Wow, it's been more than 3 months since I've posted here. I have to admit that I've thought about just shutting down this site. Like everything else in my life right now, I've had mixed emotions about the whole thing. To be quite honest, does anyone even read blogs anymore?
Or as my boy Kanye said, "Do anybody make real shit anymore?
At the end of the day, I miss writing in this space. After all these years, this is the place that feels like home. I've loved developing real-life relationships that wouldn't have existed had I not started writing here in the first place. It's something I never expected and has definitely added an interesting wrinkle to my life.
But enough with this emo shit. Let's get down to brass tacks, yo.
SIX GOING ON STRANGE
The Peanut is 6.5 years old. Sometimes I think that if she makes it to 7, it will be a miracle. Her need to argue and plead every case often makes me wonder whether she's the illegitimate love-child of Atticus Finch and Gloria Allred. Plus, she's at that annoying age where she thinks she's right about absolutely everything. Drives me freaking bonkers. I do have to admit though that the stuff that comes out of her mouth these days is pretty hilarious:
"Wake up, homeboy. It's time to make me some breakfast."
"If I had a million dollars, I'd quit school and just watch TV all day.
"Hey, do me a favor? Make me a BLT but without the lettuce and the tomato?"
"Well, you say that you're going to be married forever but that didn't really happen to you the first time around, did it?"
"Even though you're wearing a hat, I can still tell you have an enormous head."
"The craziest people in the world are 6-year-old boys."
ON MALE BLOGGING: WHERE HAVE ALL THE COWBOYS GONE?
Part of the reason I considered shutting down this site is because I find myself slightly disillusioned about the public over-sharing, diary-like, confessional, first-person blog writing that seems to be becoming more and more prevalent.
Especially among men and fellow dad bloggers.
Don't get me wrong. As long-time readers know, I've painfully bared my soul here plenty of times.
On the one hand, it's enlightening to see more and more men of a certain age with the emotional intelligence to be able to introspectively write about the issues that affect their lives. This has never really happened before. When it first started happening, it was regarded with gravity and respect. It was openly naked first-person essay writing and it was practically a watershed moment.
But it was rarely appreciated under the blogging format. To call it blogging would have cheapened it.
Why? Because let's face it. Blogging is a medium designed for memes, emo tumblr photos, inspirational quotes, and the internal musings of disaffected 23-year-old women and stay-at-home moms.
Is sharing feelings how men are supposed to act online?
As a recent Village Voice article put it:
"Men shouldn't whine or feel pain and they certainly shouldn't fucking cry, according to left-over cultural expectations lodged in the heads of even social progressives, feminists, children of the liberal arts. And there's a certain self-consciousness that comes with being a male online. Where have all the cowboys gone? What would our grandfathers think of us, pining for a partner or "Why me-ing?" about health concerns to strangers? And who do we look to for proper example? There are only so many words written by Dan Savage, and we've been told to avoid Tucker Max."
I don't have the answers to these questions.
A METRODAD QUIZ: REAL OR FAKE SLATE.COM ARTICLES?
1. "Mary Gates & Karen Zuckerberg Weren't Tiger Moms: Is Amy Chua Bad for the U.S. Economy?"
2. "The End of the Mancession: Why Women Are the Economy's Biggest Losers"
3. "The Mecca of the Mouse: Can an Adult Man Have Fun at DisneyWorld Alone?"
4. "Do 3-D Glasses Work on Cats?"
5. "Bite Me: An Evolutionary Case for Cannibalism"
THREE IDEAS FOR TELEVISION SHOWS
1. "The Shores of Jersey": A reality show following around a closely-knit group of septuagenarians living in a house together on the Isle of Jersey. When they're not knitting shetland sweaters and peeling potatoes, they're doing body shots of whiskey and fist-pumping dolphins.
2. "Under the Big Top": We have reality shows about every profession. How has nobody ever done one about a circus? There's so much I NEED to know. How often does the bearded lady shave? Exactly how much midget sex is going on? Is it true that when elephants get pissed, they pee on people? C'mon, people. Let's make this happen!
3. "For Womb the Bell Tolls": Medical drama/soap opera about life in a maternity ward. Screaming mothers, freaked-out dads, jaded nurses, weird doctors, and babies born with webbed feet.
THREE GENERATIONS & THE DILUTION OF OTHERNESS
As I've written about many times, it was always a little discomfiting to grow up straddled between two cultures. Having been raised by Korean immigrant parents who weren't wholly versed in the ways of modern American life certainly made for an interesting childhood.
Aside from constantly feeling the pressures of being torn by two different cultures, I also had to deal with friends coming over, opening our fridge, smelling kimchi and yelling, "Yo, man. Your house fucking stinks!"
But two of the great benefits of adulthood are perspective and hindsight. Despite all the teenage angst I might have had at the time, I now think it's hilariously funny during those moments when I realize that the apple never really does fall far from the tree.
Even to this day, someone will talk about sleeping with a fan on in the bedroom and I'll yell out, "Sleeping with a fan on? Are you fucking crazy? That's the leading cause of death!"
Or when my daughter is sick, I literally bury her under 20 blankets so she can "sweat it out."
(By the way, unless you have insane Asian parents, you're probably not going to understand why those two things are so funny.)
In a similar fashion, I always laugh because whenever Donald Duck's name comes up, a Finnish buddy of mine will yell out, "Do you know he's banned in Finnland because he doesn't wear pants?"
Raising my third-generation Korean-American daughter, I often wonder to myself, "How much does one's culture get diluted over time?"
I'm starting to realize that even though she's only 6, at some level my daughter is clearly already cognizant of all of this. For the past two years, she's been eating the lunch provided by school. However, lately we've been talking about me making her lunches to take to school. One of the recent times we were having that conversation, she said, "Ok, Daddy, but none of that weird stuff."
"What kind of weird stuff?"
"No eel. No seaweed. No octopus. No pork chops. I just want sandwiches, chips and a juice box."
What?! She LOVES eel, seaweed, octopus, and pork chops.
Having suffered from the wary looks from my fellow elementary school friends when my mom sent me to school with Japanese bento boxes and chopsticks, I wholeheartedly empathize with my daughter's desire to fit in and assimilate among her peers. In one's youth, there is rarely as powerful of an emotional dilemma than the need to be just like everyone else. I get it, kiddo. The nail that sticks out is the one that gets hammered down.
But never in a million years did I ever think I would feel so sad about it.