MetroDad

Chaos Theory (Colorado Ed.)

Regular readers know that if I don't post here for awhile, all the flotsam floating around my brain  tends to explode in a diaspora of mental diarrhea.  Usually, I can just annoy my wife with everything on my mind but lately she's been busy with work.  Besides, we're about to take off for a week of some hardcore skiing and snowboarding in Colorado.  When I'm not on the slopes, I plan on overdosing on chili, catching up on some reading, and teaching the Peanut how to throw snowballs at people from the balcony. 

Since it's highly unlikely I'll be posting here for awhile and since I've got some random shit on my mind, I thought I'd leave you with another Chaos Theory post...


MY DOMESTIC TRANSFORMATION IS ALMOST COMPLETE!

Today, I signed up for a cooking class.  Either I'm the definition of a true Renaissance man of the new millennium or I'm slowly turning into a fucking Asian houseboy.

Why am I doing this, you may ask?  Because BossLady and I have noticed that whenever the intercom buzzes, the Peanut automatically sprints to the front door and yells, "Dinner here?"   

Very cute but so wrong. 

STICKY FINGERS

Last week, the Peanut and I stopped into our local bodega to buy some lottery tickets. When we got home, I told her to take off her jacket but she refused.  Normally I wouldn't really care but I noticed that she was clutching something in her hand and was trying to hide it in her coat pocket.  When I pried open her hand, what did I find?  A York Peppermint Pattie.

That's right, my daughter committed her first crime!  Do you have any idea how fucking embarrassing it is to go into a store, apologize for the fact that your two-year-old hijacked some candy, and then fork over $1.00?

Later, we ran into Michael Imperioli on the street and all I could think about was Peanut growing up to be the first Asian female member of an Italian mob family from Jersey. 

SING THE SONG SOUNDS LIKE SHE SINGS IT

Whereas the BossLady sings like an angel sent from the heavens, I sound more like a hippo passing a kidney stone. Unfortunately, I have no sense of shame so if you ever want to hear the African mammalian version of Morrissey's "Suedehead," feel free to join us the next time we go out for karaoke. 

Anyway, when the Peanut was born, I loved making up ridiculously silly songs for her.  Past hit singles have included, "Santa Said Eat Your Peas," "$18.00 Sneakers and You Got No Job?" and "Please, Please, Please, Go to Bed!" 

Apparently, the gift of making up stupid songs is passed on genetically because lately the Peanut has been on a composing tear.  Her latest release is called "Cake, Cake, Cake.  I Like Cake."  She'll literally walk around the apartment singing it to herself all day long.  She's also a big fan of mash-ups.  Yesterday, she sang us a song called, "Happy Birthday, Old MacDonald!."  Today it was "Row, Row, Row, Your Jingle Bells."

God damn, I love this little girl! 

SHE CAN EAT (OUT) GIRLS LIKE NORAH JONES FOR LUNCH

Speaking of music, one of the things rocking my world these days is all the original and exciting new music being released by acts like the Raconteurs, Arcade Fire, Ghostface Killah, and Fallout Boy. Now, thanks to MetroBro, I've got a new ipod crush and her name is Amy Winehouse, a white, 22-year-old bad-ass British soul singer who comes across like the illegitimate love child of Sid Vicious and Aretha Franklin.  Her new CD is being released in the U.S. this week so if you want to hear some funky gospel vocals laid out over modern beats, check it out.

Aside from her songwriting talents, Ms. Winehouse seems to be that rare creature who has an utter lack of pretension and an awesome penchant for shooting off her mouth.  The following is from her wikipedia page...

• At the age of 10, Winehouse founded a short-lived amateur rap group called Sweet 'n' Sour. She described the group as "the little white Jewish Salt 'n' Pepa.

• When asked about all her "old school" tattoos of naked women, she said, “I like pin-up girls. I’m more of a boy than a girl. I’m not a lesbian, though — at least not before a couple of sambucas anyway."

• And finally, once when Bono was accepting a music award and started talking about Africa again, Amy famously yelled out, 'Shut up! I don't give a fuck!'  When pressed for comment, Amy replied, "What can I say?  I'm a dickhead when I'm drunk."

WHY I FOOKIN' LOVE THE IRISH

Speaking of Bono (and the fact that this is the 20th anniversary of "Joshua Tree,") here's a funny U2 story told to me by my friend Xiobhan...

Bono is at a U2 concert in Glasgow when he asks the audience for some quiet.

Then in the deafening silence, he starts to slowly clap his hands. Holding the audience in total captivity, he says softly and seriously into the microphone …

“Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies……”

Suddenly, from the front row of the venue and breaking the total silence, a voice yells out in a drunk Scottish brogue...

“Well, for fuck's sake, stop fookin doin’ it then!”

THE SHAMROCK SHAKE MAYBE BUT NO WAY IT'S BETTER THAN THE FRIES

Normally, I deplore reading posts about the various google searches that lead people to one's blog.  Since I'm an inherently lazy writer, I'm afraid if I start doing things like that I'll never write an original thought again.  However, I'm going to make an exception to that self-imposed rule because I'm very proud to announce that I'm the #5 hit for the following google search phrase...

"My 7 year old says my breast milk tastes better than McDonalds." 

Disturbing on so many different levels, isn't it? 

While I'm at it, I'd like to state that I'm also extremely proud of the fact that several people seem to have found this site by googling, "I like cool dads who wear leather pants and like to drink breast milk."  Get your freak on, people!  I guess it's true.  One woman's fetish is another woman's fantasy!

YES, BUT ONE MAN'S GARBAGE IS ANOTHER GIRL'S TREASURE

The old line about children throwing away presents and playing with the packaging is almost so axiomatic that it has devolved into cliché. But as the wise philosopher Yogi Berra once said, "you can observe a lot by just watching."  And by watching the Peanut, it's clear that spending any money on toys for her is an exercise in futility. 

In no particular order, here are her top 5 favorite toys right now:

1. Empty juice bottles
2. MetroDog's chew toy
3. The humidifier
4. My smelly socks
5. BossLady's bra*

*I told Peanut that the bra was a hat so naturally she puts it on her head like a yarmulke.  She looks like a drunk midget stripper at a bar mitzvah.

HE SHOOTS!  HE SCORES!

My friend Andrew sent me this game.  Maybe it's a guy thing but this simple game is so absurdly addictive that I'm thinking about setting up a pro tour so I can play it for a living.  Give it a try sometime when you're bored at work.  But don't say I didn't warn you. 

THE McDLT: HOT SIDE HOT, COOL SIDE COOL

I just read this article about married couples redoing their houses so they could sleep in separate bedrooms.  Personally, I'd never do this in a million years but I understand the logic.  In fact, BossLady and I joke about it all the time.   

See, I sleep totally nude with 4 pillows, no blanket, and a reading light attached to my head that makes me look like a yuppie coal miner.  On the other hand, BossLady sleeps in polar fleece sweats underneath an enormous down comforter, wearing a black-out mask that makes her look like the Lone Ranger.  I swear, if it were up to me, we'd keep the thermostat at 65 degrees. 

Either she's exothermic or I'm the first virile Asian-American man to experience menopause.  Anyone else have this problem?

FIVE ROCKING OUTFITS IN METRODAD HISTORY

Being in the fashion industry, almost every day I hear people say, "eventually, everything comes back in style!"  Now, I like to think that I have an innate sense of style but I have to admit that lately my clothes have been boring me.  Maybe that comes with being 38 years old.  Or maybe clothing was much more interesting when I was teenager. Anyway, thinking back on some of my past outfits, here are 5 items that I wish I still had.

1. Missing Persons concert t-shirt
2. Matching tweed hat, blazer and pants
3. Navy blue sailor suit
4. Purple parachute pants
5. Leopard bathing trunks (check it!)

THE YELLOW DONNELLYS

You may not know this but Koreans and the Irish share a special affinity.  More often than not, people call us the "Irish of the East."  We're both hard-working people with chips on our shoulders and a reputation for being tough, mean, chain-smoking drunks.  We love boozing, singing, and getting into fights (preferably all on the same night.)  Our people share a history of oppression from neighboring countries and have a homeland still divided by politics and rage.  We'd kill or die for our families.  And nobody eats more fucking cabbage than we do.

So it was with great interest that I looked forward to watching the new NBC show, "The Black Donnellys."  Directed and written by the brilliant Paul Haggis, the show follows four young Irish-American brothers in NYC's Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood and their involvement with organized crime.  But mainly, it's a story about family, loyalty, and sacrifice. 

So far, only three episodes have aired but I have to say I'm hooked.  While it's clearly the network answer to "The Sopranos," there are at least 5 times during every episode where you have that "no fucking way did they do that!" moment.  Unfortunately, none of the characters are redeemingly likable enough so I'm pegging the show's chances of survival around 50/50.  At a time when "Dancing With The Stars" seems to be the lowest common denominator (with the highest ratings,) I'm hoping that "The Black Donnellys" gets a chance to find the audience it needs in order to survive. 

Like "Friday Night Lights" or "Studio 60," this is a show that may be too smart for the average TV viewer.  So far, critics have not been overly enthusiastic about the show.  And I have to admit that part of the criticism might be well deserved.  In many ways, the show's depiction of NYC's Irish culture is done in a way that could only be imagined by a bunch of sun-tanned writers working in West Los Angeles.  But at the same time, it's far better than 99% of the rest of the shit on network television. 

So, for the sake of my Irish brothers, give it a fookin chance, eh? 

 

Chaos Theory (China Ed.)

I get ideas for blog posts all the time.  Sadly, I always have them when I’m at a bar or on the toilet (which means I usually scribble some quick notes on a napkin or some toilet paper.)  Unfortunately, I have a horrible memory so I can never fully recall what it was I had to say about “Derrida’s theory on Elmo” or “Brett Favre’s moustache.” 

Right now, I’m still in China, a country where napkins and toilet paper seem to be in short supply.  I’m also suffering from some weird jet lag insomnia and I think I’m on the verge of an Imodium overdose.  Therefore, I’ve decided to just write everything down as soon as I think of it. 

I guess we’ll call it Chaos Theory: The China Edition.

.
MARCO!  POLO!

Contrary to my last post, it seems that the Peanut has noticed my absence.  The other day I spoke to BossLady on the phone and she told me that whenever the two of them walk in the door, the Peanut runs around the apartment yelling “DADDY!  DADDY!  WHERE ARE YOU?”  After failing to find me, she then turns to the BossLady and asks, "Where dadddy, mommy?"

I’d blame it on all the sulfurous Chinese air that makes me feel as if someone ate a pound of asparagus and peed on my eyeballs.  However, since my paternal sappiness is already well-established, I’ll admit that hearing this brought a tear to my eye.

THINGS THAT I SHOULD HAVE PACKED IN MY SUITCASE

For someone who travels as much as I do, I am a horrifically bad packer.  I’ve flown to weddings without tuxedo pants.  I’ve  had to wear white tube socks with a suit.  And once, the lovely and beautiful BossLady had to make me cufflinks out of paper clips (MacGyver!) Now that I’m in the middle of China, I realize that bringing linen shirts when it’s below freezing outside probably wasn’t a good idea.  Some other things I probably should have packed?

1. More than two pairs of underwear.
2. Dark socks (yes, I did it again.)
3. Running sneakers that don’t smell like ass. 
4. Toilet paper
5.  A book weighing less than 20 pounds

HE AIN’T HEAVY, HE’S MY BROTHER

The 20 lb. book in question is Martin Amis’ “The War Against Cliché,” his collection of essays and literary criticism.  Despite its weight, the book is a surprisingly great read.  Amis’ brilliant wit and sheer intelligence are employed in ways rarely evident in his fiction. 

Do you ever sometimes wish you were friends with a celebrity so that you could just shake the shit out of them and smack them with a dose of reality?  I have this wish all the time (“Aarrgh, Britney!  What the fuck are you doing?”)  Anyway, I really wish Martin Amis and I were best pals so that one night when we were both completely smashed, I would have the balls to tell him to give up fiction.  If I were really drunk, I’d tell him to get those damn teeth fixed too. 

Does anyone else have these imaginary celebrity friendships or am I the only one?

iDORK

Aside from packing my suitcase better, it also probably would have been a good idea to update my ipod before leaving.  Spending 15 straight hours on a plane listening only to Camera Obscura and Ghostface Killah is getting kind of weird.  I don’t know whether I want to weep into my pillow or kill whitey!

iPOT

On the other hand, big ups to me for downloading the first season of “Weeds” onto the ipod.  Why didn’t anyone tell me how good this show is?   BossLady and I don’t get Showtime but we've both always had a little thing for Mary-Louise Parker.  In fact, when Billy Crudup dumped her while she was pregnant so he could date Claire Danes, BossLady was furious.  Recently we watched “M.I. III” and whenever he came on screen, I could hear BossLady muttering “asshole” under her breath. 

Besides, isn’t leaving Mary-Louise Parker for Claire Danes trading down?  Kind of like breaking up with Brad Pitt and ending up with Vince Vaughn?

And Jen?  I just read in the Herald Tribune that you might adopt a child from Africa?  If WE were friends, I’d channel my mother and tell you---“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you? If Angelina Jolie jumped off the George Washington Bridge, would you?” 

All I know is that if Paris Hilton adopts one next, I think I’m going to kill myself.

iPOOP

I just spoke to the BossLady and she told me that Peanut pooped in the potty for the very first time!  And I missed it!  Thankfully, BossLady knew how totally bummed out I would be about missing this important milestone in our daughter’s life so she immediately grabbed the camera and took photos of the poop for me!

Is it any wonder that I married this woman? 

MY KINGDOM FOR SOME CARBONATED ASPARTAME!

At various points in my life, I’ve gone months without so much as a single alcoholic drink, a cigarette or any television.  But never during the course of the past 25 years have I gone so much as two days without a Diet Coke.  I’m now on Day 4 (or, as I keep saying to myself, DAY FUCKING 4!) 

China, what is up with that?  How can you pursue global hegemony when the only carbonated beverage here is warm Fanta in a dirty glass?  And how is it even possible that one can still get TAB here?  Wasn’t that abolished in the 70’s along with DDT and Agent Orange? 

SHUT UP AND PASS THE ANUS!

In China, people often say that when a pig is killed, not a single part goes to waste.  The skin is used for leather, the fat is used to make candles, the snout is ground up for medicinal purposes, and everything left over is eaten.  Obviously, this saying is meant to convey the stout resourcefulness of the Chinese people.  But whenever I mention this to the beautiful BossLady, she just laughs at me and says, “Oh yeah?  What about the penis?  Do they eat THAT?” 

Last night during dinner, I tried this strange-looking dish of food that I didn’t quite recognize but tasted pretty damn good nonetheless.  When I asked someone what I had just eaten, he replied, “pig's balls!”

Man, I gagged so hard that dried snout practically came out my nose!  (N.B. he really meant to say "pork balls," which apparently have nothing to do with a pig’s testicles.  On the flip side, my host told me that some people in China DO eat a pig’s balls!)

IF YOU THINK YOUR KID IS ONE IN A MILLION, THAT MEANS THERE ARE 1,400 JUST LIKE HER IN CHINA!

Being separated from the Peanut is tough enough.  But being here in China makes things exponentially more painful.  It’s not like I’m in Sweden and surrounded by little Aryan-looking babies who bear no resemblance to my daughter.  Here, I see little Chinese kids who have the same dark hair and features as the Peanut. 

Every time I see a little Chinese girl, I just want to pick her up, spin her around, and give her a wet willy.

Meanwhile, I'm completely annoying the crap out of everyone I meet in China.  In fact, I’m starting to recognize a pattern.  First, I ask people whether they’re married.  Then, I ask if they have children.  And then I sit back and wait patiently until they ask me whether I have a kid.  ME?  YES, I DO!  THANKS FOR ASKING!  DO YOU WANT TO HEAR ALL ABOUT HER?  GRAB A CHAIR AND POUR SOME TEA!

Before they even know what hit them, I’m telling them all about the Peanut.  Today, I even told a few people about Peanut pooping in the potty.  The ironic thing?  Most of them have no idea what the hell I'm babbling about.  Story of my life, right? 

Anyway, it's official.  My gushing about my daughter is now annoying the crap out of people on TWO continents!

.
By the way...apologies to all of you who have sent me e-mails in the past week.  I'm having major e-mail issues.  I promise to reply when I return to civilization (especially MD reader Susan from AL who offered to send my favorite BBQ sauce.  That stuff is like crack cocaine to me.  More than once, BossLady has totally busted me drinking it right out of the jar.)

Also, I thought I'd either do another MetroDad Q & A or another mailbag edition so I'd have something to write on the 15-hour return flight home.  So place your questions in the comments section below and feel free to ask me anything. 

As always, the only limits are your own imagination!  Shoot away!

 

Chaos Theory (Holiday Edition)

We're getting ready to head down to God's Waiting Room (i.e. Florida) for Christmas so that my lovely daughter can eat sand on the beach for a week while getting smothered around the clock by her grandparents.  My parents have no cable TV, no internet access and no stereo.  They hate air conditioning, love eating dinner at 5:30, and are fast asleep by 9:00 pm.  I like to refer to spending time down there with them as being on my own reality show...Survivor: Palm Beach!

Since I don't know when I'll be able to post again, I thought I'd leave you with a few random thoughts and stories.  Chaos Theory:  the Holiday Edition. 

Enjoy...

HOLD ALL MY CALLS!

One of the reasons that we put Peanut in daycare is because we suspected that our nanny was talking on the phone all day.  Sometimes, I'd walk into the apartment unexpectedly and she'd be there simultaneously yapping on the phone, preparing the Peanut's lunch, flipping through People magazine, and filing her nails.  If there's one thing that our nanny could do, it was multi-task.

Last night, while I was washing the dishes, Peanut was eating some mac-and-cheese at her little miniature dining/play table.  When I looked up to see how she was doing, she had the phone cradled on her shoulder, was eating with one hand, drawing a picture with the other, and nodding her head up and down while saying, "uh huh, yeah, ok, yeah, mm hmm, ok."

It's truly amazing to watch what kids pick up.

My friend Adam is a big cheese at a major bank but he has 3 kids so he tends to work at home a lot.  Recently, he walked into his living room, only to see his 3-year old daughter with a pretend phone, saying, "NO, NO, NO!  That is NOT what I said!" 

WE HAD TO BEAT THE SINGLE WOMEN AWAY WITH STICKS

I was speaking to my friend Andrew today.  Andrew and I have been friends since we were 13.  Back in high school, we were both star athletes but we were also both a little off-kilter so we never really fit in with the "jock crowd."  The great thing about our relationship is that neither of us ever worries about the other person thinking we're strange so we can just relax with one another and be our normally strange selves. Everyone needs a friend like that. 

Anyway, we started reminiscing about the days when we lived together in Washington, DC after college.  During that time, I would often hole up in my bedroom for days with a pile of microfiched NY Times Sunday crossword puzzles that I'd spent hours copying from the Library of Congress.  However, Andrew didn't mind because he was usually in the other room engaging in HIS favorite hobby...reading the dictionary! For fun!  With a highlighter!

And even though our rooms were only separated by a few feet, we'd often talk to each other on the phone for hours.  I'd call him at 1:00 am on a Friday night and ask whether he knew a Hungarian filmmaker whose name had four letters.  An hour later, he'd call me asking whether I knew that the word, "karaoke" was derived from the Japanese word "okesutora," a rough translation of the word, "orchestra." 

Nerds at play, yo!

Today on the phone, we discussed how incredibly fortuitous it was that we both found these beautiful women who were willing to marry two totally incredible geeks like us. 

ANYONE WANT TO SPLIT A COBB SALAD AND TALK ABOUT THE NEW PHILLIP ROTH BOOK?

I love red meat.  I love scotch.  I love women.  And I love sports.  But that doesn't mean that I want to sit around with a bunch of guys and talk about macho shit all day.  Last week, I had a work-related lunch with some bankers and my head was spinning from all the testosterone flying around the table.  What is it about some guys that when they're with a group of men they feel they've got to be as macho as possible?  Fuck!  I just wanted to beat some of them upside their head with my beret.

THREE SIGNS OF THE COMING APOCALYPSE & THE END OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION

(1) Four of the top-selling books on Amazon right now are by Rachel Ray. 
(2) Jennifer Aniston and K-Fed were seen holding hands and leaving a club together.
(3) The Yankees starting pitching rotation might be Petite, Mussina, Clemens, and Johnson. 

HOW TO ENTERTAIN YOURSELF IN A PUBLIC BATHROOM

I used to love pulling pranks on people whenever I was in a public restroom.  One of my favorites was turning off the lights just as I was walking out the door.  Hearing 4-5 guys in pitch darkness, taking craps in the stalls yell out, "HEY!  What the fuck!" always cracked me up.  Other times, I'd hear someone grunt in a stall and I'd shout out, "That's right, buddy. You show that turd who's the boss!"

Anyway, at the beginning of this week, I was Christmas shopping at Macy's and had to use the restroom.  The line for a stall must have been 20 people deep and was moving at a snail's pace.  At one point, the guy standing in line in front of me turned around to face me and said, "Man, this better be fucking worth it!"

I'm STILL laughing my ass off over that one!

IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED, CRY, CRY AGAIN.

As most of you know, we are solidly in the throes of the Terrible Twos.  The other day, I apparently made a drastic mistake by giving Peanut the wrong celery stick.  This came as a surprise to me because I didn't even know there was a RIGHT celery stick.  Naturally, Peanut melted into the floor and went into one of her patented tantrums. 

Only this time, I knelt down to look at her face closely.  It looked like a normal tantrum.  It sounded like a normal tantrum.  But, after a closer observation, I noticed that no tears were coming out of her eyes! 

She was trying to play me for a sucker!  Damn, what a sly dog. 

I started laughing hysterically and yelled out, "BUSTED!  Nice try, kiddo.  A+ for effort!  Bravo!"  For a brief second, I could hear the little gears turning in the Peanut's head as she contemplated whether to continue with her charade or just give up the ruse.  Thankfully, she chose the latter and not only started laughing hysterically with me but also started nibbling on the celery stick. 

Kids, man.  You gotta watch your backs with them.

WHO SAID THE HOMELESS HAVE NO STYLE?

As I left my apartment yesterday, I noticed that the crazy guy who sleeps outside my building and pees on my doorstep every day was wearing a t-shirt that said, "Get a job!"  Since I actually do have a job and was already in a shitty mood, the irony of his wardrobe selection was lost on me. 

However, it did remind me of a funny story. 

In college at Berkeley, I lived near a sorority.  One day, when my buddy Jose and I were hanging out smoking a joint, the UPS guy asked me if I could sign for some packages that had been shipped to the sorority.  Sure, I said.  No problem.  As it turns out, he was delivering three enormous boxes filled with sorority sweatshirts that the girls had ordered. 

As soon as we signed for the sweatshirts, Jose and I decided we were going to give them away to people who really needed them.  We jumped in my car and drove down to People's Park, the once-legendary location of 1960's social activism that has now denigrated into a magnet for drug deals and homeless people.  Over the course of one hour, Jose and I probably gave away more than 200 sweatshirts to various homeless people.   

You have no idea how awesome and hilarious it was to see all these crazy-looking people who hadn't showered in months wearing these brand-new bright pink Kappa Kappa Gamma sweatshirts as they strolled up and down Telegraph Avenue. 

Who said you can't do good and do well at the same time? 

MY 5 FAVORITE POLITICAL QUOTES OF 2006 (THESE ARE OUR LEADERS?)

(1)  "Are you really going to ask me that question with shades on?"- President Bush to legally blind reporter Peter Wallsten.

(2)  "Why do they hate each other? Why do Sunnis kill Shiites? How can they even tell the difference? They all look the same to me."- Senator Trent Lott (R-MI.)

(3)  "I enjoy cocaine because it's a fun thing to do.  I enjoy the company of prostitutes for the same reason.  If you combine the two together it's probably even more fun." --Rep. Robert Wexler (D-Fla.)

(4)  "Don't worry.  I still had a ham sandwich for lunch, and my mother made great pork chops." -Sen. George Allen (R-VA), on his Jewish heritage.

(5)  "She's either Puerto Rican, or the same thing as Cuban, I mean they are all very hot. They have the, you know, part of the black blood in them and part of the Latino blood in them that together makes it." --Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, on Assemblywoman Bonnie Garcia.

CONVERSATIONS FROM THE CONCRETE JUNGLE

As I was disembarking from the 2 train this morning, I ended up accidentally bumping into a rather large and intimidating black man.  With a look of sheer disgust on his face, he turned to me and said, "Fucking idiot!  Go back to China!"  Already surly and in a crappy mood, I snapped back at him, "Fuck you!  Go back to Africa!" 

Usually in New York, that's the end of the conversation.  The two participants have spoken their minds, talked a little smack, and moved on with their busy lives. 

Unfortunately, at this point, my fellow commuter decided to break the social contract and proceeded to take a step in my direction as if he were intending to inflict bodily harm.  Coming at me rather quickly, he got all up in my face and retorted, "Fuck you, asshole!  I was born in the motherfucking Bronx!" 

He was so angry that spittle started dripping off his chin.  It almost looked like he was foaming at the mouth.  Obviously, the rational move would have been to defuse the situation by simply walking away.  However, racial insults are my Achilles heel and the "go back to China" comment was still making my blood boil.

So I decided to stand my ground and snapped back at him, "Fuck YOU!  I was born in motherfucking Queens!" 

Apparently, this was just the icebreaker that our relationship needed because, at that point, we just stopped and stared at each other with bemused looks on our faces.  Then, with a huge smile breaking out on his face, he laughed and said, "Oh yeah?  Well, the Mets fucking suck!"

I, in a likewise fashion, retorted, "Yeah?  Well, the Yankees can suck my dick!"

With that banter of jolly repartee, we repaired the social contract between us by turning away from each other and exiting from the station.

God, I love this city!  Is this the greatest place in the world or what?  Where else can you interact with your brethren like that?

And where else can you leave the office to grab lunch and see 500 Santas descending on Bryant Park?

 

Happy holidays to all of you and your families.  May 2007 bring you and your loved ones a year filled with love, health, and happiness.  For those of you with loved ones serving in the armed forces overseas, our thoughts and prayers are with you.  For those of you traveling this holiday season, we wish you a safe journey. As always, let's take the time to remember how much we have to be thankful for.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Love,

MetroDad, BossLady & the Peanut