MetroDad

Beyond the Blogosphere

BossLady and I have a very "eclectic" group of friends. 

Much of that may have to do with living in a diverse city like New York.  However, I think a greater part of it is due to the fact that we like meeting different kinds of people.  We enjoy encountering those off-beat individuals who choose to follow different paths in life, who march to the beat of their own drum, and who could care less about what others really think of them.  It's always with great love and enthusiasm that we embrace the weird, the wacky, and the wayward. 

Appearances can often be deceiving.  So, in hoping to move beyond the pale veneer of superficial impressions and scratch beneath the surface, we always make the effort to unearth the inner passions and interests that enthuse and invigorate people's lives. 

Learning that the quiet dude down the street is actually a gay poet who loves Macs and hasn't used a Microsoft product in 10 years?  Awesome!  Finding out that the straight-laced banker yuppie in the pinstriped suit reads comic books, paints watercolors and tutors kids in his spare time?  Cool!  Discovering that the tattooed redhead with multiple piercings is a doctor who actually loves getting high, playing Scrabble and reading Tolstoy!  Great!

In the coded "couples language" fortified by our years together, BossLady and I have several short-hand phrases that we employ when we meet someone that we think the other spouse will like. One of them is, "he's a total geek but he's OUR kind of geek."  Another is, "she's weird but COOL weird."  In fact, these are two of the highest compliments that we can give someone when meeting them for the first time. 

BossLady and I tend not to judge books by their cover.  We just like knowing that there's something real underneath.  Most people are afraid to show their true personalities to other people.  But I've always thought that life is too short for that sort of attitude.  Fly your freak flag!  Show your true colors!  Give me something REAL to grab onto!  Who cares what the fuck other people think?

In a way, that's what I like most about making friends in the blogosphere.  The artifice and superficial bullshit are often stripped away, revealing the personalities that we might not otherwise reveal to strangers.  It allows us to cut closer to the core and really get to know people better...what kinds of values they have, what their interests are, what they hold important in life or what cracks them up and tickles their funny bone.  And as you go deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, you learn something interesting---you learn that friendships made in the blogosphere ARE real.  As Wood said the other day, "You know you already like each other. Meeting them in person just confirms it."

Speaking of Wood, I had the great pleasure of meeting up with her, Dutch and their daughter Juniper last weekend while they were in New York City.  Regular readers know how much I love the Sweet Juniper family. So it's safe to say that few people were happier than I was to learn that they were coming here for a long weekend.  Though we'd never met before, I'd often suspected that, should the opportunity arise, I'd get along with them both famously. 

Since Wood was babysitting Juniper, Dutch and I made plans to meet on Saturday night.  We decided to meet at Chibi's, a cool little downtown Japanese sake bar (owned, appropriately enough, by a Dutch ex-pat who named the place in honor of her French bulldog.)  And needless to say, I had a great time hanging out with Dutch. Over a few carafes of cold sake, we spent hours talking about everything...blogging, parenting, careers, marriage, literature, childhoods.  In many ways, I felt like we'd been friends for ages (which, in a way, we had been...via our blogs) and the encounter really felt more like catching up with an old friend that I hadn't seen in a really long time. 

Sunday morning, the BossLady was unfortunately busy but Peanut and I got the chance to meet Wood and Juniper. Along with Dutch, we grabbed some coffee together in Tribeca. And as much as I had enjoyed meeting Dutch the night before, I also had a great time meeting Wood and Juniper.  Though our time together was brief, it was heartwarming to see Peanut and Juniper getting along famously as well. The two of them spent most of their time together hugging, kissing and feeding each other.  The cuteness was too much for words.

One day, many years in the future, when people ask them how they first met and became friends, maybe Peanut and Juniper will say, "Our parents met each other through their blogs."

And the two of them can look back and say that it all started right here...

      

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Chaos Theory (Part Deux)

Sometimes I feel like there are so many things I want to share with all of you but the topics are all so random that there's not enough cohesion to write a unifying post.  And lately I've been completely overwhelmed at work so I'm feeling a little scatter-brained.  Last time I felt like this, I decided to just let fly with a random stream-of-conciousness post. 

Well, in that same vein, I hereby offer you Part Deux...

ARE THERE ANY SEATS AVAILABLE IN FIRST CLASS?

The BossLady and I recently toured a daycare center in Manhattan that had a security guard, a metal detector and an x-ray machine.  I felt like I was going through security at LaGuardia Airport.  Does anyone else besides me find this a little unsettling?  Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm all for school safety but maybe now's a good time to consider moving to the suburbs? 

OK.  SO I PUT MY SHOES & WALLET ON THE CONVEYOR BELT AND WALK WHERE? 

Who am I kidding?  I can't move to the suburbs.  I hate long commutes.  I'm afraid of spiders.  And I'm completely useless as a handyman.  If I moved to the burbs, I'm sure people would just refer to me as "that weird Korean guy down the block."  There was an article in the NY Times recently about people who moved to the 'burbs for their kids, hated it, and made a quick retreat back into Manhattan.  One guy was telling some great anecdotes about adjusting to the change of pace and style in the suburbs.  He said all those neighborhood restaurants that look really cute and quaint when you're househunting actually have really crappy food and shitty service.  He could never get over the fact that people would actually stand in line for 15 minutes to buy a bagel or pay for the newspaper.  And he said that all his neighbors were like aliens.  On the outside, they all looked normal.  But on weekends, they'd put on pink polo shirts, drink O'Douls and spend hours and hours mowing their lawns!

AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T GET YOU "BAI LING BARBIE" OR "SHANGHAI SUZY!"

Recently, Caucasian friends of ours bought Peanut an Asian doll.  The doll's name is "Yang" and it's made by Corolle, a French company.  At first, BossLady and I were a little taken aback and we didn't know whether to get our race-sensitive feathers all ruffled.  It seemed like such a strange gift to give someone.  But now, after mulling it over, we think it's absolutely fantastic and we're so grateful that our friends got it for us.  The Peanut loves it and I'm genuinely glad that my daughter is growing up in a time when she's not restricted to only having dolls with blond hair and blue eyes.  I know this was a big issue for many of my Asian female friends when they were growing up so I'm pleased that the 21st century has brought us such HUGE advances (and yes, that was meant to be sarcastic.)

Why am I being sarcastic?  Because do you know that fucking Mattel has only made two Asian Barbie dolls?  One was "Kira," from the International Set.  The other was the collector's-edition "Fantasy Goddess of Asia" (Are you fucking kidding me?  Racist!)  Also, did you know that, every election year, Mattel releases a "Barbie for President" doll?  Three flavors of the campaigning dolls are always released, complete with smart suits and sensible, shoulder-length haircuts: Caucasian, Latina, and African-American.  Where's the love for my Asian sisters, Mattel? 

I HATE THE WOMEN THAT WOMEN HATE BUT MEN LOVE AND THE FACT THAT MEN LOVE THEM ONLY MAKES WOMEN HATE THEM MORE

Recently, two of my favorite female bloggers, Bacon Grease and Crazy Virgo posted some hating on Mariah Carey (read here & here.)  Now, as my lovely wife BossLady will attest, I can't stand Mariah Carey either.  Every time I see or hear her, I start ranting like a lunatic. I just don't get her...or her popularity.  Bill Simmons from ESPN has started a short list of famous people whom women love to hate.  On top of this list is Jennifer Love Hewitt.  Number two is Mariah Carey.  Now, maybe it's the metrosexual in me but I can't stand either one of these women either.  Sure, I liked "Party of Five" but I just don't get Jennifer Love Hewitt.  Can you imagine if you were dead and got to communicate with only one living person?  How totally disappointed would you be when you found out that person was Jennifer Love Hewitt? 

But I think women hate Mariah even more.  As Mr. Simmons wrote recently, "Just think, if Brad Pitt had dumped Jennifer Aniston for Mariah instead of Angelina, it would have potentially caused a riot -- he would have been blackballed by the entire female population. Not one of them would have forgave him. Poor Brad would have been the Hollywood version of O.J. But not only do women understand Angelina's appeal, many of them would probably make out with her if they were drunk enough. That's why this whole thing was somehow OK -- women don't like Angelina, they don't trust her, but they can't totally blame Pitt for what happened.  Nobody can resist Angelina!"    Ok, ladies, is this true?  And which women do you love to hate? 

GOOD LORD, I HAVEN'T HAD THIS MUCH FUN SINCE ELTON JOHN'S BACHELOR PARTY!

In a few weeks, I'm headed out to Las Vegas for a bachelor party.  Now, whereas in the past, this would have been cause for great celebration---I'm a husband and a father now.  And in all honesty, I really don't like being away from BossLady and the Peanut for that long.  I don't get enough time with them as it is and I truly cherish every single minute of our time together.  After all, how many bachelor parties can one go to in Vegas?  It's always the same old story...load up on drinks, have an awesome meal, play blackjack until 4:00 am, win a little money, sleep in until noon, rent a bungalow poolside at the Hard Rock, play some golf, go to the spa, laugh with my buddies, and bask in some warm weather.  HOLY CRAP!  What was I thinking?  If I ever turn down an invitation to a bachelor party in Vegas, smack some sense into me, ok?  Woo hoo!  Let's go!  Mama needs a new pair of shoes!  (By the way, if any of you are in Vegas and happen to see a 6' Asian guy in a 10-gallon black cowboy hat playing craps, just tap me on the shoulder and yell loudly, "I wish I knew how to quit you, Ennis!".)

IF YOU LIKED THE MOVIE, YOU'LL LOVE THE ACCESSORIES!

I'm just kidding.  I don't really wear cowboy hats at the tables in Vegas.  That was just a "Brokeback Mountain" joke that fell a little flat.  I apologize for not making that clear.  It's just that I can't stop running around my apartment these days and yelling, "I wish I knew how to quit you, Ennis!"  (Let the record state that neither my wife, my daughter, my nanny, my superintendent, the Verizon repairman nor the Chinese food delivery guy think it's very funny.   I, on the other hand, think it's absolutely hilarious.) 

DROOLING THE DROOL OF REGRET INTO THE PILLOW OF REMORSE

The BossLady always wonders why it is that I so very rarely regret anything I've ever done.  The answer I always give her is that I think that life is too short to be constantly dwelling on the past.  We all make mistakes in life.  And I always feel that my time is better spent reflecting on my mistakes and thinking about what I can learn from them in order to avoid making the same types of mistakes in the future.  This philosphy has worked out well for me.  But recently, we've been touring daycare centers around Manhattan.  And you know what I regret?  I regret not buying a plasma TV, a fur hat and a toy robot before I had a child.  Holy crap!  With the cost of affordable daycare skyrocketing, I think I'll be brownbagging it for the next 30-40 years!  Brother, can you spare a dime?

WANT TO SPLIT THIS M&M I FOUND ON THE FLOOR?  WHOA!!!  THAT'S NOT AN M&M!  BY THE WAY, HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU?  AND KEEP RUBBING MY SCALP.  THAT FEELS REALLY GOOD!

Recently, a company called Baby Loves Disco has been organizing children's events in several nightclubs around NYC.  The events take place on Saturday afternoons and generally attract kids up to the age of four.  The premise is that kids naturally love dancing, flashing lights and bubble machines---so why not bring in some DJs and let the kids have some fun?  A few of the clubs have even brought in some big-name DJs to mix up pop-disco hits and some underground house music.  This generally sounds like a good idea.  But I've been to these clubs and I can only imagine it will be a matter of time before a little girl hands a hit of Ecstasy to one of her parents and says, "Mommy, Mommy!  What's this?  Is it candy?  I like candy.  Can I eat it?"  Maybe I'm a little paranoid but I think this business plan needs a little more work.

THE BIGGEST BOMB SINCE "ISHTAR"

I desperately try to not make my daughter's poop a subject on this blog.  Unfortunately, I've already shared so many tales with you about her Total Ass Explosions and her Whopper malted milk-ball turds.  So I might as well tell you that, the other day, BossLady was changing the Peanut's diaper.  All of sudden I heard, "Honey!  Come here!  QUICK!"  In a panic, I ran over to the two of them, only to see the LARGEST CRAP EVER in the Peanut's diaper!!!  Sure, we were used to some big turds.  But this was just a giant mass of poo!  It had no shape or definition.  It was just a huge array of poo!  Internets, how come none of you warned me about this?  WE HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS COMING!

WHAT ABOUT A SITCOM REVOLVING AROUND A NEUROTIC JEWISH COMIC WHO WORKS IN AN E.R.?  OR MAYBE A REALITY SHOW WHERE WE REPLACE THE LEAD SINGER OF QUEEN BY HAVING AN ICE-SKATING COMPETITION AND THE CONTESTANTS HAVE TO EAT BUGS? 

I'm not too proud to admit that I enjoy watching my fair share of television.  It's ironic because, as a parent, I am adamantly anti-television.  Although the Peanut is 15 months old, I've yet to allow her to zone out in front of Baby Einstein, cartoons or kids shows.  When we have free time together, I read to her.  We play on the floor.  We''ll go to the playground.  Or we'll take long walks around the city.  I figure that she'll discover television when she gets to elementary school and all her peers are talking about certain shows.  But that's a road we'll cross much later. 

But when she's in her crib and fast asleep?  Well, shit!  Grab the chips and toss me the remote, bitch!  This work/parenting thing can be exhausting.  Many a night, I just want to sit in front of the tube and zone out.

Unfortunately, there's a lot of crap on TV these days.  Half the shows are amalgamations of previously successful formats ("Well, they liked 'Dancing with the Stars.'  Why don't we do 'Skating with Celebrities'?")  But man, somebody needs to put me in charge of network television programming.  Because I've got a lot of thoughts on the subject.  In fact, I can sum up the entire demise of network television in precisely four words.  You know what those words are?  Emily's. Reasons. Why. Not.

That show had crapola written all over it.  I literally told BossLady that the show would be lucky to last a single episode and, sure enough, it was cancelled immediately after its premiere.  But, tell me, people!  What's going to be cleared up first?  My hemmorhoids or "Freddie?"  And who's the brainiac that thought anyone would possibly be interested in "The Book of Daniel," "Crumbs," or "Jake in Progress?"  Seriously?  This crap is making me long for the days of "Cop Rock" and "That's so Raven!"

Ok, folks.  I'm done now.  As always, feel free to comment on any/all of the above.  I know it's all a little random, disjointed and schizophrenic...but that's how I'm feeling these days.  Mazel Tov!

The Lost Arts

I wrote a post last week over at DadCentric about the lost art of the mixed cocktail. .  Aside from the fact that the post got me thinking about turning the Peanut's diaper-changing table into a homemade mini bar, it also got me thinking about other lost arts..like the hand-written thank you note, the two-handed bounce pass, and the hand job. (Just kidding.  Sort of. Ok, not really. Whatever!)

Anyway…I think I'm stating the obvious when I say, "the times, man.  They are a changing."  But seriously, I think that there are quite a few significant socio-cultural traditions in America that are starting to lose significant ground and may soon become extinct.  I think that by the time the Peanut hits 18 and I bring up any of these so-called "lost arts," she's going to look at me as if I'm totally crazy.

So, while I was sitting on the can today, I started thinking about other so-called "lost arts."  Here's what I've come up with so far...

The Lost Art of Lunching

Approximately once every two months, I meet my buddy Kyle for lunch.  He works in a relatively nearby office so, occasionally, we’ll phone one another up to to grab a sandwich and shoot the shit.  But the rest of the time?  I either go to the deli downstairs and find something to eat at my desk or I bring my lunch from home and eat it at my desk.  The whole process usually takes about 10 minutes.  Clearly, the days of steak sandwiches and a few martinis are over.  But does anyone take a full hour anymore?  Are we, as a society, so rushed that we can’t even sit down and eat a proper meal during the workday anymore?  Because honestly? I feel like pretty soon, we'll all just be shooting up Big Macs in the backroom during our pee breaks.

The Lost Art of the Bender

These days, the only time that you generally hear about people consuming copious amounts of alcohol is when the conversation turns to the growing trend of binge drinking (the weekly act of high school and college kids boozing it up until they pass out, solely for the sake of entertainment.) But what if you have a deeper, darker desire?  What if, in a time of great personal sorrow or despair, you simply wish to escape, disappear from sight and drink unrepentantly for a long period of time?  What if you feel the need to vanish from the planet for a “lost” weekend?  Then, my friends, you plan on going on a bender. 

Now, is it me or has the bender been forgotten as a semi-legitimate form of self-exploration?  Because I’ll be honest with you, folks.  There have been a few times in my life where therapy and the comfort of loved ones haven’t always been enough to soothe my soul.  I wouldn’t prescribe it for everyone but there’s something to be said for grieving via a bottle. But I feel society frowns upon it now.  So, is the bender as a form of self-therapy dead?  Has it been replaced by Prozac nation?  Jut wondering.

The Lost Art of Talking Trash

When I was a kid growing up and playing competitive sports, talking trash was often an integral part of the sub-culture.  Many times, it was the battle within the war.  With a few well-chosen words, you could get inside your opponent’s head and gain a subtle advantage.  Sure, it was part braggadocio.  But it was also part entertainment.  And make no mistake, talking trash was an art form. Guys like Charles Barkley, Muhammad Ali, and Reggie Jackson were the Van Goghs, Picassos and Rembrandts of the genre. 

But now, it seems that political correctness has decried that talking trash is uncivilized and has no part in competitive sports.  Furthermore, now you not only have crazed parents in the stands, ready to jump down and attack people but, if you someone is perceivably disrespected, you're also likely to get shot!  Too bad.  Because talking trash is like great poetry.  And I hope that the time comes again when instead of admiring guys do idiotic TD dances in the end zone, we'll have more eloquent spokesmen like Reggie Jackson (who after all, uttered the following: "The only reason I really don't like playing in the World Series is 'cause I can't watch myself play."

The Lost Art of Hitchhiking

When I was in my teens and early 20’s, I used to hitchhike all the time.  Now, I’m not talking about thumbing it across country like Tom Robbins’ Sissy Hankshaw.  But there was many a summer when I was working in rural Pennsylvania or Massachusetts when I would get around town simply by thumbing a ride.  It was cheap and you never knew when you were going to meet someone interesting.  But somewhere along the line, something changed. Somehow, hitchhikers became synonymous with criminals (even though they were more likely to be the victims of a crime.) And somehow, we began to trust our fellow brethren less and less. Nowadays?  I can’t even remember the last time I saw a hitchhiker. 

But hitchhiking is an interesting experience.  Do you know what its like to be alone on the side of the road, putting your faith in the kindness of strangers?  Sure, there’s always the slightest hint of fear (which probably makes it a little more exciting.)  But picking up a hitchhiker truly is a random act of kindness.  And you know what?  We don’t see too enough of those these days.

The Lost Art of the Crank Call

When Caller ID was first introduced to the public, it’s safe to say that few people were happier than I was.  At the time, I was single and in my early 20’s.  I won’t go into all the details but let’s just say that I was a horrible dater.  If I went out with a woman a few times and I no longer wanted to see her again?  I would simply employ technology to disappear off the face of the planet.  My friends used to refer to it as the “Total Media Blackout.”   

Now, I wasn’t necessarily proud of those times but, in all honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to pull them off without Caller ID.  God, I loved Caller ID.  Still do.  Without it, I would NEVER answer my phone.  But with every technological advance, it seems that something irreplaceable has been lost along the way.  For me, it’s the lost art of the crank call. 

I’m not talking of those asinine crank calls like, “hello?  Is Mike Hunt there?”  That’s juvenile frat-boy behavior.  No, the prank calls my young friends and I did were more cunning and Chekhovian in nature. 

Growing up, one of our favorites involved going through the neighborhood directories and crank calling strangers. 

Victim: "Hello?"

Me: "Hi.  Is this William T. Gibson?"

Victim: "Yes, it is."

Me: "William Gibson in Manhattan?”

Victim: "Yes."

Me: "At 1249 Broadway?"

Victim: "That's right."

Me: "Phone number 555-1212?"

Victim: "Yes."

Me: "Well crap, I must have the wrong number. Sorry!"

Victim: "Ok.  No problem!" *

We used to make calls like this ALL THE TIME and never--not once--did anyone ever notice anything odd about the conversation.  Sadly, the Peanut will never be able to follow in her father's footsteps. Because of Caller ID, the fun aspects of telephonic anonymity are long gone.  Alas, the age of innocent pranks may be gone with it.  The age of innocent fun has died as well.

(*Upon further contemplation, this type of prank call may have had more in common with Beckett than Chekhov.  I'll leave it to my man Dutch to correct me if I'm wrong.)

Again, this may be another case of an old man reminiscing about his youth.  But what do you think?  And are there any other "lost arts" that you think your child will never get to witness?  As always, an inquiring mind wants to know. 

Let's hug it out, Bitch!

I was somewhat reluctant to post about this because it feels a little like I'm using the blog to pimp for something. And when I started this site, I swore to myself that I would never do that.  However, it's for a good cause that's very close to my heart so, after considerable debate, I decided that I'm going to cross over the line.  Anyone got a problem with that, you know what you can do to yourself. 

As some of you may know, I lost one of my best friends on 9/11.  I've written about Andy before and though it's been more than 4 years since he passed away, I still think about him all the time.  To remember his spirit and honor his memory, a few of us have started a charity in his name.  The sole purpose of the charity is to provide mentoring and scholarships to numerous New York City public-school kids.  So far, the charity has proven to be a remarkable success and we've been able to help many kids extend their horizons and imagine possibilities beyond their wildest dreams.

I mention all of this now for two reasons.  One, because as the year comes to an end, many people may be looking for non-profit charities to donate to for tax purposes.  Many of you may also have companies who match charitable contributions.  If you are feeling so inclined, I ask only that you read about the Andrew Golkin Memorial Fund and consider making a donation.

Second, for any of you that are in NYC, we're holding our annual benefit cocktail party tonight at Diane von Furstenberg's private studio.  Tickets are available at the door from 7-10 pm.   We've collected some very cool items for our auction this year.  So if you're interested, come downtown tonight, get really drunk and bid on some of the following items:

• A walk-on role in an episode of HBO's "ENTOURAGE"
• Two tickets to the 2006 Grammys and private after-party.
• Front-row seats to various film premieres, fashion shows and concerts.
  
• Original artwork by Charles Gwathmey, Julie Mehretu, and Oscar de la Renta.
• Season tickets to the Jets, Giants, Rangers and Knicks.

Those are just a few of the many cool items we're auctioning off.  If you want to know what else is available, you're going to have to come down to the event! 

Thanks for your support. 

MetroDad will return to its normally scheduled programming of poop jokes, brain farts, rants and raves later this week.   This message has  been brought to you by the fine folks at Johnnie Walker. 

Giving Thanks

During the past week over at DadCentric, I’ve been writing about the bizarre history of past Thanksgivings.  I’ve also posted about how, for me, Turducken symbolizes all that is great about America. 

But as I sit here tonight in Dallas, stuffed out of my gourd and staring ay my MIL’s collection of refrigerator magnet business cards,  I'm thinking about what Thanksgiving really means to me.  In a year that has witnessed a country at war, the loss of countless American lives and several natural disasters of epic proportions, I think that this Thanksgiving stands out as a time when we should all truly think about the things for which to be thankful.  Whether large or small, there are many things in life that we all both respect and appreciate.  Here’s my 2005 short list…

MAJOR DOMO...

A happy & healthy family.  The Peanut was only 7 weeks old last Thanksgiving.  Now, she’s a beautiful and healthy 13-month-old girl who loves nothing more than to scamper around all over the place at full speed.  Not only am I thrilled to see her running and climbing, I’m thankful that everyone in her family is well enough to run and climb alongside her.  May we all continue to keep up with her as the years go by.

A dysfunctional family.  Sure, they’re all healthy but man, nobody drives me nuts like my family.  But, at the end of the day, you’re stuck with them.  And likewise, they’re stuck with you.  So…this Thanksgiving?  As we all sit around with our crazy uncles, our psychotic aunts and our senile grandparents?  Remember...you are not alone!  And as the years go by?  Who knows?  YOU might be that crazy uncle or psychotic aunt! 

My friends.  Coming from an incredibly small yet remarkably dysfunctional family, I’ve always had extremely close friendships and I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that friends are the family that you get to choose.  I have great friends.  They’re smart, funny, interesting and caring.  And for the most part, I’ve known many of them forever.  I realize how rare that is and I’m thankful to have all of them be a part of my past, present and future. 

My wife.  Before I met the BossLady, I was becoming somewhat comfortable with the idea that I might be alone for the rest of my life.  It wasn’t that I hadn’t met any beautiful or interesting women.  It was just that I hadn’t found one with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.  I was living a fairly independent life and I was cherishing all the freedom.  Besides, I can be a moody, goofy, strange and eclectic motherfucker.  Maybe I was better off alone.  But then, the BossLady came into my life and turned it upside down.  Meeting my soul mate and learning what it means to commit our lives to one another is something for which I’ll always be thankful.  Sharing parenthood with her makes it even more special.

NOT TO BE DISMISSED LIGHTLY…

Role models (v. 2005).  Kudos and respect to Pat Tillman, Chuck Hagel, Sandra Day O’Connor, Lance Armstrong and George Galloway.  One day, I’ll tell my daughter stories about all of you.  I’ll explain to her that no human is perfect and how, as individuals, you all had your faults.  But I’ll also explain to her how all of you stayed true to your beliefs, always spoke your mind, never took shit from anyone and, if necessary, took your licks to remain faithful to your own ideals and principles.  I’ll tell her your stories and explain how, in Daddy’s opinion, right ultimately prevails over might. 

Hope, faith and charity.  First, there was the Asian tsunami.  Then, there was Katrina.  And right after that?  The earthquake in Pakistan.  After each and every natural disaster, Americans consistently reached into their hearts, their pockets and their souls to assist those who desperately needed our help.  As a nation, we may have a ways to go before we are able to adequately tackle society's problems, both at home and abroad.  However, as individuals, we proved once again that there are few people as selfless and generous as us.   

Only 25 months until we have a new president.  Liberal or conservative, it’s hard to imagine how anyone can be supremely enthusiastic about our current president.  I’m not talking about partisan politics or party loyalty.  I’m talking about a general dearth of leaders in this country.  Where are the leaders who will inspire us as a nation?  Who will motivate us to greater heights?  Because while I would never disrespect the office of the presidency, I eagerly look forward to the next election and hope that we can achieve some sort of paradigm shift in our selection.  From top to bottom, we deserve far better from those who seek to represent us. 

My fellow passengers on Flt. #1137.  I am so sorry that my daughter’s overtiredness caused her to be so cranky during the entire flight from NY.  I apologize profusely.  I cannot believe how incredibly patient and understanding all of you were.  While your advice was greatly appreciated, I continue to be blown away by your kindness.  Thanks for truly embracing the holiday spirit and being so amazingly cool.

MINOR BLESSINGS.  Roasted chestnuts.  The return of Fiona Apple.  TiVo. Good books read by the fireplace.  Homemade pumpkin pie.  Pitchers and catchers reporting for spring training in 3 months.  Regular bowel movements. The decreasing popularity of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears.  Grandparents.  And new babies. 

So on this day of stuffing our faces and watching football with our weird relatives, may we all remember how lucky we truly are.  May we all remember to help those around us in need.  And may we all remember that health, love and friendship are never to be taken for granted. 

From all of us to all of you…Happy Thanksgiving to you and your families!

Dadcentric

I'm pleased to announce that a bunch of the boys and I have gotten together and launched a new website to write about fatherhood.  It's called DadCentric. 

Aside from myself, I'm joined by an illustrious group of fathers.  Many of them are probably familiar to you.  We've got Chris of Rude Cactus, Tony of Cheeky's Hideaway, Jason of Pet Cobra, Chag of Cynical Dad, Peter of Chocolate Makes it Better, Warren of Mr. Big Dubya, and WhiffleBoy. 

Although there are a lot of Mommy and Parenting sites, there's not a whole lot out there for the other half of the parenting equation. So several of us got together to create a site for dads. What you'll find there are tips, stories, advice, reviews, links, and blather...all related to the noble art and science of fathering (and all written with a sense of humor.)  Of course, none of us have any professional experience that qualifies us as experts on fathering.  It's more like a forum or roundtable for discussion.  But it's pretty cool and I think you'll enjoy it.  Go over and check us out. 

Most of the other dads are much more prolific than I am.  I'll mostly be posting a lot of my sporadic brain farts and random musings on fatherhood over there.  In fact, if you want to hear some of my invaluable contributions to the site so far, you're more than welcome to go over and read...

My profound thoughts on the topic of circumcision

How I learned to stop worrying and love "the bomb"

The lengths men will go to protect their daughters

So stop by for a visit, say hello to the boys and come back to tell me what you think!   

Brown is the new black, Kanye is the new Lennon & 37 is the new 25

So...not to make a big deal out of it or anything but, this Sunday, I'll be turning 37 years old.  I'm not entirely sure how that's possible because I could swear it was only yesterday that I was just a young man wearing leather pants and running around the city.  But I checked my passport again and, sure enough, it's not a typo.  I'm definitely turning 37. 

But do you want to know the truth?  I'm really totally cool with turning 37.  Normally, I'm fairly introspective on the eve of any birthday.  But this year, I've probably been less reflective than any other year.  Turning 37 just doesn't seem to be much of a life-defining milestone for me now. 

When I turned 18, I thought it was great. In my youthful state of naivete, I mistakenly thought being eligible for the draft signified some sort of actual entry into adulthood.  Ha!

Turning 21 was also semi-eventful but only because I could drink without getting hassled (not that big of a deal but I guess I handled it better than some people.) 

Then, of course, came 25, which had all the melodramatic Sturm und Drag of the whole "Oohh...I'm a quarter of a century."

On the eve of my 30th birthday, I actually was fairly reflective.  I spent quite a bit of time trying to take stock of my affairs and contemplating how I wanted to lead the rest of my life. 

At 35, I did a little more of the same.  But it was much different because, at 35, I was pretty comfortable with whom I had become and, most importantly, I'd already found the love of my life (Yes, that's YOU, honey!)

So now I'm turning 37.  I've got a great wife and a beautiful child.  Both make me happier than I probably deserve to be.  I know I'm a lucky guy and, if you know me at all, you also know that I don't take anything for granted.  At heart, I'll always be a strangely cynical pessimist.  But what can I say?  Even I've got to admit that life is pretty good.  I've got a roof over my head.  There are a couple of steaks in the freezer.  And when I take off my shirt, I can still see my penis without holding my gut in.   

In general, I don't really know what it means to turn 37 and I've had a tough time being able to gain any real perspective on it.  So, as usual, I thought I'd make out a few lists to try and clarify things for myself. 

Here are some other 37 year-olds who make me feel kind of young and cool

Ashley Judd
Owen Wilson
Tony Hawk
Cuba Gooding Jr.
Kyle Minogue
Naomi Watts
Halle Berry
Will Smith
Billy Zane

Here are some people that (for one reason or another) I CANNOT believe are also 37

Gary Coleman
Mary Lou Retton
Celine Dion
Toni Braxton
Carnie Wilson
Ricky Lake
Barry Sanders
Vanilla Ice
Margaret Cho
Sammy Sosa

Here are some things I did when I was 25 that I'd still like to do now (if only I weren't 37)

• Grab a beer, pack the bong & rub one out every night before the 11:00 pm SportsCenter.

• Consider the celery in my Bloody Mary to be my Saturday morning breakfast.

• Fit into the aforementioned leather pants.

• Eat dinner every night over the kitchen sink.

• Spend entire weekend days lounging in bed, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and doing the NYT Sunday crossword puzzle.

• Slather Tabasco sauce on everything from pizzas to french fries to salads.

• Ski the bumps, play full-court hoops, or run 10 miles without feeling like "Big Puss"  took a tire iron to my knees.    

 

That's a relatively short list.  So basically, I guess it only reconfirms the fact that I'm feeling pretty comfortable with turning 37.  I've come to accept many things about my life and I'm totally cool with them.  I know now that I'll never fulfill my dream of pitching for the Mets.  I'll never be the youngest Mayor of New York City.  I'm not going to walk on the moon.  I probably won't be getting that PhD in history.  And I think it's pretty safe to say that I'll never be the Asian Eddie Vedder (in fact, I've probably got a better chance of being the Black Neil Diamond.) 

But I can also look back on my life so far without any major regrets.  And though there's always room for self-improvement, I know I'm trying hard every day to become the best man, husband and father that I can be.  While I may not lead my life according to the principles of any organized religion, I know I'll always be faithful to The Code.

So on the eve of my 37th birthday, I leave you the wise words of my main role model, Homer Simpson...

 "I used to rock and roll all night and everyday. Then it was every other day. Now I’m lucky to find a have an hour a week in which to get funky."

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Cold Fucking Turkey!

For the past few months, I've promised myself that I was going to quit smoking cigarettes.  But seeing as how I was going to be spending 8 days in France (the unofficial home of smokers worldwide), I thought it would be best to hold off on quitting until I got back home to NYC. 

Well, I'm home now and today is officially my 2nd day as a non-smoker.  No patch.  No gum.  No medication.  Just cold fucking turkey, man! 

Now, personally, the main problem with my quitting cigarettes is that I don't really want to quit.  I LOVE smoking cigarettes.  They relax the hell out of me and they go great with coffee and scotch.  Besides, I happen to look very cool smoking.  (I know.  Totally superficial.  But I'm only half kidding.  If you ever saw me smoke, you'd want to start smoking too.  I'm really good at it.) 

Even more unfortunately, I've got a freakishly abnormal cardiovascular system so smoking has never really affected my wind.  Sometimes, I'd sit in a cafe, smoke half a pack, go to the gym, play ball for a few hours, and then come out and smoke the other half pack.  Back in the day, I sometimes even carried cigarettes with me when I went out for a 5-mile run.

Now before anyone gets all holier-than-thou on me, let me just interject here and state that I've never smoked a cigarette anywhere near my little daughter.  Not even outside.  Not anyplace where she could even see me smoking.  For me, there's nothing more despicable than seeing a mother pushing a stroller with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth.  Absolutely disgusting and completely immoral. 

But it's ironic because I'm quitting smoking basically for two reasons and both involve my daughter.  The first reason is because I love spending time with her and I want to ensure that I live as long as possible so that we can continue to hang out together for many years.  Even though I still think I'm immortal, I figure it's best to play the safe odds.   

The second reason I'm quitting is because I need to get life insurance.  Now, as any man can attest, there's nothing quite like getting life insurance to make you feel as if your youth is behind you.  Sure, marriage, joint checking accounts, sore knees, a VP promotion, fatherhood and 529 planning all make a guy feel older.  But getting life insurance?  That's like getting bitch slapped by middle age.  It's more than a little disarming.  But duty and responsibility dictate that I plan for any worst-case scenario to ensure that the Peanut is not fiscally affected by my death.  It comes part and parcel with my job as the Peanut's protector. 

So back to my smoking.  It's Day 2, how am I doing?  Really, it's hard to tell.  I'm too busy shoving food in my mouth.  Seriously.  My appetite has multiplied exponentially.  It's like I've got a parasite inside me (and I think his name is Phillip Morris.)  When I'm not hungry, I go through periods where I want to take someone's head off.  Or bang my head against a wall. 

Someone suggested I try carrots but I can't figure out how to light the damn fuckers.  Oh well.  Anyone else got any other words of advice, encouragement or abuse?   

 

Leaving Las Vegas

Thanks for the e-mails wondering whether I've fallen under something heavy and couldn't reach my laptop. All is well here in MetroLand. I've just been in Las Vegas for the past 4 days on business. I'll give more details in another post. But right now, it's 10:00 pm and I'm getting ready to jump on the red-eye flight back to New York.

This is the longest I've been away from the Peanut since she was born and I miss her and the BossLady terribly. I'm not sure what the cognitive memory skills of a 10-month old baby are but I hope she still remembers me and doesn't scream when she wakes up at 6:00 am to see this strange man kissing her tiny little head. Lord, I miss that little kid.

Brothers in Arms

Happy Father's Day to all my parenting brethren!!!

This being my first Father's Day, I'm understandably experiencing a slight case of sappiness. For those of you who came here expecting some of my occasional snarkiness, I'm afraid that I'm going to disappoint today. You see, on Friday, the awesome women at Peanut's daycare gave me a card when I came to pick up my lovely 8-month old daughter after work. They had fingerpainted my daughter's handprints all over a large piece of paper. On the top of the card, they wrote "Happy Father's Day." But on the bottom, they had written "These little hands hold all the love in the world for you." Oh man, I know my little baby didn't write out the card but I was so touched that I swear my eyes practically welled with tears. (I know, fatherhood has really fucking softened me up. But you knew this about me already, remember?)

So like I was saying, this is my first Father's Day. And whereas in the past, the day was merely a reason for me to buy my pops a steak dinner and give him a new putter or golf shirt, things are completely different today. Because although it may be selfish, today is the day that I celebrate how much I absolutely love being a father. I always thought that I would love having a kid and I've always loved being around children. But now, it's different. Fatherhood has changed me. I never realized that I had the capacity to love someone in the way that I love my daughter. I never knew that, in one singular moment, my entire life's priorities could change so quickly. I never imagined that being a father would become, by far, the most important aspect of my life. I never realized the amount of joy that I would get from one child's smile.

But most importantly, I'm proud of the fact that I think I'm turning into the father that I've always wanted to be. As regular readers of this blog know, I've always had a somewhat rocky relationship with my own father. There's a cultural/generational/personality gap that's made it tough to have the kind of relationship that I'd always hoped we'd have. After years of tumult, we've finally learned to coexist in a somewhat copacetic manner. But as my shrink says, the greatest fathers are usually those that had bad role models. Well, I hope so. Because I expect greater things out of my relationship with my daughter. And I know it all starts with me. I don't take fatherhood lightly. I think about it quite a bit. I read about it a lot. And I question myself at every step of the journey. Aside from being quite introspective about it, I'm always actively seeking out other people's advice. That's part of the reason for this blog. I like throwing out topics that are on my mind and getting some feedback from various perspectives.

Anyway...they say that "men who change diapers change the world." And while I'm pretty sure that a woman came up with that phrase, I do think there's a modicum of truth in it. Personally, I think it's a pretty interesting time to be a father now. I really dig the idea that we're more involved with our kids than previous generations of fathers seemed to have been. It's not always easy but, like they say, few things in life that are worth having come easy.

So to all my fellow dads out there? This Bud's for you. Enjoy the cheesy ties and giant bottles of cologne. Revel in the fingerpaint drawings, the homemade ashtrays and the handmade pencil holders. And while you may hear it from your kids. You may even hear it from your wives. Let me be the first guy to say to you...

Happy Father's Day! (Pretty fucking cool, isn't it?)