MetroDad

My Kingdom for a Cheeseburger!

Have I ever mentioned that, as a teenager, I played serious competitive tennis on the junior circuit?

One summer, in a misguided attempt to move up the rankings, I spent 6 weeks training at a hard-core tennis academy located in the living hell known as central Florida.  Every morning, I was forced to wake up at 7:00 am, run six miles, and then spend the next ten hours violently hitting tennis balls underneath the sweltering sun.

That summer was hell. Most of my time was spent throwing up on my Tretorns, massaging cramps out of my legs, and trying to figure out how to cure my interminable case of swamp ass.

It was probably one of the most painful summers of my life...until now.

At the age of 39, I think I can safely say that this has probably been the shittiest summer of my life.

It started in May when we learned that my father-in-law had cancer and was given only a few months to live. At the same time, the apparel industry in the US took a nosedive and work became infinitely more stressful. Then, I found myself having to deal with some other personal issues that I won't even begin to share with you.  

When some people get stressed out, they lose their appetites. The BossLady, for example, seems to have simply just stopped eating. She's either too depressed about her father to eat or she's too crazed at work and simply "forgets."

Now generally, I eat fairly healthy. Lots of sashimi, salads, vegetables, and egg-white omelets. Being a foodie, I eat like this so that I can enjoy my porterhouse steak and dumpling splurges without any remorse or regret.

But ever since the summer started, I've been eating like crap. Serious crap. I'm talking pepperoni pizzas, bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches, steak burritos, fried chicken, General Tso's chicken, homemade gnocchi in cream sauce, and any other unhealthy food saturated in fat that looked like it might provide me with comfort. I even started having dreams about those infamous Krispy Kreme bacon cheeseburgers.

Hey, I'm no doctor but this couldn't be healthy for me.

So a few weeks ago, I decided that I needed to get my body back into fighting shape. It wasn't a matter of losing weight. I just needed to give my organs a rest, clean out my system, and give myself some more discipline about what goes into my mouth.

Being one of those people who tends to commit to things a gazillion percent, I decided to take drastic measures. So ever since last week, I've been on a serious hard-core juice fast called the Blueprint Cleanse.

The idea is that the cleanse will help your body purge the "toxins" you build up in your system. All the juices are from organic raw-food fruits and vegetables. They're compressed with a special hydraulic machine that generates over 7 tons of pressure and extracts every single nutrient. Apparently, these juices contain 3-5 times the vitamins and minerals found in any other juice.

Now, I'm pretty old-school when it comes to stuff like this. I don't think there are any shortcuts in life so I don't buy into fad diets or New Age solutions. Want to get healthy? Eat some salad, hit the weight room, and put on the jogging shoes. Period.

For me, this was somewhat of a science experiment and a personal challenge. It was like that time during Yom Kippur when all my Jewish friends were fasting and I decided to try it just to test my willpower. Besides, I figured I had nothing to lose. It wasn't going to kill me, right?

Well, on Day One, it almost did.

The week before, you're supposed to gradually wean yourself off unhealthy foods and stop drinking alcohol. Me? I did the exact opposite. The night before my cleanse started, I barbecued with my neighbor Mark and ingested a mountain of chipotle short ribs, cole slaw, and cheese. I washed it all down with a few beers, some wine, and a big glass of scotch.

My first drink the next morning was a disgusting concoction of spinach, cucumber, kale, parsley, apple and lemon. It smelled like the Devil's ass and tasted even worse. Some of the juices tasted better. Some didn't.

After 24 hours on the juice fast, my body was cursing me out and threatening to mutiny. I had massive headaches, stomach pains, dry mouth, body odor, and nausea.

The next day wasn't much better. All I wanted to do was snort giant slabs of bacon, rub my naked body with cheeseburgers, and dive into a pool of burritos. I would have eaten ANYTHING.  I would have eaten your pet if you smothered it in BBQ sauce.

Clearly, this wasn't going to work for me.

But, after a few more days, a funny thing happened.  All my symptoms disappeared. I started feeling ridiculously better. My eyes were brighter. My skin looked better. My sinuses cleared up. My energy levels were through the roof. And without even trying, I lost about 8 lbs. The weirdest thing is that I haven't really been craving food at all.

Until about 5 minutes ago.

That's when I passed a street vendor grilling a pile of meat with peppers and garlic. Mmm...meat, peppers, garlic. That's like the Holy Grail for me and, for a brief second, I was about to throw discipline to the wind and reward myself with a giant gyro slathered with mayonnaise and extra hot sauce. I even got in line and busted out a $5 bill.

But suddenly, the desire to put that garbage in my stomach passed. In fact, the idea of eating it almost repulsed me. The previously aromatic smell even made me a little nauseated. What was happening to me? Had I turned a corner? Am I now addicted to a raw food healthy diet? Would Gwyneth and I soon be sharing kale milkshakes made out of soy and celery? Would I start taking up yoga and scheduling weekly colonics?

I think not, my friends, but we'll see. Stranger things have happened. I'll keep you posted.

Have any of you ever done anything like this? What's the craziest thing you've ever done to get healthy or lose weight? Any vegetarians out there? How do you do it? I can't even picture a life without meat. Then again, I never thought I'd live off juice for two weeks. What do you think?

Open Letter to Popeye's Spicy Fried Chicken

Dear Popeyes Spicy Fried Chicken,

This is one of the hardest letters I've ever had to write and I've been struggling with it for weeks.  I know you've picked up on the vibe that I've been ignoring you lately.  Please trust me that a letter is the last way that I wanted to communicate with you.  I just didn't have the courage to face you in person. 

I know. I'm a fucking coward. 

Of all the loves I've had in my life, you were one of the best.  I know I've claimed this very sentiment to others before but you really are special. There's something truly magical about you.  Maybe it's your delectable skin.  Or your crispy personality.  Or that spicy insouciance that drives me wild with passion. 

I know we met under weird circumstances.  However, I'll never forget (nor will I ever regret) that first night when we shared my bed together, along with your friends, dirty rice and hot biscuit.  I thought it was just a one-time orgy thing and that, afterwards, we'd all go our separate ways.  Sure, maybe we'd run into each other on Chambers Street but I assumed that we'd just pretend as if we'd never met. 

But I couldn't get you out of my mind. 

So like Troilus and Cressida, we began our epic relationship.  There were those times when we'd see each other almost every day.  It's as if we couldn't get enough of one another.  Passion fueled our hunger for one another.   

However, it's time for me to move on without you.  It was ok for us to be together when I was younger and had a taut, athletic body that glistened like Canola oil.  But I've changed, Spicy Chicken,  I've changed.  I'm no longer that man you used to know.  I've got a little pot belly now and my metabolism has slowed to crawl.  The race against time has started and my body is crawling along like the Bataan Death March.  So, as much as it hurts me to say, I'm afraid you're just not healthy for me.  Our co-dependent relationship must finally come to an end.  Otherwise, who knows what kind of tragic ending may befall us? 

I can't believe I'll never see your succulent meat again.  No more will I wipe your grease off my chin.  Nor will I ever wake up again and feel the memory of your taste.  It saddens me, Spicy Chicken, but I think this is the best move for both of us.

Remember...I'll always have a special place in my heart for you.  Good luck with your life and all that the future brings.  May you find someone who loved you as much as I.

Stay classy, Spicy Chicken.  Stay classy. 

Love forever,
Customer #149

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FYI...BossLady and I started a hard-core diet and exercise plan a few weeks ago.  We both used to be in great shape.  However, the arrival of a certain unnamed baby has wreaked havoc on our bodies.  So now, as we sit on our couch and chew lettuce, we talk about all the foods that we miss eating.  We literally can play this game for hours.  For a foodie like me, dieting is complete torture.   The worst part?  I haven't had a single glass of scotch in over two weeks!

Friday's Million Dollar Idea

Thanks for all your diet tips.  I think I'm going to consolidate all of your advice into a new lifestyle that will not only get me back into peak physical condition but might also be the next hot diet craze to hit the nation. 

I'm going to start eating like a Low-Carb Japanese Caveman living in Sonoma. 

Oh yeah, I'm also going to start breastfeeding.  Seems that helped a lot of you lose your pregnancy weight.  Don't laugh. It CAN be done. See!  (It MUST be true if it's on the internet!)

What do you think?  Brilliant, right?  I'm already picturing myself doing all the morning shows and Oprah.  Maybe even a Nightline Special.  This thing's going to blow up bigger than South Beach! 

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Fucking Hector!

There's been a lot of talk recently in the blogosphere about women gaining weight after pregnancy and/or marriage (read my girl MIM's post, then go read this, this, this, this, or that.) 

Still here?

Now, I'm not jumping into this debate for many reasons.  The first is because all the women writing about it are some of my favorite bloggers and I respect their differences of opinion.  Secondly, I never get involved when women argue. Most men only need to learn that lesson ONCE. The third reason?  Well, to tell you the truth, it's because I'm a total narcissist and I don't really care about OTHER people's weight gains.  I'm much more concerned about MY OWN.

You see, my friends...about 6 months ago, I wrote a post about my new pot-bellied friend Hector (actually, the pot belly was mine.  I just decided to name him Hector.  For some reason, he looks like a Hector.)  At the time, I blamed my weight gain on the BossLady's pregnancy and the ensuing months after the Peanut's birth.  I immediately issued a one-man fatwa on my new little belly and swore that he would be gone in a month or two. 

In the meantime, it was kind of fun having him around.  I've always been fairly lean and athletic so I was enjoying the new company.  Every once in awhile, when we were on the couch, I'd even put BossLady's hand on my stomach and "make the baby kick."  Fun stuff!

Now?  Not so fun.  Hector is still hanging out here and he ain't paying the rent.  He's like that annoying roommate that you used to be friends with but now you can't stand and he won't stop calling you. 

Besides, beach season is around the corner so my vanity and self-respect demand that I start kicking things into a higher gear.  I don't have man-tits and I still look good in a suit but unfortunately, Hector's not so easy to hide when you've got no shirt on.  He's like that character Kuato in "Total Recall."  (Remember?  The psychic-mutant leader of the Mars rebellion who lives in that dude's stomach?)

Anyway, it's become clear that my 37-year-old metabolism has slowed down to a crawl.  Also, I have very little desire to hit the gym because I'd rather spend all my free moments playing with Peanut and the BossLady. 

So, in my typical Type-A personality manner, I've decided to dig in my heels and go for broke. I cancelled my gym membership and instead bought a used elliptical trainer for the apartment (God bless Craigslist!  Before them, where did people go to find used junk, concert tickets and transvestite hookers?)

Anyway, we planted the elliptical right in front of the TV and, so far, it's been great.  After the Peanut goes to sleep, I flip on "Inside Edition" or "SportsCenter" and work out for an hour or two.  I'm truly optimistic that the elliptical won't turn into the most expensive fucking coat rack this side of the Mississippi!

Now, I'm working on altering my diet.  Unfortunately, science has yet to figure out a way to lose weight by subsisting on a diet of foie gras, Peking duck, fried chicken, gnocchi, proscuitto and steamed pork dumplings.  So far, I've been contemplating my options and here's what I've come up with so far...

Atkins Diet
I've tried this before and lost weight on it.  It fits right in with my predilection for porterhouse steaks.  Only problem is that whenever I try Atkins, I feel like I'm a pork chop away from a heart attack.  Also, I find that when I'm on Atkins, I only crap once every two weeks.  Unfortunately, I do some of my best thinking when I'm on the can.   

The Zone
This diet seems very confusing.  Also, it involves math and measuring (two of my weaker skills.)  A few years ago, BossLady and I tried this home-delivery service called Zone Chefs.  Every morning at 5:00 am, they delivered fresh-cooked Zone meals to your front door.  The only problem was that there wasn't enough food diversity in the meals.  To this day, we both shudder and flinch anytime we hear someone say the word, "fritatta." 

Vegetarian Diet
Could I really live without meat?  Doubtful.  If I could eat pizza,donuts and bagels all day and lose weight, I might give it a try.  After all, have you ever met a fat vegetarian?  Unfortunately, I think I'd be a cranky bitch if I didn't eat meat.  After a month without a burger, I'd probably kill someone.  This one's not going to work out either. 

The Keith Richards Diet (aka "The Lohan")
This one sounds pretty easy.  It consists of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and cocaine.  It can get a little expensive but it's been proven to work wonders for that quick short-term weight loss.  Unfortunately, I'm looking for more of a lifestyle solution.  Besides, this diet requires wearing leather pants and my wife says I'm not allowed to wear mine anymore.

Of course, I could just eat a healthy balanced diet but where's the fun in that?  Besides, I'm a member of the MTV generation.  Not only do I have a short attention span but also I'm looking for fast, easy results and instant gratification! 

What you got, Internet?  Tips, tricks, comments or commiseration?  Bring it on!

 

Amuse-Bouche (Tales of a Picky Eater & 6-Course Meals)

I'm being cursed for my blasphemy and lack of humility, my friends.

A scant two months ago, I posted about how my 15-month-old daughter would eat absolutely anything.  In fact, I brazenly and proudly compared her to a junkyard dog.   My smugness was understandably well-deserved, considering that I had just spent a week in Palm Beach with the Peanut and watched first-hand as she scarfed down everything from fried clams to foie gras.  It was amazing to witness.  I can only compare it to watching Star Jones work the seafood buffet at her wedding (n.b. I personally didn't attend the wedding but my overactive imagination did.)

Anyway, I now stand here before you as a rueful father eating humble pie off the tabletop of remorse.  As I mentioned over at Rice Daddies, the 17-month-old version of the Peanut has completely metamorphosized into the WORLD'S PICKIEST EATER!  She's weaned herself off milk, refuses to eat baby food, and abhors almost everything we give her.  Even if she DOES like a certain food, she never eats more than a few bites of it. 

Now, I don't know whether I've mentioned here before that the BossLady has recently started a new job that's extremely demanding.  We're not sure how it's all going to work out and I'll save the details for a later post.  However, one of the consequences of this new job is that I am now solely responsible for feeding the Peanut dinner, bathing her, and getting her ready for bed (at Casa Metro, we're only HALF-joking these days when we say that I'm the perfect housewife---not only do I bring home the bacon, I cook it up and clean the pan!)

Sounds so simple, doesn't it?  A little cooking, some feeding, a quick bath and bedtime?  In actuality, these tasks really only take me about two hours...but let's not forget that Nixon's demise was predicated on a scant 18 minutes!

Anyway...because the Peanut is such a picky eater, I'm forced to cook her these 6-course dinners, hoping that she'll eat just enough of each course to not only nourish her growing body but also also circumvent any potential 4:00 am hunger pangs. 

Being an amateur gourmand whose retirement savings are spent at restaurants all over Manhattan, I've always been a firm believer in the theatrical aspect of dining.  Therefore, to entice the Peanut to eat, I usually take great care to conjure up her meals with a great flourish of presentation.  I know it's absurd but I actually do think it helps. 

So now, in the first-ever MetroDad photo compilation, I hereby offer you tonight's multi-course meal that I personally prepared for the Peanut...
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These are couscous french fries from Dani Restaurant, leftovers from BossLady's steak dinner on Saturday night.

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My world-reknown dish, Hot Dogs and Snow Peas.  The hot dogs, prepared by Monsieur Oscar Mayer, were a big hit.  The snow peas?  Not so much.

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Here, we've mixed it up with a little home-made kimbap that I prepared,  one of the few foods (aside from dumplings) that the Peanut can eat all day long.  However, due to the high salt content, I try to limit her intake.

I call this dish "Popcorn & Fried Tofu."  Usually, Peanut ends up eating ALL the popcorn and only 1-2 pieces of tofu.

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This is a microwaveable Spinach & Feta omelet.  It's 50/50 whether the Peanut eats it or throws it against the wall.

Not surprisingly, dessert is never an issue.  Whether it's fruit yoghurt or applesauce, the Peanut loves sugar and will wolf down sweets like the girl that she is.  Sometimes, I hide baby food under something sweet just so she'll eat it. 

But, in all seriousness, my friends, how do you deal with a picky eater?  What are the tricks of the trade?  How do you get your picky child to eat?  Do you let a stubborn child go to bed hungry?  What should we do?  It's taking me a full hour to prepare her dinners these days!

I know I've asked for your parenting advice before but, this time, I'm REALLY serious.  I need your collective wisdom and ALL your tips, tricks, and tactics on how to deal with this latest stage of childhood development.

Who's going to be my shining savior and help ensure that the Peanut eats more than a Snickers bar and some popcorn every day?  (Blogging Baby?  City Mama?  MIM?  Cookie?  LM? Issa? Queenie? Marian?  Stacy? Mo-Wo? L? Misfit? Margalit? Moxie? Alice? Mimi? Melissa? Ayelet?  ANYONE?  BUELLER?)

C'mon, sisters!  Help a fellow housewife out!

Right Wing? Left Wing? Chicken Wing!

Chicken for lunch, chicken for my dinner
Chicken, chicken, chicken, I'm a finger lickin' winner
(A Tribe Called Quest)

"Wait, Wade, Wait!  The Chicken Wings! If they come in here and see billions of little chicken wings, they're gonna KNOW that we smoked all the pot!"
(Carrie, "Sex and the City")

"No thanks.  I don't eat buffalo."
(Jessica Simpson, "Newlyweds")

I'll never forget my first date with the BossLady.  We were walking to the butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, when she turned to me and said, "I just have to tell you.  I pretty much hate anything that's got wings."  Then, after a semi-awkward pause, she proceeded to add, "Except buffalo wings.  I LOVE buffalo wings." 

And thus we discovered that our first mutual love was for the buffalo wing...and, soon after, a marriage was made!

Because make no mistake, people.  I loves me some buffalo wings.  If it were socially acceptable, I would probably eat chicken wings 2-3 times a day (I'd also only wear silk pajamas to the office...but let's save that for another post.) As it is, I eat wings at least once a week.  In my opinion, there are very few things more satisfying in life than watching a ball game with a big bucket of spicy chicken wings.  How spicy?  I'm talking nuclear, tears-rolling-down-your-face, sweat-on-your-forehead, blow-out-your-colon spicy!

Why do I bring this up?  Because the Super Bowl is on Sunday and I'm getting ready to get my chow on.  I know it's only Wednesday but I've planned out my entire Sunday so that I'm ready when the game starts.  Seasoned vets know that you can't starve yourself all day and then sit down to eat 25 wings.  Total rookie mistake.  You need to pre-game, baby!

Serious eaters also know that if you sit down with a bucket of wings on an empty stomach, you'll be lucky to make it through a Baker's Dozen.  You need to be totally focused.  Planning and organization are the keys to success.  And shit, we all know that nobody is better at planning and organization than Asians.  Do you think it's any accident that the two greatest competive eaters of ALL-TIME (Takeru Kobayashi and Sonya Thomas) are Asian?  I think not. 

That's why, on Sunday, I've got my pre-game already mapped out.  In the morning, we're driving up to Harlem for some soul-food breakfast.  In the afternoon, we're going to Chinatown for a New Year's feast.  And right afterwards, we're jumping in the car to start gathering representative samples from all of New York City's best restaurants for wings.  By the time the Super Bowl starts, we'll be well on our way to stuffing ourselves in the name of science.

Crap, do you guys think I have an eating disorder?  I read recently that men get all sorts of eating disorders these days.  Did you know that?  Isn't that bizarre?  Surprisingly, it's not called bulimia though if a guy gets it.  It's called being gay! 

See, I can get away with that joke because I have several gay readers and they know I'm just joking.  I can also say it because I have a bunch of gay friends.  Actually, I'm just kidding.  I don't have ANY gay friends.  I used to have a few but they dropped me after I got married and had a kid.  Well, I think that's why they dropped me.  It could have been because they busted me in public wearing pleated jeans. 

Isn't it bizarre that if you have gay friends you can make gay jokes?  Why is sexual preference different from racial identity?  Because it always pisses me off when I hear someone make a black joke or an anti-semitic remark but then try to absolve themselves by saying, "Oh, it's ok.  I've got a lot of black (or Jewish) friends.  I'm cool."  Sorry, folks.  It doesn't work that way.  Get with the program. 

That reminds me of a routine I heard recently from stand-up comic Jo Koy.  He's got a hilarious bit about people finding out for the first time that he's Asian; "No way, dude!  You're Asian?  Really? That's awesome!  I fucking LOVE Orange Chicken!" 

Do you guys think I have ADD?  I just realized that I went from chicken wings to eating disorders to gay people to racial identity...and back to chicken again!  Right wing, left wing, Chicken Wing!  Boo ya!

Anyway, this post is starting to make less and less sense as time goes on.  I think my mind is a little influenced by the fact that "Lost" was a rerun so I've been watching last night's State of the Union while placing all my chicken orders for Sunday's feast.  Meanwhile, BossLady is by my side doing some work and every 5 minutes, I turn to her and yell, "I wish I knew how to quit you, Ennis!"  (See!  Still fucking funny!)

What's up with you, folks?  Any Super Bowl plans?  And more importantly, what's on the menu?  Not gay chicken, I hope!

The Peanut's Dol (Lessons in Multi-Culturalism)

For those of you who read the parenting blogs of my Korean Seoul Sisters (City Mama, Keepin It Real and honorary member by marriage Weigook Saram), you may already know that it's a very important Korean custom to honor a child's first birthday by having a celebration. This celebration is called a Dol.

In the past, due to a lack of medical information, the general state of poverty, and many childhood related diseases, the death rate for children in Korea was extremely high. Many children died before their first birthday. However, after the age of one year, the survival rate steeply increased, making this milestone a very happy one for the child's parents.

In modern times, due to the improvements in medicine, the influence of Western culture, and modern industrialization, the life expectancy reasons for the Tol celebration have been reduced. However, the event is still celebrated as a time of congratulations for the parents and family.

Anyway, this past Saturday, we had the Peanut's Dol. It was quite an affair. We took over an enormous private room in a Korean restaurant and had about 75 of our closest friends and family join us in celebrating my daughter's first birthday. There was an enormous buffet filled with Korean food, traditional desserts and a clown. What more could you want?

The highlight of the party was definitely the toljabee. This is a traditional event at any Dol that supposedly determines the future of the child based on the symbolic nature of what object she grabs from the choices laid out in front of her. In front of the Peanut, we laid out a bowl of rice (representing prosperity), money (wealth), some thread (longevity), a notebook (a scholarly life) and a pencil (an artistic/creative life). Dressed in a traditional Korean hanbok, the Peanut looked at the choices in front of her and went immediately for the bowl of the rice. When we mixed up the order of the choices, she went for the pencil. So hopefully this means that my lovely daughter is destined for a prosperous career as an artist.

But it was great celebrating such an important milestone with so many close friends and family. Seeing all the kids run around together made it even more special. The Peanut was in great form. And although she didn't get a nap in all day, she seemed to have a lot of fun running around the room and being kissed by so many people. And despite being pulled in so many different directions, I had a lot of fun too. In that room. With the lovely BossLady by my side. Surrounded by friends and family. And watching my daughter celebrate her first birthday. I couldn't have been happier. Truly a great time.

And holy shit! My daughter is almost one!

Who's yo daddy?

Regular readers know that I always like to give voice to parenting blogs written by new fathers.  The more, the merrier.  Not only do I enjoy hearing the different perspectives and stories that other men have regarding their kids but I also think there's a great sense of community among "Daddy Bloggers".  And while there are a million "Mommy blogs" prevalent througout the blogosphere, there are still only a handful of fathers out there writing about their experiences.  Nobody seems to know that we really even  exist.  But we're a tight community.  We all read and comment on each other's sites.  And we stumble across one another on a semi-regular basis.  To me, that's very cool.  But the coolest thing is that I think I would like all these guys even more if we met in person.   

Anyway, although I've mentioned some of these sites elsewhere, I thought I'd do it here on MetroDad.  So without further ado, here's my latest set of Props for the Pops...

Sweet Juniper
This blog is actually written by a couple, Dutch & Wood.  But they're so cool and iconoclastic that I literally find myself always waiting for one of them to post something new.  Dutch is the kind of guy I would hang out with cruising old record shops, harassing San Francisco yuppies or discussing politics and literature.  Wood is someone I could see spending the afternoon with at a cafe, drinking espressos and talking about China or our mutual addiction to fiber.  Together, they're raising the very cute and adorable Junebug.

Child's Play
Matthew started his blog a few months before his lovely wife gave birth to their ridiculously cute twins.  And although he's not a new Daddy blogger, he just got himself some fancy new digs and a new url.  What can I say about Matthew?  He's literally one of the nicest people that I've never met.  But not only is he a good guy but he also might be the only new father around who's even sappier than I am.  While I have to rein in my mushiness, I often find myself reading Matthew's posts and going "awwwwwwww!"  We like Matthew.  A lot. 

Shotgun Daddy
I don't know what to say here except that Hank is fucking cool (even though he went to Stanford.  Go Bears!)  He's an 8th-grade teacher, a fellow sports nut and a father to three beautiful kids.  Mostly though, he just loves telling great stories about his children.  Go visit him and, if you're a sports fan, be sure to check out his other sites as well. 

Not-For-Profit Dad
Another father of twins and the best thing to come out of D.C. since Michael Jordan.  NPD is a man equally devoted to his wife, his kids and his job.  It's fascinating watching him balance everything in his life.  Sometimes, I read him and feel like he's busier than Courtney Love's pharmacist.  But he's bright, insightful and intelligent.  Like me, he's a semi-regular blogger but you can always count on him for a good read. 

Mr. Big Dubya
Mr. Big Dubya survived Catholic school, a maritime academy and the army.  Not only did he score a perfect trifecta by surviving all three institutions, he then went on to get a degree in English Lit.  How cool is that?  And although he's a Red Sox fan by birth, I think you'll find him as funny and entertaining as I do.  Plus, he's as addicted to parenting blogs as I am! 

Because I'm Your Father
Alan is the resident DJ of the parenting blogosphere.  As a music artist manager based down in TN, his blog incorporates the three greatest loves of his life:  his wife, his baby son and music.  He's got a great-looking site and an even better-looking kid (keep him away from my daughter, dude!)

The Bean's Dad
This blog is written by a SAHD with a lovely little daughter who knows sign language and the way to her dad's heart.  I enjoy reading this blog because TBD will throw up anything that comes to mind.  Relatively new but very enjoyable.  I'm looking forward to reading more.   

The MisAdventures of a First Time Dad
Amateur Dad is another relatively new daddy blogger.  And as much as I enjoy reading his blog, he only posts about once a month.  He attempts to atone for this by putting up very very cute photos of his little girl.  But go over and tell him to get his lazy ass in gear. 

Clare's Dad
Clare's Dad is the newest member of the Daddy blogger community.  This is a new blog started by a Ct. father just a few short weeks ago.  Even though he's a Yankees fan, he seems to be a generally good guy.  Besides, he was named after a sitcom character, is an EX-lawyer, works in the theater and was a self-admitted geek in high school.  How could I not love a guy like that? 

Chocolate Makes It Better
We're stretching across the Pacific to introduce you to Chocolate, an Australian father of one (with another on the way.)  Based in Brisbane, Chocolate is a cool dad who writes lovingly about the wonderful experience of fatherhood.  Say hello to him and his pot-belly friend named Barry. 

Adventure Dad
If we're going across the Pacific for some linky love, then I also have to go trans-Atlantic and throw a shout out to Adventure Dad.  Although he's an ex-New Yorker, AD is now living in Sweden with his beautiful family and spends his free time participating in adventure sports, taking photographs and travelling.  Pretty rough life, eh?  He's a very cool guy and if you ask nicely, he'll show you the fjords. 

Pet Cobra
Last but not least, I've got to mention my San Diego buddy Jason again.  His blog is basically a cool amalgamation of whatever happens to be on his mind at the time...whether it's surfing on the weekend, ranting about Katrina, reviewing his favorite TV shows or telling stories about his son Lucas eating rocks.  He's by far the most reliable and consistent blogger out there.  If he doesn't put something up every day, his body literally goes into convulsions.  Ok, maybe not literally.  But you get the idea. 

That's it, folks.  Check these relatively new daddy blogs out and enjoy.  Also, here's the previous entry I wrote about my feelings about my fellow Daddy bloggers.  And if there are any new daddy bloggers out there that I missed, post a comment introducing yourself or shoot me an e-mail. 

Don't forget, my friends....Men who change diapers change the world (or at least that's what my wife keeps telling me.) 

(Update: Thanks to my own personal Daddy Blog guru, Jay for continuing to pay it forward and mentioning these new dads today over at Blogging Baby.)

Say hello to my little friend

A few months after the Peanut was born, I wrote a post about MY pregnancy weight.  The post was appropriately called "Hey, Dude.  Do my tits look bigger to you?".  Essentially, it chronicled the fact that I had gained over 15 pounds during the BossLady's pregnancy and the ensuing few months after the Peanut's birth. As it turns out, I wasn't the only new father to experience this phenomenon so I didn't pay it much mind, figuring the weight would magically disappear after a few months. 

Well, a little while ago, I noticed that the BossLady had lost all of her pregnancy weight but that I was still stuck with all of mine.  I'm 6' tall so I can carry a little extra weight but now when I'm sitting on the can, I find myself fascinated by this new little pot-belly friend of mine.  We're relatively unaccustomed to one another so I like jiggling him every once in a while to see how he'll react.  I haven't named him yet but I'm leaning towards "Hector" because I think that's a fun name for a pot belly. 

Anyway, with the Peanut's 1st birthday coming up, I decided that it was time to take drastic action.  Now, for those of you who don't know me, I'm one of those people who doesn't do anything half-assed.  So rather than gently ease into a new fitness regime, I went charging in headfirst.  Starting about a month ago, I cut out all carbs from my diet, limited my caloric intake and began working out like a madman.  I've been hitting the gym about 5 times per week and not only logging some serious miles but also lifting weights as well.  I've quit coffee and drink about a gallon of green tea per day.  And if I eat any more skinless chicken, I'm going to start clucking.      

I definitely do feel better.  So far, I've lost about 8 pounds.  And my body is starting to regain lean muscle mass and definition.  But guess what?  Hector's not fucking going anywhere!  It's like he's decided that my body is the perfect host environment.  We're like two gunslingers in the middle of a standoff.  I feel like a landlord trying to get rid of a deadbeat tenant who doesn't pay rent and sits on his ass all day drinking beer.  Regardless, there just ain't enough room in town for the both of us so one of us is going to have to leave.

I just hope it's him and not me.

And by the way, is it me or are we all getting older?  And just when exactly did that start happening?  I never got any notices in the mail.  Did you?  What the fuck?  I feel like I fell asleep by the pool at the age of 25 but woke up and noticed that I was almost 40.  Anyone else feeling me out there?  Shit, I'm hungry.  I haven't crapped in like three days.  I think I'd kill for a slice of pizza.  Or a big-ass juicy burger.  Fuck you, Hector!  You hear me?  Get the hell out of my house!   

Phew.  Ok.  I'm done now.  I think my blood sugar dropped there for a minute.  But I can't be the only parent or new dad out there struggling to get back into pre-progeny shape, can I?  What's the deal, people?  Will I make it back to shore or am I too far away from the beach?  Because ever since the Peanut was born, I feel like my metabolism has ground to a complete halt.  Why should the BossLady's pregnancy affect ME like that?  Was it all the breast milk I drank?

A Remembrance of Thanksgivings Past

Having grown up as a child of immigrant parents, I always eagerly anticipated celebrating the holidays like most of my classmates. Not that I knew how they actually celebrated the holidays but my perceptions were based on all the novels I'd read or films that I'd seen. In my mind, everyone was celebrating Hallmark-type family holidays except us.

Especially not us. And especially not on Thanksgiving. I do give my mother credit one year for giving into her child's desires and attempting to give me and my brother the Thanksgiving that we always wanted. I was about 6 and had been begging for a real turkey with all the trimmings. My mother, either in a fit of sympathy or a desire to end this whining once and for all, somehow decided that the best way to cook a turkey was to boil it. Needless to say, it was completely inedible. Of all the possible ways to cook a turkey, I think it's pretty safe to say that boiling it is definitely not the way to go. And I'm no gourmet chef but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to remove the feathers first.

Family lore has yet to decide whether she really was that bad of a cook or perhaps, in a move of cunning genius, she was feigning ignorance to ensure that she would never be asked to cook on Thanksgiving again. Either way, her cooking skills led us to decide to have Thanksgiving catered the following year. Apparently, my father had a good year at work and, in his usual manner, decided he could solve all our problems by throwing money at them. This worked out semi-ok. We actually had a real turkey with chestnut stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. On the surface, everything was great. But the sad thing was that all this food was prepared for only the four of us in my immediate family. And my parents not being great conversationialists, we mostly ate the meal in an awkward silence as complete strangers served us our meal. I think I spent most of Thanksgiving dinner under the kitchen table talking to one of the busboys. And I don't even speak Spanish.

After that Thanksgiving, we pretty much gave up. The holiday became just an excuse to have a week off from school in November. We celebrated the holiday by taking short vacations or ordering in some Chinese food (because they're the only ones open on major holidays). My brother and I usually ate quickly and retreated into our rooms to read together. And soon after, it became apparent that we might as well just give up on Thanksgiving. It wasn't really working out for us.

Now, I don't know if any of you have friends of Korean ancestry. But let me tell you something. Koreans hold grudges like elephants. If you cross one of them, they'll put a Fatwah on your ass faster than you can say Salman Rushdie. And family members are no exception to this rule. So growing up, my brother and I pretty much never had any interaction with relatives on either side of the family. Everyone was estranged from everyone! I bring this up only because my next Thanksgiving memory occured in my late 20's. By this time, we had renewed the annual dinner and our parents informed us that a few people would be joining us this year. Naturally, we asked who specifically would be joining us. Imagine our surprise when we learned that it would be my father's brother and two cousins WHOM WE NEVER EVEN KNEW EXISTED! Not only did we not know of their existence but it turned out that they lived about 20 minutes away from us and had been living there all of our lives. Since we were so used to the family dysfunction, this didn't really faze me or my brother. We were curious and looking forward to meeting these newly-discovered blood relatives.

Well, it became clear from the start that though we shared the same genetic code, our cousins were much different from us. We were all in our 20's then but that was pretty much where the similarities ended. Somehow, our cousins had become born-again Christians. They were newly bathed in the Glory of God and could not have been more different from me and my brother. While they were good-hearted people, we couldn't get them to open up or talk about ANY other subject besides church. Finally, my brother and I gave up and we started drowning ourselves in one of God's better creations...double scotches.

It was around this time that my brother and I decided to start our own annnual Thanksgiving celebration. We decided to have small post-Thanksgiving dinner parties at our apartment for any of our friends who were free to come by. And since there are more than a few dysfunctional families living in Manhattan, we'd usually end up having about 6-8 friends come over every year. Everyone brought over a bottle of wine or booze, and we'd just hang out and party until the wee hours of the morning. And like they say, friends are the family you choose. So for my brother and I, these were fun-filled festive Thanksgivings that we'll always cherish.

But now, life has changed. I have the greatest partner in life, the BossLady, and every day I realize how lucky we are to have found one another. Together, we're raising a beautiful, healthy 7-week old daughter who can melt the Devil's soul with her smile. And finally, after 36 years, I'm realizing that Thanksgiving isn''t about the turkey, the Pilgrims or a 4-day weekend. It's about taking time to realize all the things we really need to be thankful for. And with a loving wife and a new baby daughter, I realize every day just how much I have to be thankful for. By understanding this, I've learned that every day is Thanksgiving (just with less turkey and Pepto Bismol)

So from myself, the BossLady and the Peanut...Happy Thanksgiving, Internet! What are YOU thankful for?