "Shit, I should have bought more Goldman stock when it was at $165!"

Why do I bring this all up?

Because when I was at college at Berkeley, I had a family friend who lived in San Francisco.  He was a corporate attorney and absolutely hated his job.  His only passion in life was taking his little sailboat out on the Bay whenever he had the chance.  So on many gorgeous afternoons, he would call me up, tell me he was ditching work, and ask me to meet him at his boat in the marina.  Together, we'd spend days racing sailboats for beers all over Northern California. 

Those were some of the fondest memories of my life.  Especially after my traumatic experience of being held hostage, I found being on the open water incredibly therapeutic.  I immediately fell in love with the feeling of sailing under the deep blue sky and, even after I moved away from the West Coast, I vowed to one day take up the sport again. It's something I've had on my "life list" for quite some time. 

Knowing this, the lovely and beautiful BossLady signed me up for an intensive sailing course in the New York City harbor as a Father's Day present.  Not only would I be able to revisit a long lost love, I'd be able to do it in my favorite city in the world. God damn, I love this woman! 

This weekend, I spent every single waking moment on the water.  Seeing the Manhattan skyline and circling around the Statue of Liberty while speeding away on a J-24 sailboat now easily ranks as one of my favorite memories of living in this city.  In a strange way, I fell in love with New York all over again.

How could I not?

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
-Mark Twain

What's the one thing YOU'VE always wanted to do during your lifetime?  And when are you going to do it? 

A Dying Professor's Last Lecture On Life

Beloved Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pausch recently discovered that he has incurable pancreatic cancer and has only a few short months to live.  This week, he addressed his students in a final farewell lecture, which he entitled "How To Live Your Dreams." 

The Wall Street Journal called it "the lecture of a lifetime" and it's undoubtedly one of the more inspiring and moving lectures I've ever heard in my life. I can't stop watching it and, every time I do, I find myself with tears in my eyes. Even with death at his door, Randy Pausch remains one of the most life-affirming people I've ever met. 

At the end of the lecture, he reveals that the life lessons he was discussing weren't for the audience - but rather for his three children. As his oldest son's just five, he's focusing on making videos during his remaining days so that his younger kids will have something to remember their father.

"I find that I am completely positive. The only times I cry are when I think about the kids -- and it's not so much the 'Gee, I'll miss seeing their first bicycle ride' type of stuff as it is a sense of unfulfilled duty -- that I will not be there to help raise them, and that I have left a very heavy burden for my wife."

His wife and children, he said, "mean everything to me. They give a purpose to life and a depth of joy that no job can begin to provide. I hope they will remember me as a man who loved them, and did everything he could for them."

Here's a video of excerpts from the lecture.

Read the story here. Visit his website here.

My deepest thoughts and prayers to Randy Pausch and his beloved family.  May his story help inspire all of you to pursue your childhood dreams and appreciate the value of the life you have. 

Life is short, my friends. Kiss your wife. Hug your kids. Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. And always remember to seize the day.

There Can Be Only One!

As I've mentioned here before, during the first year of the Peanut's life, I was The Man! 

To my lovely little daughter, I was the living embodiment of Christmas, Elmo, and an all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet.

When she woke up in the morning, she demanded that I be the one who got her out of the crib, changed her diaper, and dressed her.  When she hurt her knee at the playground, it was me that she always came running to.  When she was hungry, only I was allowed to prepare her dinner and feed her.  And every moment of every day, all she ever wanted to do was hang out with me.

But back then, it was easy to win her affections.  I was the funny guy who would stuff baby carrots up his nose just to keep her entertained.  I was the one who would make yarmulkes and beards out of the bubbles in her bathtub.  And I was the one who would run around the apartment with my boxers on my head just to hear her giggle. 

But after her first year, I dropped in the standings.  BossLady was #1, the nanny was #2, and I was a distant third.  When we switched the Peanut to daycare, I thought I'd move up to the #2 spot but I was quickly displaced by one of the Peanut's teachers.  Damn!

Now, although I have a vicious competitive streak, I would never try and compete with the BossLady for my daughter's affections.  As l've said before, if parenthood has taught me anything, it's that everything I do is for the benefit of my daughter.  So, once again, I realized that I needed to change my perspective and alter my way of thinking.  I couldn't allow my competitive spirit to manifest itself. To paraphrase Mikhail Baryshnikov, "I do not try to parent better than anyone else. I only try to parent better than myself."

So, if the Peanut loved BossLady more than she did me, so be it.  C'est la vie.  I wasn't going to try and compete for her affections and I was just going to have to learn to accept that, in her own little way, the Peanut loved me too. Mature, eh?

Well, internet, I'm proud to say today that...I'M NUMBER ONE!  WOO HOO!  THAT'S RIGHT, AMIGOS!  NUMERO UNO!  WHO ROCKS THE PARTY?  I ROCK THE PARTY! NUMBER TWO IN YOUR PROGRAM, NUMBER ONE IN YOUR HEART!  I'M THE MOTHERFLIPPPING RHYMENOCEROUS!  HEY!  HO!

Ok, so I admit it...

A part of me had a hard time dealing with the fact that the Peanut loved BossLady more than me.  It wasn't that my little girl didn't shower me with affection.  It's just that whenever the BossLady showed up, the Peanut would go bonkers!  I felt like one of those stay-at-home-moms who deals with unruly toddlers all day, only to see them turn into little angels when daddy walked in the door from work. 

Heck, after all, I'm the one who prepares all of the Peanut's meals.  I'm the one who takes her to the playground every day, brings her on bike rides around the city, drives her out to Coney Island for the amusement rides, and takes her to the water park all the time.  Why shouldn't I be #1?

Anyway, I know my time as #1 is probably short-lived but I thought it would be fun for the Peanut and I to celebrate my newfound status over a few ghetto dogs this afternoon. 

Jacket and tie optional.

Meanwhile, I just caught the end of a funny commercial promoting some new sitcom.  In it, the father leans over to his son and says, "You know how they say parents love all their kids the same?  Well, you're in third place.  Better step it up!"

For some reason, I thought that line was hilarious. Do any of you pull that stuff with your kids?  And do you find yourself competing with you spouse over your kids' affections?  Consciously or sub-consciously?  And what about you childless folks?  Surely, you have a favorite niece or nephew, right? 

An inquiring mind wants to know...

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

It's been six long years since your life was tragically cut short.  Sometimes it seems the nightmare of 9/11 was just yesterday.  Other times, it feels like a million lifetimes ago.  I know I say that to you every year but, for some reason, the passing of time is hitting me harder this year. 

I think it's because when I look in the mirror these days, I see a man in his late 30's with a wonderful wife and a lovely daughter.  I see a man who has a serious job, a serious apartment, and a seriously large mortgage.  And while these truly are the happiest days of my life, the job of life itself is much more serious now.

Yet, in my memory, you'll always be that beautiful, carefree, fun-loving, 30-year-old young man.  The one who called all of us every morning to see what we were doing that night. The one whose voice could cheer me up whenever I was feeling down.  The one who loved life more passionately than most anyone I've ever known. 

Maybe the passing of time has helped heal some of the wounds of losing you at such a young age. Now, when I'm walking down the street and something reminds me of you, I can actually smile about it.  Or I'll call Kyle up so we can laugh about it together.  I guess that's progress.  Ever since you passed away, whenever something reminded me of you, my eyes would well up with tears and my heart would get a little heavier.

I still miss you terribly, Andy, and I think about you all the time.  Every year, I hope and pray that the pain of losing you lessens to some degree. I'm not sure whether that's true or not.  All I know is that the pain never completely goes away.  Life, for all of us, just isn't the same without you. 

As for our crew of friends (whom you always lovingly referred to as "la famiglia"), life has taken all of us on different paths. As a group, we don't see each other nearly as much as we should.   Maybe it's because we're all getting older and are busy with our own lives. But really, I think it's because you were always the glue that held us all together.

Most of the time, the only times we're ALL together is when a new child is born or it's someone's birthday. And although, during those occasions, we're often surrounded by other people, we always take a quiet moment to separate ourselves from the pack to honor your memory and grieve over how much we miss you.  More than once, people have looked strangely at this group of 4-5 men hugging in a corner with tears in their eyes, raising a glass in your honor. You'll always be with us, Andy.

Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.  How could I ever forget all the great memories I have of you, Andy?  It's impossible. I'll remember them as long as I live. 

A wise man once told me that the best parts of a person's life consists of his friends and the memories that you forge together during a lifetime.  That wise man was you, Andy.  How prescient you were. 

I miss you terribly, my friend.  Every year on 9/11, I swear that I'm not going to cry, mourn or bury myself in a bottle of scotch.  Unfortunately, ever year, I end up failing miserably.  But this year, I think I'm finally ready to mourn you by celebrating the amazing love you had for life.  I know that's what you would have wanted. 

And more than anything, I just want you to know that I'm thinking about you. I always have and I always will.

Rest in peace, Andy.

Love always,
Your friend Pierre

CHAOS THEORY: Labor Day '07

Hello! 

Or as they like to say in Texas, Hola! 

Please excuse my extended absence, friends. I've been in cowboy country for the past week visiting the in-laws.  Not only did I have limited internet access but I was also extremely busy trying to confuse all the natives by moseying up to them at Wal-Mart and speaking in a fake Texas drawl, "Howdy, pardner! Y'all know where a cowboy can get his hands on some couscous around these here parts?"

Needless to say, there aren't too many 6' Asian-American men wearing madras shorts, slip-on sneakers, and Prada sunglasses in North Dallas these days.  Camouflage and hunting vests seem to be le mode de rigeur this season. 

On the plus side, I love going to Texas if only for the reason that every time I'm there, I feel like a manorexic.  Ease up on those Triple Angus bacon cheeseburgers, Texas! I tell you this because I love you (and because apparently nobody else will.)

Anyway, not much time for a real post today but here are a few quick thoughts I have to share with you...

EMPTY THREATS

When it comes to parenting, I continue to surprise myself with how incredibly patient I am with the Peanut.  In my pre-parenthood days, patience was not one of my strong suits. Not only do I rarely ever blow my stack with the Peanut but I also find that I spend a good deal of time just trying to reason with her.

Now, this is far from a foolproof system. As anyone with a young child knows, reasoning with a toddler can be an exercise in futility. So lately, when the Peanut and I are battling it out head-to-head, I've started resorting to threats.  Eat your vegetables or no dessert!  Go to bed right now or we'll never go swimming again! Put your toys away or Elmo gets two bullets to the head!

Sadly, my threats are proving to be completely empty. It seems that the Peanut is a tough-ass negotiator who continues to call my bluff every single time. 

Sometimes, I feel like Jennifer Aniston telling Brad Pitt, "If you don't spend more time with me, I'm leaving you" and having no idea that Angelina Jolie was waiting in the wings.

SHUT YER KID UP FER CHRISSAKE!

For any of my fellow passengers traveling round-trip from NYC to Dallas over the past week who had to listen to the non-stop screaming and incessant wailing of a fussy toddler during the entire flight, I'd like to say one thing to all of you...

THAT WASN'T MY KID!!!

Boo yah!  After almost three years of flying around the globe, the Peanut seems to be getting the hang of this flying thing. Heck, I didn't have to drug her up or anything!  For both legs of the journey, the Peanut was the picture of perfection.  Despite long waits on the runway, delayed departures, and surly flight attendants, the Peanut proved to be a varsity traveler.

I just jinxed myself, didn't I?  Dammit!

HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW!

As regular readers know, I like to joke around about the luxuriant head of hair that has been the envy of men and women around the world for my entire life. However, I've never mentioned that, when I was in my late 20's, I realized that my gravy days were numbered. The once-bustling downtown of my abundantly populated scalp was slowly becoming a wasteland of burned-out storefronts and boarded windows as the occupants moved to the outlying suburbs of my ears, nose, and neck. What the fuck?

I immediately went to see some of the top dermatologists in Manhattan. Since I hadn't lost enough hair, I wasn't a good candidate for all the new cutting-edge hair transplant procedures. So instead, my doctors put me on a combination of Rogaine and Propecia.  Lo and behold, the hair cocktail worked and my luxuriant hair began regrowing like ragweed!

However, BossLady and I are contemplating L'Enfant Part Deux these days. We're thinking of "trying" in a month or so. As a prerequisite for Operation Impregnation, I've stopped taking my hair medicine. Now? I'm terrified that all my hair is going to start falling out and I'll be bald in a few months.

This is a sobering thought for any middle-aged man.  For us, hair is all we've got.  We don't wear makeup to make us look younger and we don't change our clothing style to enhance our appearance. Once the hair goes, that's it. 

Sure, women will tell you that bald guys are sexy.  But they also claim that size doesn't matter.  Well, I can assure you, my friends, that there are very few supermodels out there looking for a bald guy with a tiny dick. 

Unless, of course, he has coke and is named Barry Diller.

HAIRIER TALES OF SHOCK AND AWE

Facial hair and I tend to have a love-hate relationship. I generally look better without it but, every once in awhile when I'm traveling, I'll let my facial hair grow out.  Last time I did this was a year ago and BossLady noticed a few gray whiskers emerging. 

This past week, I grew it out again and you know what?  I'd say more than half my facial hair was fully gray!  What the fuck?  This has completely messed me up.  Now I have to grow out my pubes to see whether they've turned gray too!

Just kidding, people. I don't shave my pubes.  Not because I'm not curious but because, as a general rule, I don't allow anything sharper than a cotton ball to come near my genitalia.  I don't even read books naked because I'm terrified of a paper cut.  No future vasectomies for me, thank you!

Too much information?  Sorry. Let's move on. 

MORE MIDDLE-AGED NONSENSE

While flipping through magazines at the airport, I came across the BillBoard Hot 100 chart and realized I didn't recognize half the names on it.  Who the fuck is Sean Kingston (#1)?  Who are the Plain White T's (#4)?  What the heck is a Soulja Boy (#11)?  Man, the only new music I'm looking forward to are the new albums being released by Bruce Springsteen and Kanye West. Am I getting old or does most new music just plain suck?

There was a time when I looked for advice and direction in the lyrics of my favorite rock songs but music now seems less about deep personal statements and more about simple entertainment. What does it say when bands like Fall Out Boy choose to first release their songs via a Verizon commercial? 

Look, I get the fact that one generation's hardcore is the next generation's Muzak.  And maybe I'm just a fuddy old man but dammit they just don't make music like they used to (of course, that's what my dad used to say about Perry Como!)

That being said, anyone got any good new music for me?  Every time I've asked, you guys have turned me on to some great stuff.  As my girl Pat Benatar used to say, "Fire away!"

BOOK GEEK 101:  THE COMING FALL SEASON

I understand that, for many Americans, the greatest thing about the coming fall season is the return of NFL football. Now, don't get me wrong. I know my football as well as the next guy and I can talk shit about it better than most.  You want to discuss the intricacies of Cover 2, the zone blitz, the 3-3-5 Stack Defense, or the Parcells 3-4 variation of the nickel package?  I can whip out a cocktail napkin and draw them all out for you.

However, honestly speaking, I'm actually much more excited about the fact that this Fall heralds the arrival of new books by Junot Diaz, Denis Johnson, and Phillip Roth. I've been waiting years for Messrs. Diaz and Johnson to publish something new.  Throw in the fact that this will be the final chapter of Roth's Zuckerman trilogy and I'm just about as giddy as a little school girl.  Seriously, I feel like a little kid the week before Christmas!  Does anyone else besides me appreciate the sheer awesomeness of all this?   

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Anyway, because some of you have asked, here's what I'm reading these days:

The Yiddish Policemen's Union: Michael Chabon

Songbook: Nick Hornby

The Bastard on the Couch: 27 Men Try Really Hard to Explain Their Feelings About Love, Loss, Fatherhood, and Freedom: Various authors

SALAD IS MURDER!

As some of you know, I've been an HMO's worst nightmare lately.  Ever since I was hospitalized with chest pains, I've had my own personal team of world-class physicians from Mt. Sinal trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with me. I feel like I'm on a bad episode of House, MD.

Thankfully, after a million dollars worth of tests, the doctors have almost definitively ruled out anything cardiac-related.  Right now, they're leaning towards a diagnosis of a rare virus picked up from one of my world-wide travels or an equally rare pancreatic disease. Of course, that's just this week's diagnosis.  Next week, it could be something completely different. 

One strange complication in their diagnosis is that I seem to have suddenly developed high levels of cholesterol and an off-the-charts level of triglycerides. I have a fairly healthy diet so the doctors are chalking this up to genetic predisposition and have prescribed statins for me to take on a regular basis.

As part of a personal experiment, I've also decided to modify my diet for the next few months.  I'm eating a shitload of salad and I'm trying to get all my protein from only chicken and fish. 

The only problem is that whenever I'm eating chicken and fish, I keep thinking about that hilarious quote from Dave Attell: "What's the best thing to eat? Chicken and fish. I'm thinking, why not combine the two: penguin. A penguin's a little bit of both, isn't he? He's a bird, yet he swims, he's a buffet of good health!"

Anyone know where I can get some penguin sushi?  Hook a brother up!

GOOGLE ANALYTICS AND TODDLERS

Type the search phrase "how to handle a toddler" and Google will yield over 1.8 million matches. 

Interestingly enough, "how to sell your toddler" yields 5.1 million matches while the phrase "oh lord just kill me now" has 53.4 million matches.

Just thought you'd find that interesting. 

What's up with all of you?  How did you spend your Labor Day weekend?