MetroDad

It Takes a Village: Questions for Other Parents

How many times can a grown man watch "The Sound of Music" with his daughter before he completely loses his sanity?

What are the future ramifications if a young girl watches "The Sound of Music" 43,287 times between the ages of two and four? Will she want to move to Austria? Pursue a career in child services? Abandon a career in the nunnery?

Why do toddlers feel compelled to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper? Is the fun in watching it unroll or in watching your parents go completely bonkers?

Is baby perfume really necessary? Febreeze and scented baby wipes seem to work just fine for us.

If you are otherwise happy with your nanny, should it matter that her cellphone's ringtone is Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me?"

McDonalds Happy Meals: Ruthless case of aggressive fast-food marketing? Or greatest parenting tool ever?

If a little girl in the playground keeps pushing your adorable daughter to the ground, is it acceptable to give her an eating disorder? Or should I just confuse her by threatening to kick her in the nuts?

Is it wrong to feel completely smug and self-righteous when your kid is the only one not screaming and crying during the entire 5-hour plane ride?

Am I the only one who listens patiently to other people's boring parenting stories, waiting until they're done so I can tell my own boring parenting stories? 

By constantly telling kids to "use their words," are we raising the next generation of wussies?

Why would anyone let their pre-school son get a mohawk? Is life just not that interesting for him anymore? Is he rebelling? Against what? Vegetables?

Wait a second. High fructose corn syrup isn't just like corn? Uh-oh.

Why does everyone freak out about potty training? Do you have any adult friends who "just never quite got the hang of it?"

Anyone have any tips on how to get my toddler to take a bath? These nightly battles are driving me crazy. I'm thinking about throwing Happy Meals in the bathtub to entice her. It makes me feel like a lion tamer.

At what age do children learn to carry their own tissues and blow their own damn noses? I'm getting really sick of reaching into every single pair of my pants and pulling out a half-used snot-ridden emergency tissue.

Has anyone else gone into an important client meeting and taken out their laptop to do a PowerPoint presentation, only to find it covered with 50 Cinderella stickers?

Is it really possible for a human being to greatly enjoy a food but then one day decide never to eat it again? Or is that done solely to drive one's father insane?

What lasts longer? That fresh new baby smell or that fresh new car smell? I'm just wondering because my car still smells pretty good but my daughter's feet smell like vinegar.

Why do the worst tantrums always occur in the most public spaces with the most number of spectators?

The screaming and the whining. Does it EVER end?

Your answers to any of these questions are greatly appreciated. Feel free to add your own. Sometimes I think it really does take a village.

Long Live the Asian Leprechaun!!!

Thanks for sharing all your embarrassing childhood family stories.

Not only did I laugh my ass off reading all of them but I also now feel much better knowing I wasn't the only kid with a bowl haircut who grew up riding a girl's bicycle while wearing orange corduroys and eating a kimchi sandwich.

So many of you submitted so many great stories that had me both laughing and cringing at the same time: Crapping your pants in your dad's police car. Boys being dressed in their older sisters' hand-me-downs. Getting your hair cut by your mother in a style that can best be described as Romulan-meets-Caveman. Having your parents show naked pictures of you to all your friends. Watching in horror as your mother comes to your school dressed as a clown. Opening your lunch box in school only to find a giant pig's foot in it. And let's not forget all the shocking training bra stories!

The list goes on and on. It's a wonder that ANY of us ever survived our childhoods, isn't it?

However, as with any contest such as this, there can only be one winner. And like most of you, the clear winner for me was Stephen Joyce's traumatic tale of going to school on St. Patrick's Day dressed like a leprechaun:

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"Wow, this is like reading my life story. Like you, I try to play a bigger role in the raising of my two daughters and I sometimes wonder what kind of impact I'm having on their formative minds."

"Anyway, the story that always brings tears of laughter to my wife is the one of my very first St. Patrick's Day. My family moved from Malaysia to Canada in 1977 and it was my very first year at a public school. Since the tradition for St. Patrick's Day is to wear something green, my Mom thought it would be great if I went to school in an all green outfit, oh heck, how about a leprechaun outfit."

"Yep, that's right, my Mom sewed me a full on leprechaun outfit complete with a little hat and shoes, all made out of felt. Did I mention the green tights. Needless to say, there is nothing quite as hilarious to a group of second graders than a little Asian kid wearing green tights and walking around in the miserable March rains wearing green felt slippers. For added embarrassment, my second grade teacher ask me to stand on my chair so that all the kids could have a good look at my costume. Nice."

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All hail the Asian Leprechaun! Congrats, Stephen. With a story like that, you deserve a great prize. E-mail me your shipping address. You are now the proud winner of (1) a brand-new Phillips Senseo Single-Serve Coffee Pod System (2) a DVD of the hit comedy "Borat", and (3) an autographed poster of Mandy Moore.

Now, for some quick housecleaning...

(1) I've always hated the way that this site looks. Long-time readers may remember that the previous style of this site was even worse and was best described as looking like a pumpkin threw up on a pile of poo. As for this template, is it me or is it really hard to read? The font seems small and it's hard to read against a grey background, isn't it? What's your opinion? All I care about is the writing. How can I make this site as easy to read as possible?

(2) I also would love to have a new banner. However, if you haven't guessed already, I'm completely design illiterate when it comes to anything related to computers. That's why I'm coming to all of you for help. So many of you are so incredibly talented when it comes to this stuff. How about we have a contest? Design a banner that you think would be great for this site. I'll pick my favorites and put up the finalists for a vote.

The winner will receive (1) a brand-new Apple Shuffle, (2) a full ensemble of work-out/casual athletic clothing, and (3) a $50 American Express gift certificate.

E-mail me your entries over the next few weeks. Let's see what you've got! Feel free to pass the word along.

(3) If any of you are interested, here's a brief interview I did with the lovely Karen Cheng, Australia's version of Dooce, Design Sponge, and Smitten Kitchen all rolled up into one. Karen is an amazing blogger who apparently gets more traffic than google. Read her site and you'll quickly see why.

(3) One last thing...Valentine's Day is coming up. For those of you with kids, how the hell do you find a babysitter? And do you think it's true that nothing says "I love you" like a big-ass plasma television for the bedroom? Or is that kind of like the time Homer gave Marge a bowling ball for her birthday?

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"It's a Hard Knock Life"

Little Asian Orphan Annie and her dog, Sandy

I threw on the tux, put on a bald skull cap, and went as Daddy Warbucks while Peanut ran around singing "Tomorrow" at the top of her lungs. Non-stop hilarity ensued.

Best costume idea for a kid was my buddy "Tulse Luper" who dressed up his two-year-old curly-haired daughter as 1970's Bjorn Borg replete with Fila headband and junior Donnay racket.

What did you or your kids dress up as for Halloween this year?

Parenting: The Last Laugh

I think most of you know that while I take parenting pretty seriously, the one thing that I DON'T take seriously is myself. 

I mention this because it seems that many of today's parenting discussions have become very serious and somber.  You can't joke or make fun of ANYTHING anymore!  In fact, I read recently that adopted children no longer wish to be called "adoptees" anymore.  Can you believe that?  They all got together and decided that they now wish to be referred to as Asians! 

Now, somewhere out there, there's an adoptive parent getting ready to shoot me an angry e-mail. And I want you to listen to me...walk away from the computer, it was a joke.  A bad joke.  Let it go. It was just a comment on how pathetically neurotic we've all become over our own little pieces of turf.

Anyway, I bring this up because I've found that nowhere are the humorless more rampant than on today's parenting message boards. 

As I mentioned before, when the Peanut was first born, I used to hang out over on the UrbanBaby message boards.  At first, I went there seeking advice but after seeing so many judgmental people criticizing other people's parenting choices, I decided it would be fun to start messing with them and their self-righteous attitudes. 

Like pretending to be a woman and starting a thread asking whether it was ok for me to stop breastfeeding my 16-year-old.

Or the time when I read that all these mothers were planning to attend the "Million Mom March" and I wrote a comment saying, ""hey ladies, while you’re all up, can you get me a beer?"

Pretty funny, right? 

Not to some people.  Apparently, parenthood makes some people completely lose their sense of humor!  Man, I got flamed off that board so quickly, my head is still spinning!

How did we get to this point in contemporary America?  When did we become so damn serious about parenting that we stopped seeing the forest for the trees?  C'mon, folks.  Parenting is supposed to be fun.  Sure, it's stressful but that doesn't mean that we can't make light of it, does it? 

If I had more free time, I'd spend my entire day going onto these parenting forums and inciting them.  Unfortunately, I'm too busy leaving my child in front of the television with a set of steak knives while I drink scotch and watch baseball all day. 

Thankfully, I have my buddy Mark.

Although Mark is childless, he and I share the same sense of humor.  He also generally agrees with my assessment that most people have lost perspective on their lives and don't realize that their "BIG ISSUES" are really just the privileged whines of people with too much time or money on their hands (or, as my buddy James calls them, "high class problems.")

Anyway, whenever Mark has free time, he loves going on the Washington Post message boards and messing with all the indignant and self-righteous parents who take EVERYTHING so seriously.  I have to admit.  Reading his comments always leaves me giggling like a little school girl. 

Want to read some of his most recent work?  Check it out... 

On a discussion about the whole Club Libby Lu "controversy," Mark wrote:

"I am taking my 10 year old twin girls to a shooting range so they can take NRA courses on gun handling. Personally I think this type of activity counters the tween marketing hype and the Club Libby Lu phenomenon. Also, on the drive home, we talk about strategies for shooting and target ID at laser tag and, when they are older, paint ball events. I put my foot down when both girls asked that instead of donating their Barbies and Bratz dolls to charity can they use them for target practice...I said no.

I wonder if I am countering all the good I am doing by allowing them to wear lip gloss on the range."

Another time, there was a ridiculously heated parenting discussion about when a child should get a cell phone.  Here's Mark's comment:

"Here in TriChester (Tribeca: The new Westchester) we try to make sure both the moms pushing their $800 strollers and the child have matching phones and the child knows how to text message.

At PS 234, part of the reading and writing classes for third graders are BlackBerry techniques. The school, located in one of the wealthiest zip codes on earth, wants parents to donate their old BlackBerry's so no child is left behind other entitled children.

It is never too soon to begin to use those thumbs."

Proving that when it comes to parenting, the aggressively childless (aka "the anti-breeders") can be just as humorless, Mark found a forum of childless people complaining how they have to constantly pick up the slack at work for their co-worker parents. Again, here's his comment. 

"I am sorry but it is HARD being a working parent and if you are not a parent you should help to pick up the slack for the parents of the world. That’s your role to serve those of us who breed.

My wife is lucky she is allowed to work from home and raise our twin daughters. She is a senior girl with an escort service and is on outcall three days a week. I have a full time job but my boss understands. So when my wife has an outcall during the day, my boss lets me work from home. It is a blessing to be able to have conference calls and watch Barbie and Trixie play and feed them. And usually the outcall is only for a couple hours so when my wife comes home, we can both parent. And her boss lets her do phone chats and online video work from home as well. We are so lucky.

You may ask why my boss and co-workers are supportive. Well my wife throws my boss a freebie now and then, but it totally makes my working and parenting so much better. The girls have full time parenting!

So you childless adults shut up and help us all raise the next generation right."

See why we're friends?  And don't you agree with me that he really needs to start his own blog?  I think he should call it "The Caustic Caucasian" or "The White Shadow."  C'mon, you'd read him, wouldn't you?   

Anyway, is it me or do many of you find that we've turned parenting into such a serious topic that we can no longer joke about ANYTHING?  Because really, parenting is a hard enough job as it is.  A good sense of humor can go a looooong way. 

Gotta run.  My daughter is trying to flush the dog down the toilet!

The Omen: Damien Lives In My Hood!

Three posts in one week!  I do believe that's an all-time record for this blog! 

Not because I don't have much to say but because, these days, I spend most of my free time trying to figure out whether my lovely daughter is schizophrenic or just exhibiting normal two-year-old behavior ("I love you! Come here! Gimme a donut! Go away! That's mine! I don't like you! Kiss me!  Get out!")

I'll save the details about the Peanut's bi-polarity for a future post.  Today, I'm writing because I have some incredible news to share with all of you good readers.  Not just any news but the kind of life-altering event that makes you look at the world from a whole new perspective.   Ready for it?

This week, I looked evil straight in the eye and I survived to tell the tale!

See...every day when I pick up the Peanut from daycare, the two of us love to sit on the stoop outside our building and wait for BossLady to come home.  While we wait, we play all these fun games together. 

For example, on our block, there's a deli with a window facing out on the street.  Peanut and I both think it's the acme of belly-aching hilarity when I throw her up in the air so that when the people inside the deli look out the window, all they see is a flying 2-year-old coming out of nowhere.  Every time I toss her up and she's suspended in mid-air, she waves at everyone inside and yells, "Hi!"

Another game we play is called, "Is THAT your mommy?"  We sit side by side and I point at random women and ask Peanut whether that's her mommy.

The other day, I pointed to a woman that we know from the neighborhood.  As soon as I asked Peanut, "Is that your mommy?", her 7-year-old son came running up to me and, in a truly demonic voice (at least 5 octaves lower than any normal pre-pubescent child,) screamed, "NO!  THAT'S MY MOMMMMMMY!" 

Then?  He reached across both my arms and scratched them so hard with his claws that he drew blood!

The little shit then runs back to his mother (who doesn't do a damn thing!) and turns to shoot me the most terrifyingly evil stare I've ever seen in my 38 years on this planet (and remember, I'm Korean.  Nobody on the planet gives death stares like Koreans.)  

I swear the look on this kid's face and the sheer hate spewing from his eyes sent shivers through my bones.  If evil has a face, I'm pretty sure this was it.  Three days later, I'm STILL having nightmares about it. 

Everyone in the neighborhood knows he's a weird kid with a lot of issues but it's only now that I'm realizing that he may truly be the Antichrist.  I've already sent out e-mails to all my neighbors advising them to keep a close eye on their pets and I plan on warning all the local priests as well. 

When I tell some of my friends this story, their normal response is, "Ha Ha, you're so funny, Pierre!  I'm sure the kid isn't THAT bad!  You're just exaggerating." 

Oh yeah?  Well then, how come the kid's best friend is a fucking hamster with a knife in its forehead?  How come his eyes glow red?  Why does he chop the heads off his stuffed animals?  Why is that whenever he's near me, I hear lightening and thunder?  And isn't that ever-present baseball cap on his head just there to cover up the horns?

Ok, so I made some of that shit up but am I really overreacting?  After all, Ted Bundy killed his first victim at the age of 14.  And everyone knows that kids are growing up faster these days, right? 

Have any of you ever met a kid that you felt sure was going to grow up and be a complete sociopath?  One who bore more than a faint resemblance to the Antichrist?

What should I do?  Check his head for the sign of the beast?  Look for horns?  Stock up on holy water?  Hang onion and garlic on my front door?  Buy everyone I love some Armor of God PJs?  Alert the authorities?   

Please help, dear readers!  I really love our neighborhood and I don't want to move because of young Satan!

Metropolitan Diary

Setting: A restaurant in downtown Manhattan.

Dramatis Personae: Twelve parents, all with children under the age of 3. 

As the delirium of a rare child-free evening is coupled with copious amounts of beer and sake, one of the aforementioned diners subconsciously begins humming the song "Elmo's World" underneath his breath.  Soon, the entire table is loudly singing along like a bunch of inebriated Christmas carolers.  Shortly thereafter, the group is raucously singing the theme song to "Wonder Pets."  John Mayer and Jessica Simpson are sitting nearby and abruptly leave, apparently disgusted by the lack of hipness being displayed at the adjoining table. 

We’re not too big
And we’re not too strong
But when we work together
We’ve got the right stuff

What's gonna work?
Teamwork!

For our next gathering, we plan on singing the theme song to "Bear in the Big Blue House" and "Dora the Explorer."  If things get really crazy, we might even do the dance-floor version of "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes (Knees & Toes!)

Hipster parents, indeed!

On a side note...remember when you were younger and you couldn't get that stupid song out of your head?  Maybe it was Hansen's "MmmBop" or "Macarena?"  Hell, I remember one time where I almost started hitting my head with a fucking hammer because I couldn't get "I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie woooorrrrllld!" out of my head.  Anyway, is it me or are those annoying songs that fill your head now all mostly kid's songs? 

Because right now, the only music in my head is that duet by Bert & Ernie, "What's the Name of That Song?"  All day long, I'm singing, "La di da di da, La di da di da." 

Send help!

Housebreaking 101: Dogs & Babies Need Not Apply

You know how television commercials always show parents waking up by slowly stretching out their arms and luxuriantly getting out of bed while the warm bask of the morning sun envelops them?  As they put on their imported Turkish bathrobes and enter their enormous kitchens, they're greeted by the aromatic pleasures of freshly-brewed coffee and some buttery croissants.  In the background, you can frequently hear the dulcet sounds of a cooing baby. 

Needless to say, BossLady and I don't wake up like that.

These days, we've been waking up to the sounds of a two-year-old girl screaming at the top of her lungs, "Mommy!  Daddy!  Come 'ere!  Come 'ere NOW!" 

And the aromatic smell with which we're awakened?  Lately, it's the pleasurable aroma of a pile of steaming hot dog shit. 

Yeah...just like on TV, man.

I don't know what's gotten into MetroDog lately.  Maybe he's getting older.  Maybe he's dealing with some personal issues.  However, for some reason, he just can't seem to make it through the night anymore.  He's only five years old so it's hard to imagine he's getting incontinent.  In dog years, he and I are about the same age.  Shit, if I can make it through the night, why can't he?

When we first got MetroDog, we had a tough time housebreaking him.  It's not like we had a backyard where he could roam around.  Learning how to poop on a New York City curb is fucking tough.  Cars, fire engines, and dump trucks are rumbling by and dozens of people are watching your every move.  For a few months, BossLady and I would take MetroDog out every morning and would end up walking around for hours before he finally pooped.

Finally, a dog trainer suggested that whenever we walked outside the building, we should just insert a paper matchstick up his butt (the dog's butt, not the trainer's.)  The act of anally pushing out the match would force the poop out of MetroDog and train him to go in the same location every day. 

Man, have you ever tried to stick a match up a dog's butt?  It is not fucking easy.  The first few times we tried it, the fire kept going out before he would poop. 

(Chill out, PETA people. That was a joke!)

Actually, that little Dog Whisperer trick totally ended up working.  And to this day, whenever I'm feeling a little constipated, BossLady will just hold up a match stick and start laughing.  Yep, works for humans too!

When it comes to the Peanut, BossLady and I are taking a fairly low-key approach to toilet training.  Basically, that means we're leaving it up to Sesame Street (as usual.)  Between "Elmo's Potty Time" DVD and the "Ernie's Too Big for Diapers" book, we figure we're covered.

The Peanut's only two so we don't want to start pressuring her.  However, our low-key approach seems to be having an effect and it appears we're getting her closer to being potty trained.  Or at least potty-aware.  Just last week, we were chilling out and eating dim sum in Chinatown with a bunch of friends when the Peanut ran up to me, pointed at her butt, and yelled, "POOP, Daddy, POOP!  Let's go!"

Unfortunately, her yelling "POOP" didn't mean she was READY to poop but rather that she already HAD pooped.  But that's cool.  Baby steps, man.  Baby steps.  That's what I keep telling myself. 

One inadvertent and highly entertaining repercussion of toilet training the Peanut is that she is now completely obsessed with watching both BossLady and I go to the bathroom.  It's not like we encourage it but, any time that one of us enters the bathroom, the Peanut is right there with us.  Most of the time, she just likes to watch us do our business.  However, sometimes if we're sitting on the toilet, she likes to lift one of our cheeks out of the way or spread our legs open so she can peer into the toilet bowl and get a better view.  Not really my cup of tea but what can you do?  Kids are natural scientists in certain ways.

You should see how unbelievably happy she becomes whenever she sees a piece of crap in there.  It's like Christmas and her birthday wrapped up in one.  Her face lights up and she actually squeals with sheer delight.  Sometimes if nothing comes out, I almost feel like I'm letting her down.  How crazy is that? 

But hey---if it makes my lovely daughter happy, I'll push a little harder in the hope that I can at least squeeze out a little turd.  We'll do anything for our kids, right? 

Anyway I recently decided that, in the grand scheme of toilet training, I'm going to defer all future lessons to the BossLady and start closing the door when I go to the bathroom.  I think, in this instance, Daddy's involvement is only confusing the issue. 

Why do I say this? 

Because yesterday I asked the Peanut if she had to go to the potty.  She enthusiastically said, "Yes, Daddy.  I go pee-pee!"  Bridling with excitement, we both ran to the bathroom, where the Peanut immediately pulled down her pants and tried to pee...standing up!

You know...just when I think I have this parenting thing down pat, something comes up and bites me in the ass.  But really, isn't that half the fun of it all? 

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Apparently, someone decided that it’s National Delurking Week. In other words, if you read any blogs regularly but don’t comment on them, now's the time to come out of the woods and say hello.  So to all you lurkers, feel free to make your presence known and let me know you're out there. 

Normally I'm not a big fan of this group-think blog mentality but I figure as long as nobody uses the word "blogosphere," we're cool.

The Holiday Wrap-Up

(1) Aside from the fact that I will never get used to seeing Christmas lights on Palm trees, being in Palm Beach for the holidays was like celebrating the minute differences between the median and the mean. 

(2) Half the time, we got great weather.  Half the time, it was overcast and crappy.  On the flight down, Peanut was a nightmare.  On the way home, she was an angel.  Sometimes she'd let me sleep late.  Other times, she'd wake me up by smacking my head with a book at 7:00 am.  Half the time, she was charming the pants off everyone in the Sun Belt.  The other half, she was terrorizing the world around her.  Aahh...to be two years old and control everything in your entire universe.  THAT'S power, my friends.      

(3) The Peanut now refers to my parents as Babba and Nana.  Since their entire existence currently revolves around golf and their granddaughter, this was possibly the greatest thing to happen to them since Calloway (or as they say in Korean, "Carroray") invented the Big Bertha driver.

(4) Although the Peanut is in that awesome phase where she can generally repeat anything you say to her, for some reason she cannot pronounce the word "Uncle."  So, one night at dinner, BossLady leaned over to the Peanut and said, "Can you call him Tio?"  Of course the name stuck.  So my pale-faced Korean-American brother is now referred to as Tio.  The irony of this is fantastic since my brother has always greeted out-of-town visitors by saying, "Bienvenido a Nuevo York!  Habla Espanol?" 

(5) Holiday Thumbs Up:  "Dreamgirls," David Foster Wallace's "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," Matthew Kneale's "Small Crimes in an Age of Abundance,"  Claire Messud's "The Emperor's Children," NAS' "Hip Hop Is Dead," and the complete DVD set of Aaron Sorkin's "Sports Night." 

(6) Holiday Thumbs Down: Ali Smith's "The Accidental."  Not sure whether this was an exercise in mastubatory self-indulgence or an experiment in post-modern literature.  However, the book has no plot, no ending, and I just wanted to smack every character in the head with a mallet.  NY Giants head coach Tom Coughlin could also use some mallet smacking. 

(7)  BossLady and I have always been very romantic with our Christmas gifts to one another.  Since we both grew up in immigrant homes where personal gifts were never exchanged, we tend to overcompensate.  In past years, we'd spend months searching for those special gifts that would truly capture and express our love for one another.  However, this year, we decided that nothing really says "I love you" like a bad-ass motherfucking giant HD plasma television and a home theater system that can shake the shit out of your neighbor!  Boo ya! 

(Since our current television is 20 years old, weighs 800 lbs, and is partly made out of wood, I'm like a kid in a candy store.  I may never read another book again!)

(8) The Peanut received a fantastic toy kitchen that I think might actually be bigger than our real kitchen.  Her obsession with kitchens has been growing exponentially and we are utterly perplexed by it.  Our own kitchen is used so infrequently that I actually store my ski boots and goggles in the oven.  However, I will say that having your daughter sit you down so that she can cook you an imaginary pizza while asking you if you would like some milk is quite possibly the funnest thing to do in the world.  The best part?  Last night, after our fake meal, she spent 20 minutes pretending to wash the dishes. 

(9) Since we have the world's greatest babysitter, she offered to spend New Year's Eve overnight at our place with the Peanut so that BossLady and I could go out for the evening.  Since we had no idea whether this opportunity would ever happen again, BossLady and I booked a hotel room and decided we were going to party all night like those crazy college kids.  We ended up grabbing some pizza for dinner and joining some friends at a truly great 80's-themed New Year's Eve party being held at a private club.  The theme was "Enchantment Under The Sea" (anyone remember the reference?) and I'm not sure which was better:  seeing all the incredible costumes (big props to our waiter Billy Idol and the two gay guys dressed up in the original Wham! costumes) or playing Name That Tune after every song and singing every single word to every single song by New Order, The Cure, Tom Tom Club, Run DMC, and Depeche Mode !

(10)  I'm 38 years old and it's clear that I don't bounce back like I used to.  After dragging myself out of the hotel at 2:00 pm and going straight to McDonalds, I spent the rest of New Year's Day in my bathrobe making canine figurines out of Play-Do and watching  "Bear in the Big Blue House" with the Peanut.  I was so hungover that I could barely understand what Treelo and Tutter were talking about.  And the whole thing with their friend Shadow scared the crap out of me.  She's so existentially frightening, it's like she's a Kafka character. 

I ended up putting the Peanut to bed early and then tried to watch the movie "Layer Cake" but I couldn't understand the Cockney accents so I dragged my sorry ass to bed and swore that I'd never drink again. 

Of course, it's now three days later and I'm feeling MUCH better.  In fact, I'm feeling so much better that I'm off to a local bar where Greg, Tony, LOD and I are going to get drunk and rub Liz's pregnant belly while feeding her french fries and ice cream!

What's up with all of you?

Quotalicious!

As many of you know, sleep and I have a somewhat tenuous relationship.  Whereas the Peanut tends to fall asleep by 7:30, BossLady usually starts getting yawny around 10:00 pm.  Hence, I usually have about 4 hours to myself every night, a time that I use to voraciously consume as much news, sports and pop culture before I vomit like a bulimic Chuck Klosterman.  Whether I've gorged on TV, the 50 magazines I subscribe to, or any of the 3 books that I tend to read simultaneously, I often come across some interesting quotes, both funny and serious, that I thought I'd share with all of you (along, of course, with my normal two-cent commentary.) 

''Mothers don't lie to their sons. Now go wash your hands or Santa's not gonna bring you anything for Christmas.''---Lynette on "Desperate Housewives."

When the Peanut was born, BossLady and I swore that we would never lie to her.  We wanted to have an open relationship with our daughter that would never be influenced by dishonesty or deception.  Unfortunately, the Terrible Twos are testing the limits of that commitment.  Right now, getting the Peanut into her stroller is like wrestling a penguin into a dress.  It's virtually fucking impossible.  Last week, in a moment of weakness, I turned to the Peanut and said, "C'mon, kid, just jump in the stroller. Elmo's downstairs waiting for us."  However, the lovely BossLady informed me that false promises of furry red monsters technically constitute a lie so I'd better start coming up with some new tricks. 

So what did I come up with?  Now, I walk around with cheese in my pocket so I can bribe her at a moment's notice (I should mark it "unwrap in case of emergency.)  Seriously. Even right now at the office, I have some in my pocket.  Because shit, if I can't use deception, all I've got left is bribery.

Please tell me I'm not the only one doing this! 

And honestly, if anyone had told me 10 years ago (when I was so full of myself and my hip urban lifestyle) that I would one day be carrying cheese in my pocket, I probably would have smacked them in the head with something. 

Most likely my beret. 

'Feminist author Linda Hirshman is here. I'll explain to her that a woman needs a man like a fish needs to be cooked and served to me for dinner by a woman on a bicycle.''---Stephen Colbert

It's interesting how a single article in an elite policy magazine can set off a battle between working mothers and those who choose to stay at home (i.e. "the Mommy Wars.")  For those of you late to the party, Hirshman has argued that women who are "letting their careers slide to tend the home fires" are making a DRASTIC mistake. Now, I'm personally of the belief that if you can afford to stay home, more kudos to you.  Either way, there's certainly no need to attack a woman's personal choice, Ms. Hirshman.  Shame on you. I do have to say that, in light of everything going on in the world, this VERY IMPORTANT ISSUE bores the crap out of me and is indicative of what my friend James like to call "high-class problems." 

Hell, BossLady is one of the smartest women I know.  She's an Ivy League grad and has the loan payments to prove it.  Would she love to stay at home?  Of course!  However, her decision to work shouldn't be equated with feminism but rather with what is right for our individual family.  After all, without her income, I'd be forced to drink cheap scotch, cut my own hair, and forgo foie gras.  So mind your own business, Linda Hirshman, and stay the hell out of my uterus!

''In her divorce petition, Denise Richards alleges Charlie Sheen is addicted to gambling, pornography, and prostitutes, all of which make him an unfit father...but a great uncle.''---David Spade

MetroBro is a great uncle.  Being a writer/filmmaker/artist, he has been entrusted with our daughter's aesthetic upbringing (like Uncle Buck! But with culture!)  Growing up, neither one of us had any uncles (at least none that we saw more than once every 20 years) so it's interesting watching him morph into unfamiliar territory. When Peanut was first born, I would frequently get phone calls from my childless friends who would say that they ran into my brother at a lounge at 3:00 in the morning and he immediately started whipping out baby photos like the proud uncle that he is.  Why am I mentioning all this?  Because I need a babysitter next Friday night, I can't get a hold of him, and I know he'll read this.  C'mon, dude.  Help a brother out! I'll even throw in a free dinner, some weed, and you don't have to walk the dog!

“How badly our enemies underestimated the power and endurance of freedom. In less than three years, we have more than just plans on paper—we place here today the cornerstone, the foundation of a new tower."---George Pataki in 2004 (as read in last week's New Yorker)

We live a short 4 blocks away from Ground Zero.  Were I a little younger, I could go on our building's roof, throw a baseball and hit the tarnished site.  I mention this because 2 years after Pataki's statement and more than 5 years after 9/11, they have only now begun to start construction on Freedom Tower. As has been abundantly documented, the bungling of this project has turned into an egregious example of bureaucracy and politics in action.   By the end of the day on September 11, 2001, it was clear that the terrorists’ act had enormous symbolic power in the eyes of the world, and it was also clear that whatever arose at Ground Zero should make an equally important symbolic statement of its own.  Sadly, we may find that instead of inspiring us and representing our values, the Tower will now represent the giant clusterfuck known as Politics In America.

''Your virtue is a gift. It is a gift you can give to only one man. Once you give it, it's gone. You can't regift it. If you give it to the wrong man, when the right one comes along, you'll have no gift to give. You'll have to give him a sweater.''---Rev. Boatwright on "Gilmore Girls"

For most of my life, there are certain groups whom I've always poked fun at...crazy old women with cats, white wanna-be gangsters, the French.  Also included in this group were knitters.  I was always scared by their pathological tendencies.  One day, they're knitting scarves.  The next day, they're making life-size replicas of a Ferrari. 

Well, as it turns out, the BossLady has become a knitter.

And like everything the BossLady does when she decides to do something, she does it full force.  For the past two weeks, she's dragged me to various yarn stores, shown me every Pantone color known to mankind, and researched every pattern under the stars.  She knits during her lunch hour, on the subway, and last night, I caught her knitting on the toilet. Just kidding.  Sort of.  Anyway, she just started a sweater for me and, in only two days, she's about 10% done.  It's like she's knitting on crystal meth. I think it's wonderful that she's making me this sweater but I think I'd rather have her spend more time giving up her virtue. 

''I forget: which Jane Austen novel was Taxicab Confessions adapted from?''---Amanda Peet on "Studio 60" when a writer informs her that HBO is the only place for "literate" television.

I've always been a fan of Aaron Sorkin's work on television.  Yes, I know his writing is often pedantic and egocentric but whenever I watch his shows, it restores my faith in television as a medium.  Network television doesn't always have to be dumb people shouting at briefcases ("Deal or No Deal") or watching Emmitt Smith tarnish his legacy by doing the polka ("Dancing with the Stars.")  No, sometimes great television can transcend all that crap.  So, needless to say, I love Studio 60.  I love the spitfire dialogue, the quick wit, and the bantering repartee.  The acting is also impressive (especially Sarah Paulson as Harriet Hayes.)  And while I will agree with Amy/Tracey that Aaron Sorkin can be absurdly pompous and derisive, it's nice to see some quality television for a change that won't insult my intelligence.   

Interestingly, I think television is undergoing a great renaissance right now.  It seems that there's more quality television being aired now than there has been for a very long time.  I personally know that our Tivo/DVR is working overtime to record not only Studio 60 but also The Wire, Friday Night Lights, House, The Office, Smith, Shark, and CSI.  I haven't been interested in that many shows in years. They all share the main commonality of being intelligent and very well-written, characteristics that are becoming virtually extinct on network television.  And while these aforementioned shows have achieved considerable critical successes, it's sadly disappointing to see that they are suffering poorly in the ratings and may not be around for much longer.  Perhaps intelligent television, as we know it, is destined for the scrap heap as we (as a society) continue to succumb to the lowest common denominator.  What's next?  The death of literature? 

Anyway, bitches, I've got to run.  "Laguna Beach" is about to start! 

(Can't wait to see what neurotic Kyndra wears next.  That bitch be crazee with her leopard tops and tight-ass skirts.  And, OMG, did anyone catch that gnarly convo between Alex and Rocky last week?  How bitchin' was that?)

Lists I made during today's daily commute

It's only Monday but I feel like it's already been a long week.  Damn!  Since I didn't want to dump or unleash my problems and stresses onto you guys, I decided to just post random thoughts that occured to me during today's commute on NYC's finest subways.  Here's 15 minutes of nothing....

FIVE THINGS I DEEPLY REGRET HAVING TAUGHT MY DAUGHTER

1. Picking your nose and wiping the boogers on your shoe.
2. Feeding leftovers to the dog.
3. Taking the batteries out of the remote control.
4. Splashing in the bathtub.
5. Wet willies.

FIVE THINGS I TAUGHT HER THAT ARE STUPID BUT HIGHLY AWESOME

1. Giving people a high-five while saying, "Up top, yo!"
2. Bras make great hats.
3. Panties on your head are even funnier.   
4. Running around, pointing to your ass and yelling, "Poop!  Poop!" (even when you haven't.)
5. Waking her mother up by sticking your finger in her belly button. 

FIVE THOUGHTS ABOUT "BLUE'S CLUES"

1. I find myself mesmerized by Joe's eyebrows.  Is it me or are they freakishly bushy?   
2. Whenever BossLady refuses to do something, I pretend to write in a notebook. 
3. I always thought Blue was a guy but then I saw him/her in a bikini. Blew my fucking mind. 
4. I know a job is a job, "Joe," but why take one that all but guarantees a life of celibacy? 
5. I think watching "Sesame Street" on mushrooms would be fun but "Blue's Clues" would scare the shit out of me.

FIVE QUESTIONS ABOUT "SESAME STREET"

1. Are Bert & Ernie (a) roommates, (b) brothers, or (c) totally gay? 
2. What the fuck happened to Snuffleupagus?  Did someone put a hit on him? 
3. Who owns Hoopers?  Some rich dude driving a Cadillac who lives in the suburbs?
4. Are the Birdketeers and the Grouchketeers like the Crips and the Bloods of Sesame Street?
5. Was there any lingering bitterness when Kermit left to front his own show and become a big Hollywood movie star? 

FIVE PEOPLE ON THE SUBWAY WHO PISSED ME OFF TODAY

1. The leg-spreader.
2. Smelly guy eating an Egg McMuffin next to me.
3. Hairy armpit-in-my-face woman.
4. Sneezy guy who didn't cover his nose.
5. Crazy Chinese woman knitting a sweater with her needles just inches from my face. 

FIVE PEOPLE ON THE SUBWAY WHO MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH NYC ALL OVER AGAIN

1. Cool, arty older woman who let me work on the Sunday NYT crossword with her.
2. Funny Orthodox Jewish homeboy freestyling raps about sheckels and kippas. 
3. Scary black dude whom I busted listening to Whitney's "I'm Every Woman" on his ipod. 
4. Conservative blonde WASP banker-type woman who gave the homeless guy her sandwich. 
5. Incredibly fragile 85-year old gentleman kindly offering his seat to a young pregnant woman. 

FIVE IDEAS FOR MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME (AND WHY THEY'RE ALL BAD)

1. Jin from "Lost" (Being barechested all night sounds like a good way to freeze your nipples off.)
2. V from "V for Vendetta" (When I tried on the mask, I scared the shit out of the Peanut.)
3. Elmo ("Mommy, why is Elmo smoking cigarettes on Hudson Street?")
4. Michelle Wie (I'm damn fugly in drag.)
5. A Gay Redneck Asian Nascar Driver (not sure if anyone would find this as funny as I do.)

Feel free to comment on any/all of the above. 

Meanwhile, anyone got some good stuff to keep me entertained and cheer me up?  Funny youtube videos?  Newly discovered blogs?  Photos of Christy Turlington in a Wonder Woman outfit?