MetroDad

Why I Love New York (Reason #6,214)

Like many other parents here in New York City, I sometimes contemplate leaving the urban jungle for the greener pastures of the surrounding suburbs. 

I'll admit that there's a small part of me that would LOVE to live on a cozy little cul-de-sac where the Peanut can play freely (and safely) in an enormous backyard while I don an apron, drink beers with the neighbors, and cook up burgers for the PTA.  There's a part of me that would LOVE to come home and not be greeted by the three drunk homeless people permanently camped out on my doorstep.  And honestly, who wouldn't mind having more than 4 cubic feet of closet space?

But then I remember that whenever I'm hanging out in the suburbs for too long, I start freaking out.  Firstly, I'm fucking allergic to grass.  Secondly, I hate beer.  And lastly, my body goes into toxic shock when I can't get any good sushi for a week. 

Truth be told, I love living in Manhattan.  I thrive off the energy here and I love the fact that shit can happen at any time.  I love that instead of seeing "Good Luck Chuck" on one of four screens at the AMC Empire 25, I can catch a midnight showing of "Swordswoman of Huangjiang, VI" at MoMA.  I love that, on a random afternoon, I can run into Arcade Fire on a street corner, panhandling and playing a set of Cure, Pixies, and New Order covers. I love finding cheap $15 tickets to an off-Broadway show and discovering that it's an experimental performance piece starring Mary Louise Parker, Stanley Tucci, and Lorraine Bracco.

Really, where else is a guy like me going to live? 

Look, I'm the first to admit that it's not easy living here or raising a kid here.  You've got to really want it.  New York can kick your ass in a million different ways. 

And while some people in the suburbs can sit comfortably on their back porch, sip some iced tea, gaze out at a gorgeous sunset and peacefully revel in the beautiful quietude of life, I'm the type of guy who sits there thinking, "Shit, I should have bought more Goldman stock when it was at $165!"

Why do I bring this all up?

Because when I was at college at Berkeley, I had a family friend who lived in San Francisco.  He was a corporate attorney and absolutely hated his job.  His only passion in life was taking his little sailboat out on the Bay whenever he had the chance.  So on many gorgeous afternoons, he would call me up, tell me he was ditching work, and ask me to meet him at his boat in the marina.  Together, we'd spend days racing sailboats for beers all over Northern California. 

Those were some of the fondest memories of my life.  Especially after my traumatic experience of being held hostage, I found being on the open water incredibly therapeutic.  I immediately fell in love with the feeling of sailing under the deep blue sky and, even after I moved away from the West Coast, I vowed to one day take up the sport again. It's something I've had on my "life list" for quite some time. 

Knowing this, the lovely and beautiful BossLady signed me up for an intensive sailing course in the New York City harbor as a Father's Day present.  Not only would I be able to revisit a long lost love, I'd be able to do it in my favorite city in the world. God damn, I love this woman! 

This weekend, I spent every single waking moment on the water.  Seeing the Manhattan skyline and circling around the Statue of Liberty while speeding away on a J-24 sailboat now easily ranks as one of my favorite memories of living in this city.  In a strange way, I fell in love with New York all over again.

How could I not?

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
-Mark Twain

What's the one thing YOU'VE always wanted to do during your lifetime?  And when are you going to do it? 

'Cause you've gotta have faith, baby

I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about my daughter's future. 

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a fairly laid-back guy so I rarely get myself too stressed out about parenting.  However, there probably isn't a single future event/milestone that the Peanut will ever face that I'm not already thinking about: the cost of pre-school, making friends, belly-button piercings, the SATs, orthodontist bills, shitty boyfriends, college, marriage, career, global warming.

Honestly, the list goes on forever.

Now it's bad enough that I spend so much time thinking about my daughter's future but recently I've started to concern myself with something even further removed...HER AFTERLIFE!

I'm more than a little embarrassed to say that my own experiences with organized religion have been somewhat spotty at best.  I like religion and I'm interested in theology.  I'm just not a big fan of church.  I abhor organized religion's growing intolerance and I'm extremely turned off by the scandals that seem to constantly plague them. In general, I like to consider myself a spiritual man who has always chosen bits and pieces of various religions in order to suit my own personal needs. 

For example, when I was younger, I really did believe that idle hands were the Devil's workshop, so I was constantly jerking off. 

Just kidding! 

In all seriousness, despite the fact that I was baptized and confirmed in a Korean Methodist church, I've also fasted on Yom Kippur, sought guidance from Buddha, celebrated Ramadan, and dragged my hungover ass out of bed on many a Sunday morning in order to attend Mass.  It's like I couldn't decide on a religion so I picked all of them!

To their credit, my parents did try to expose me to church when I was younger.  But for them, church was more of a social event where they could meet up with fellow Koreans and eat some donuts.  Although my father donated a lot of money to the church, I'm not sure he was ever motivated by faith or charity.  I think he just wanted better seats so he could be closer to God.   

As I look back, I realize that my personal disillusionment with religion started when I was 8 years old and got kicked out of Sunday school.  The bible teacher was asking us whether we knew God's name and I kept yelling out, "HOWARD!  God's name is HOWARD!"  When the teacher asked me to elaborate, I replied, "Haven't you ever read the Lord's Prayer?  You know, the part where it says, 'Our Father who art in Heaven, Howard be they name.'  Jeez, lady!  And you call yourself a Sunday school teacher?"

In a fit of fury, she kicked me out of class.  However, I was being completely serious at the time and her misplaced rage only served to confuse the hell out of me.  In typical fashion, I just shrugged my shoulders and went down the street to grab a slice of pizza.  Man, my ass still hurts thinking about the beating I got from my dad that night!

Sadly, I never did find God in that church either (but thanks to the basketball court in the basement, I did find one hell of a great jump shot.)

My lovely aunt, on the other hand, is a devoutly born-again Christian.  After losing her teenage son to leukemia and her asshole husband to infidelity, she found great solace and comfort in religion.  And although she's given me enough rosary beads and bibles to start my own congregation, I find her faith to be a beautiful thing.  If anything, helping people cope with life's many shitstorms is the greatest benefit of organized religion.  I truly believe that church saved my aunt's life. 

Sadly, the only times I enter a church these days are when someone dies or gets married.  However, BossLady and I are seriously contemplating attending one again so that the Peanut doesn't automatically assume that our peculiar brand of Agnostic Secularism is the natural order of things.  If the Peanut chooses to eventually opt out of organized religion, we want it to be HER choice, not ours.  As parents, we feel that, at the very least, we owe it to our daughter to make sure she is exposed to religion (or religions) so that she can eventually make her own decision about the role it's going to play in her life. 

And who knows?  Maybe in trying to help the Peanut find her faith, we'll find our own as well.

It's funny being a parent, isn't it?  You spend so much time thinking about how you're affecting your child yet you rarely notice how sometimes your child affects you more.  As I've mentioned, I became disillusioned with organized religion many years ago.  Then, after 9/11 and the loss of one of my best friends, I was convinced that religion was the core root of the world's problems.  Now, a scant two years after the birth of my daughter, I'm contemplating going to church again for the first time in years.  Who would have ever guessed that? 

Certainly not this jaded New Yorker. 

But honestly speaking, there's a part of me that is curious about attending church again.  After all, I see the Lord's work all around me.  A beautiful sunrise, my wife's gorgeous face, my daughter's heart-warming smile, the infield grass at Shea Stadium, and, of course, seeing that asshole driver in the Hummer who cut me off on the Jersey Turnpike getting pulled over by state troopers for a full-body cavity search.

Hmmm...maybe God does have a sense of humor!

In all seriousness, I'd really love to hear your thoughts about religion in regard to parenting and raising kids.  Or your own religious experiences growing up and the role your parents did or didn't play.  I know religion is generally a taboo subject in the snarky world of blogging but let's talk about it nonjudgementally just this once, ok?  A truly inquiring mind wants to know. 

MetroDad Mailbag (Nov. 2006)

It's been a looooong time since we've done a MetroDad mailbag. 

For those of you unfamiliar with this aspect of the site, this is when I answer real questions submitted by my readers.   Some of the questions are related to parenting.  Some of them are, um...not. 

As per my usual disclaimer, I'd like to state that I have no professional child-rearing experience and the opinions offered here are solely my own.  In other words, you get what you pay for.

Let's kick things off, shall we?

Dear Metro...My wife and I are expecting our first son in a few months so we've been spending a lot of time coming up with boys' names.  Lately, I noticed that my wife's been suggesting some strange names---Lloyd, Denny, Lane.  Finally, I realized that all the names she's been bringing up are movie characters played by John Cusack.  Dude, I think she's got the Cusack Crush!  What am I supposed to do?  Help!
-Michael (Toronto, CA)

As Chuck Klosterman once wrote, it's much more likely that your wife is not actually in love with John Cusack.  Like countless women born between 1965 and 1978, she's probably just crushing on Lloyd Dobler, the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager from "Say Anything." 

My advice to you is to just forget about it.  No red-blooded American male can live up to the standards set by Lloyd Dobler.  You know it.  Your wife knows it.  Heck, even your unborn kid knows it.  But whatever happens, don't start channeling your inner Dobler.  There's nothing sadder than an overtly sensitive old guy in a black trench coat holding a boom box over his head below his wife's window.  As annoying as your wife's crush might be, just realize there's nothing you can do about it and that, as far as names for your kid go, Lloyd Dobler isn't the worst choice. 

Just be thankful that she didn't want to name the kid Jake Ryan.

Dear MD...Since you're a fellow Korean-American parent, I'm writing to seek your advice.  I briefly remember you discussing a similar predicament before.  Our problem is that we live in an area that is predominantly white and, at least twice a week, some crazy lady will see our 9-month old daughter and shriek, "Oh.My.God!  Asian babies are soooo cute.  I totally want one!"  Every time this happens, I'm stunned into silence.  What's the appropriate response?   
-Henry (Savannah, GA)

My standard reply is:   "FUCK YEAH!  You should totally get one!  Ours is awesome.  She's from Korea but you can get them even cheaper now from China. I hear if you use your credit card, you can even earn miles.  But seriously, if you want one really fast, just go sleep with a bunch of random Asian dudes."

That usually shuts them up.

By the way, my brothers, don't say I never did anything for you.

Hey MD---How did a total city slicker like you end up coming to Berkeley?  You must have stuck out like a sore thumb.  I'm a Bay Area native and I'm going to grad school at NYU.  Got any advice for me?
-Steven (Berkeley, CA)

Don't get me wrong, Steve.  I miss Berkeley.  I've been all over this planet but Berkeley is quite unique. Nowhere else in the world will you find a man with a turban wearing a 49'ers jacket and working in a lesbian bookstore.

But hey, I'm just glad dad is working again.

In all seriousness, moving to Berkeley was easy.  It's much more difficult to make the transition to New York City.  My friend Kin did it once and the first week he was here, he got hit by a car three times.  For some strange reason, he thought that pedestrians had the right of way (by the way, always watch the traffic.  NEVER look at the street light.  In the history of NYC, nobody ever got run over by a street light.)

But hey, I don't want to scare you, Steve.  If you really want to move here, let me be the first to welcome you.  NYC is a  great place and we could use some more Californians around here (so we don't have to fly out there in order to prove our intellectual superiority.)  Just ditch the tie-dye, throw away the Birkenstocks, and stop complaining about our vegetables. 

And remember...if you smell something weird in your building, it's probably just your dead neighbor.

Dear MetroDad...What's the rule on holidays with the family?  More specifically, what's the rule for New Year's?  Just because I'm married with kids, does this mean I have to spend New Year's Eve with them?  Some buddies of mine are going to be in town and I'm thinking of ditching the wife and kids to party with them.  Hell, everyone in my house will be asleep by 10:00 anyway.  Is this legit?  Or is my wife going to go through the roof?
-James G. (New York, NY)

Jimmy G...a lot of people like to say that anyone can be a father but that it takes a real man to be a Dad.  What a crock of bullshit.  Ditching your wife and kid on New Year's Eve to suck beer bongs and tequila shots with the fellas?  THAT takes some serious fucking balls. 

Let me know how that works out for you.

MD...Recently, you mentioned your man-crush on Alec Baldwin's character on "30 Rock."  Don't you find it amazing that Baldwin has made such an amazing comeback?  After all,  it was just a few years ago that he was a total nut job married to that train wreck, Kim Basinger.  This has to be the greatest comeback of all time.  What do you think?
-Al (Evanston, IL)

Alec Baldwin's comeback has to rank right up there with Ali's "Rumble in the Jungle," Michael Jordan's post-retirement championships, and Seabiscuit's return to glory.  Five years ago, Baldwin was literally getting by on cameos in "Friends," "The Fairly OddParents"  and "The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie."  Ever since "The Cooler,' he's by far the best in everything he's been in. 

But, in all honesty, I think my man-crush on his "30 Rock" character is really just an extension of my enormous crush on Tina Fey and her writing for the character.  There's simply nobody on television getting better lines than Alec Baldwin right now.  Sadly, it's really the only reason to even watch the show.  However, at least every episode, you can count on Baldwin's character making you snort with laughter...

''The Italians have a saying, Lemon: 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' And although they've never won a war or mass-produced a decent car, in this area they are correct.''

"I like you, Liz. You have the boldness of a much younger woman."

"Your shoes, they make you look bi-curious."

"Sorry I'm late. I was at a luncheon for Ann Coulter's 60th birthday."

Dear MetroDad---We've just had our third child and, due to the soaring costs of daycare, we're contemplating getting a nanny.  None of our friends have nannies and we're just starting to interview potential candidates.  Got any advice for us?
-Adam (Miami, FL)

Hiring a nanny to care for your children is a difficult decision that shouldn't be taken lightly.  After all, you're basically letting a complete stranger into your home and allowing her to watch your most precious assets all day long.  That fact alone can make you fraught with anxiety. 

Did you know that when people install hidden nanny cams, more than 20% of the nannies end up getting fired the very next day?  Is it any wonder that sites like this exist? 

We don't have a nanny anymore.  However, I can pass on some valuable advice based on our past experience.  Here it is...

1. No good-looking nannies.  The uglier, the better.  Aside from appeasing your wife, an ugly nanny won't be distracted by potential suitors and can focus her full attention on the children. 

2. Age is a tough call.  Young nannies may show up to work with a hangover or leave to get married.  On the other hand, old nannies smell funny and can't bend over very well.   

3. During the interview, have your wife dial her cell phone and check her ring tone.  If it plays "My Humps" or the theme song to "Scarface," don't hire her.  There's a good chance your potential hiree is a wanna-be gangsta or an undercover skank. 

4. Speaking of skanks, definitely check your nanny's MySpace page.  If she's only wearing a bra and her screen-name is KrazyKatKiller, you might want to reconsider whether she's sufficiently responsible to care for your child.

5. Likewise, check to see whether she has a blog.  For all you know, in her spare time, she likes to bite the heads off bats, torch homeless people, or masturbate while watching Lou Dobbs. 

6. Acceptable nanny duties:  folding children's laundry, cleaning dishes, emptying diaper genie. 

7. Unacceptable nanny duties: running out in the rain for a pack of smokes, chopping up lines of cocaine, massaging your stinky feet. 

8. If hiring an illegal alien, be sure to keep her passport so she can't escape.  Also, don't forget to feed her every once in awhile.  A hungry nanny will have a hard time lavishing your progeny with the love and affection they so richly deserve. 

9. You are required to fill out the appropriate federal paperwork and pay taxes only if you harbor any future political aspirations.  If not, you can pay cold, hard cash.  Just don't be a cheapskate.  Nannies work their asses off and deserve as much money as you can afford to give. 

10. Assume that your nanny will be gossiping at the playground about you.  If you don't want neighbors to know that you like to wear garter belts and your wife is screwing the gardener, don't hire a nanny. 

Dear MetroDad...I love my 10-year old daughter more than life itself.  She's a great kid, stays out of trouble and is always very respectful.  My only complaint is that she and all her little friends are completely hooked on the TV show, "That's So Raven!"  They quote lines from the show, know all the words to the musical segments, and are constantly running around the house saying, "That is SO Raven!"  Please help me before I go absolutely insane!
-Julie (Seattle, WA)

C'mon, Julie.  Lighten up.  You never had a TV show that you and your friends were obsessed with?  For us, it was "What's Happening?"  My buddies and I would dance the robot like Rerun, greet each other by saying, "Hey, hey, hey," and would walk around saying, "Which Doobie you be?" 

I'll agree with you that hearing "That is SO Raven" all the time would make me want to put a bullet in my head but it's all part of the cycle of life.  Think about all the annoying catchphrases from your youth.  Was there anything worse than hearing kids saying, "Where's the beef?" or "Book 'em, Danno!"  Then, you had all the frat boy idiots running around yelling, "Whassup?"  Recently, I've been hearing kids on the subway screaming, "I'm Rick James, bitch!"  Totally annoying, right? 

Sadly, it seems that the use of catch phrases is embedded in the human genome.  Even though I'm 38 years old, I subconsciously still find myself using stupid phrases that I pick up from television.  For example, a few months ago, I started watching "Survivor" for the first time.  Now, I like to end every conference at work by standing up and solemnly saying, "The tribe has spoken."

Could anything be more annoying than that?

As always, feel free to e-mail me any questions or post them in the comments section.

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?)

8 thoughts that entered my mind during my 5-hour delay in the Fayetteville Airport

(1)  The meat in a roast beef sandwich should be brown or pink. If rare, it can occasionally be slightly red. It should never EVER be grey.  More specifically, it should never resemble a decaying piece of liver dragged through an ashtray.

(2)  I find it odd that they sell porn at airport newsstands.  What is the rationale behind this?  Are there people out there who think, “Darn, my flight is delayed again.  Maybe I’ll just grab some gum, the NY Times, and the latest issue of JUGGS magazine.”

(3)  It seems that the tech tools of today’s sales jockeys are a Blackberry and a wireless ear piece.  Right now, I’m looking at several men walking around the airport donning these Star Trek transporter/earpiece combo units.  They all look like ridiculous modern-day members of the USS Enterprise.  I’m trying hard to resist the urge to run up to them and say, “Do you have any life form readings yet, Spock?" or "Dammit, Scottie.  I'm a doctor, not an engineer!”

(4)  If you’re a guy and you want to make conversation with me, try to come up with a better line than, “I really like your shoes, man.”  That’s just creepy.  Especially when you don’t have any follow-up conversation starters.   

(5)  I think I’ve figured out the hierarchical timeline of careers in the field of security personnel.  First, you start off working security at a small store.  Then, you move to the office building down the street.  Eventually, if you play your cards right, you become a mall cop.  Finally, when you reach the ripe old age of 82, you're then officially eligible to work airport security.

(6)  Arkansas is AR-Kansas.  I wonder what AR means.  Is it like UBER?  Is Arkansas the super-sized version of Kansas?  Is it like Kansas but only with more Argon (AR)?  Or maybe AR means "not" as in you are NOT in Kansas.  Anyone? 

(7)  While waiting to board a plane, BossLady and I sometimes like to imagine the lives of our fellow travellers.  See that guy?  He’s the regional sales manager for Amway and he’s flying to Miami to meet his gay lover that he met on MySpace!  That woman?  She used to be a man but only has saved up enough money for half the operation.  She's flying to Thailand to complete the job.  We usually have a lot of fun playing this game.  What am I learning in Arkansas?  This game is really not that fun when you’re playing it by yourself. 

(8)  The airport bar had a television showing various music videos from the 80’s.  And although the bar staff seemed to have an average age of about 23, they all knew the words to classics from The Cure, Echo & the Bunnymen, Wham, Wang Chung, and Wall of Voodoo.  How is this possible?  These kids were like 2-years old in 1985.  So do they actually like this music?  Or are they listening to it ironically?  Like the way I sometimes ironically listen to Perry Como. 

Lastly, I leave you with a quick story.

While sitting at the airport bar a few minutes ago, there was an extremely rude man who was speaking so loudly on his cellophone that everyone could hear.  During the course of my one drink, I learned that "the clients are freaking idiots," “those fuckers at corporate don’t know shit about nothing” and “you and I definitely need to get together and grab some brewskis next week in Cincy.”  I was in a very foul mood so I stood up and loudly told the rude man that if he wanted to talk on his phone, he should kindly get the fuck out of the bar right now and stop invading everyone else’s private space.  (I can be quite intimidating when necessary because I have a fairly deep voice and I look like the kind of guy who might know Karate---i.e. Asian.)   

Anyway, not only did Mr. Rude wither from embarrassment and leave but also several women at the bar actually got up and gave me a standing ovation!  I realized, at that precise moment, that this was the FIRST standing ovation that I’d ever received in my life!  Sure, when I was a little kid in school plays, the parents would always give us standing ovations but I’d never in my life received a solitary ovation.  It felt great.

I started thinking how it's quite possible that this will be the ONLY standing ovation I ever receive in my life.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  It's a little sad, isn't it?  Have I accomplished so little in my life that this random instance will be my only standing ovation EVER?  Don't you think we should all get standing ovations every once in awhile for drudging through the muddles and stresses of our daily lives?  I think that would be nice.

Oh well...for the record, nobody has ever thrown their panties at me, carried me on their shoulders or sang "For he's a jolly good fellow" either! (hint, hint!)

Gotta run. Looks like they're finally boarding the plane.  Hallelujah, the things I do to earn a living!

 

Tales of extramarital blogging

Many people have commented on the fact that they enjoy reading about how much I love my wife and, of course, that's absolutely true.  I love her more than anyone on this entire planet and she really is the ying to my yang. 

However, that's not to say that BossLady and I never fight.  Have you ever met a couple who doesn't argue or get into disagreements?  I just choose not to write about our squabbles on this site.  Personally, I don't feel right about airing our dirty laundry and I don't think this would be a healthy forum for me to vent about the BossLady when we have our little tiffs.

Liz and I were talking about this over drinks recently.  We were discussing how hearing bloggers talk shit about their spouses or air their dirty laundry made us both feel a little uncomfortable.  Although we don't make judgments about people who do so, we both talked about how we personally couldn't do that.  However, at the same time, we hoped that this didn't give people the impression that our relationships with our spouses were absolutely perfect.

Because anyone who thinks their relationship with their spouse is absolutely perfect is either kidding themselves or has been drinking Kool-Aid with the Reverend Star Jones. 

Personally, I've always thought that a great marriage is like a duck.  On the surface, it looks cool and effortless, but underneath, everybody's paddling like hell.   

It's funny.  Sometimes when BossLady and I get into an argument, she'll joke that maybe I should go run off with one of the 8 million mommy bloggers who read this site.  Now, obviously, the lovely BossLady is only kidding but it got me thinking about a few things. 

Now, as many of you know, I read a lot of parenting blogs.  On the other hand, BossLady doesn't really read blogs very much.  Her professional life takes up a lot of time and many times when I'm either writing or reading blogs, she's sitting beside me on the couch and doing work. 

It's too bad because I think that she would really enjoy getting to know a lot of you.

However, at the same time, I realized that I don't really know much about the spouses of the bloggers that I read regularly. 

Let's face it.  The majority of parenting bloggers and commenters are women.  You don't often hear much about the husbands.  That's why I love it when you do.  It gives me a rare glimpse into a part of who all of you are. 

For example, I know I would love Liz's husband, Nate.  How could I not get along with a comedian who (despite loving the Yankees, the Redskins and cats) not only is a very involved father but also shares my love of Louis CK?  Melissa talks about her husband a lot and I've frequently exchanged hilarious sarcastic retorts with him in her comments section.  I know I'd like him.  Nina's husband, Charlie, is not only an avid baseball fan but is also a fellow Korean-American tech geek.  Marsha's husband, Rigel, is an outdoor-loving art director who designs movie posters for a living.  He even plays guitar in a band and has jammed at BB Kings Blues Club. Kristen's husband, John, is admittedly a shitty neighbor but I think he's a very cool and down-to-earth guy who also happens to be an amazing photographer. Penny's husband shares my love of practical jokes and has pulled some shit that has had me in tears.  I love hearing about the spouses of some of my favorite bloggers. 

But as I was thinking about all of this, it got me wondering...

Why is it rare that so few bloggers seem to write about their spouses?

Are some of your spouses even aware that you have a blog? 

Do your spouses know about the blogs that you visit regularly?

Do they know about your blog friends or do you keep it a secret? 

Do they know that some of these blogs are written by members of the opposite sex?

Would they care at all about it if they did know? 

Personally, I'm always talking to BossLady about my blog friends.  She doesn't know ALL of the blogs I visit because I just don't mention all of them to her.  This isn't a sin of omission.  It's just that I tend to talk about things happening to my blog friends in the same way that I tend to talk about things happening to my "real-life" friends. 

But what about all of you?  How do you guys feel about all of this? 

An inquiring mind wants to know...

 

Chaos Theory

It's a busy week here at Casa MetroDad.  Posting may be a little light.  However, as usual, I've got some random things on my mind so I thought I'd compress them all at once so the mental diarrhea doesn't back up my brain's internal septic tank.

 

DOES ANYONE HAVE AN ELMO BAND-AID?  I HAVE A BOO-BOO ON MY KNEE. 

Everyone is always talking about balancing work and family.  Yet, nobody seems to talk about what happens when those two worlds collide.  Over the past week, certain events have transpired at work that have made me realize that I have irreversibly crossed over into the world of parenthood:

1. I reached into my pocket at a meeting and pulled out a pacifier and a hair pin.
2. I took off my suit jacket, only to reveal a soggy Cheerio sticking to the collar of my shirt.
3. One of my clients dropped her briefcase and I actually said "uh-oh!" in a sing-song voice. 

SHIT, I WONDER WHERE SHE LEARNED THAT!

Yesterday, my adorable, little 22-month-old daughter climbed up on the couch, leaned her head back, sighed deeply, stared blankly at the television, and then stuck her hand down the front of her diaper.

 

ARE YOU REALLY TOO DAMN LAZY TO SAY "EST" AND "ELAXATION"???

I hate it when people abbreviate words or turn phrases into acronyms.  R & R, B & B, TTYL, and LOL?  Whenever I see those, it drives me completely nuts.  I bring this up because I still have a few friends who send me text messages on my cell phone.  Whenever I get one, I almost always refuse to reply because, in doing so, I feel like a 14 year-old Japanese schoolgirl.  Part of the problem may be due to the fact that I never understand the acronyms that people are using.  I was meeting a friend for dinner last week and, while I was waiting at the bar for him, I received a message that said, "WRU? BRT."  I immediately called him and asked what the fuck he was talking about.  He explained that his message was short for "Where are you?  Be right there." 

I told him that if he ever sent me a text message like that again, I would SHCPUHA ("shove his cell phone up his ass!")

YUPPIE CHILD ENTERS LIFELONG APPRENTICESHIP - (Via Overheard in NY)

Little girl, reading children's book aloud: "Mariko is Japanese. She eats sushi."
Mom (pointing to picture): "But WE know that is actually sashimi!"

(overheard on the M86 crosstown bus)

BossLady and I left the Peanut with my parents last weekend.  Since my folks don't really cook at home (ever since the "Boiled Turkey Incident of 1976"), they ended up taking the Peanut out to eat for every meal.  Since the Peanut loves eating food (1) out of the garbage can, (2), off the floor, and (3) from the dog's dish, it's a well-established fact that she's a pretty indiscriminate eater and will eat almost anything.  As it turns out, she ate extremely well with my parents.  Over the course of 48 hours, she dined on steamed seabass, shu mai, shrimp in lobster sauce, agedashi tofu, eggs benedict, and large amounts of edamame. 

Needless to say, BossLady and I were more than a little jealous.  However, we were also worried that the Peanut was going to develop some sort of refined palette and become one of those obnoxiously precocious New York kids that always freak us out.  Thankfully, the Peanut discovered my secret stash of beef jerky and pork rinds (two things for which I have an unnaturally healthy obsession) and has come to the conclusion that THEY ARE BETTER THAN CRACK COCAINE!!! 

Seriously, she can't get enough of them.  She's like a little Asian redneck.  I can't wait to start feeding her possum, moon pies and Skoal!

.

MY FAVORITE IS "SHAKING HANDS WITH THE WOOKIE"

Where else but on the internet can you find a website that has 245,829,668 different euphemisms for masturbation?

NO, I'M NOT A DOCTOR.  HOWEVER, I WATCH ONE ON TV!

The TV off-season kills me.  Everything is either reruns or reality TV.  I fucking can't stand reality shows.  Aside from the fact they they insult my intelligence, I believe that watching them actually makes you dumber.  Seriously, if you listen closely, you can hear your neurons dying a slow and painful death.  How do the networks even come up with these ideas? 

Personally, I've got a theory that TV execs sit in a big conference room just picking words out of a hat and forming random combinations.  Voila!  Instant ratings hit!  I tried this at home and I came up with "Cheerleaders Bowling with Cats" and "America's Favorite Home Butchers."  Shit, you know what?  It fucking works! Call my agent!

Anyway, I was bemoaning the TV off-season recently and decided to watch an episode of "House."  I can't believe none of you bitches told me about this show!  It's fantastic!  After one episode, I was completely hooked.  So this weekend, when we were at Target and the BossLady wasn't looking, I slipped the Season One DVD under the 8 million rolls of toilet paper that we bought.  Over the past 48 hours, I've watched 9 episodes.  Aside from annoying the BossLady with my newfound medical knowledge and trying to convince her that I've got an extremely rare form of copper poisoning, I've also decided to start walking around with a cane.  I think it'd be a cool accessory and would serve as a valuable deterrent to any would-be muggers on the subway.

 

WITH A REBEL YELL, SHE CRIED "MORE, MORE, MORE!"

I like a girl who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to ask for it. 

And if my ambitions for the Peanut go according to the MetroDad Master Plan^TM, I will have succeeded in raising a strong-willed, self-confident young woman who will never feel restrained by any limitations placed on her by society due to either her gender or race.  If the Peanut ever encounters a glass ceiling, I fully expect her to kick the shit out of it.  I want her to assert her rights as an individual, stand up for her personal liberties, and vociferously protect those who are less fortunate. 

I tell you all of this because sometimes I need to remind myself that raising a future feminist can be infuriating. 

From the moment she was born, the Peanut has always been incredibly independent and I've done everything possible to foster this independence.  As much as I love cuddling with her, I don't coddle her or force her to abide by my schedule.  Ever since she learned how to walk at the age of 9 months, I've tried to force myself to be patient as she explores everything in sight and expands her boundaries.  Sometimes, it takes us 30 minutes to walk two blocks to the deli because she has to inspect every crack in the sidewalk, sniff every plant and high-five everyone on the block. 

However, now that she can speak and verbalize her independence?  Holy crap, it can get annoying at times!

She is not shy about making demands.  Nor is she reluctant to refuse anything that she doesn't like.  Therefore, the words that we hear from her most frequently are either, "More Now!" or "No, No, No!"  Not only is the kid stubborn as a mule, she's got a frighteningly formidable willpower. 

As much as I love my daughter, I refuse to give in to her tantrums.  When she refuses to eat her dinner, I just stick her in the crib for the night.  When she refuses to get out of the tub, I take out all her toys and pull the drain.  When she throws a hissy fit at the playground, I wrestle her into the stroller and take her home.   

That's right, my friends.  The Terrible Twos have officially started. 

Wish us luck. 

Game on, girlfriend!  Game on.

Previous Chaos Theory posts can be found here and here.

 

The MetroDad Theory of Relativity

Two of our best friends recently had their second child.

And since the birth of their first child preceded the Peanut's by almost a year, they have always somewhat served as our parenting guinea pigs.  In many ways, they are like our Lewis & Clark, bravely traversing ahead of us on that great continental divide known as Parenthood and selflessly warning us of all the potential pitfalls that we may encounter along the way. 

Actually, that might be overstating their importance.  Sorry.  THIS HEAT IS MAKING ME INSANE AND RUINING ALL MY METAPHORS!

On second thought, they're more like the best friends you call on a Saturday night to ask why your newborn child is filling up her Huggies with what looks like the remains of a Shamrock Shake.

Anyway...like us, our friends were very anxious parents on the first go-around.  They read all the parenting books and took all the right classes.  No baby-related purchases were made unless they had been researched on Consumer Reports and cross-referenced with the databases of the FDA, the CDC and CPSC.  Heck, they even had professional safety experts come to their apartment and ensure that everything was 100% child-proof.  It was their first child!  Who could blame them?

But for kid #2?  Ehh...not so much. 

Seriously, we went over there last week and I swear that I saw their newborn baby sucking paper clips out of an electrical socket. 

Now, I'm not saying that my friends don't care about their second child.  It's just that I think we all eventually learn that much of the anxiety and stress we experienced with the birth of our first child may have been a tad bit out of proportion.  That's ok.  In reality, that's how it SHOULD be.  Having a child for the first time is a major life-altering event and should be undertaken with only the utmost seriousness. 

I hear stories all the time about parents obsessively sterilizing for hours and hours anything that came in contact with their first child!  By the time the third one comes along, these same parents are licking the germs off the pacifier with their tongues and wiping them off with their shirt.  Somehow, it's just not as big a deal anymore. 

I've also noticed this phenomenon when it comes to naming one's children.  Before the Peanut was born, I'm not kidding when I say that BossLady and I had a huge Excel file listing all of our preferred names by both gender and alphabetical order.  We would spend HOURS lying in bed and trying to come up with those "special" names. 

But as I look around at couples with multiple kids, I realize that even things like names become less and less important.  With the first child, it's always, "Oh, Sweetie!  You were named after my favorite relative, Grandma Eden, who lovingly raised me when I was a young child.  I'll always have a special place in my heart for her and, when I look at you, I see her beautiful soul shining brightly inside of you."   

By the 4th kid, it's like, "Your name?  You were named after a fucking sandwich.  Now, go get your brothers and sisters, Reuben!"

As for me?  Heck, I've only been a parent for 21 months but I can already see that my over-protectiveness of my daughter is starting to wane a little bit and that my lax attitude is slowly manifesting itself in subtle ways.  How?

Well, here's what I've noticed so far...

• I used to bathe the Peanut every single day.  Now, I only do it when there's maple syrup stuck in her hair or when she starts smelling worse than the dog.  I've been busted more than once wiping her down from head to toe with a wet paper towel. 

• I used to prepare every single one of her meals from scratch using only the freshest organic ingredients.  I still do this quite frequently but let's just say that now, my daughter squeals like a little chipmunk whenever we pass by a McDonalds. 

• I used to sit for hours on the floor with the Peanut reading her 20 children's books in a row.  Now, I make her sit on my lap as I read her passages from Phillip Roth's new novel or the Sports Section.   She's not learning quite as much but I was pretty proud when she turned to me the other day and said, "Yankees suck!"

I think because the Peanut is turning into this walking, talking human being with her own strong sense of individuality and personality, I feel less inclined to be so neurotic or overprotective.  After all, what good does it do to sterilize all her sippy cups when, two minutes later, she's outside shoveling mounds of dirt into her mouth like a geophagic member of a Zambian war tribe?  Seems like a waste of time, doesn't it? 

Heck, by next week, I'll probably just change her diapers when the poop starts leaking out the sides.  Of course, I'll have to wait until she's done playing in traffic and juggling the steak knives...but that's cool, right? 

I Want to Party Like It's 1999!

These days, most of you know me as a laid-back father who loves nothing more than patiently reading books to my daughter, mellowing out by watching my beloved NY Mets, or having long dinners at home with my lovely and beautiful wife. 

But, once upon a time, when I was a wee single laddie living it up in the bright lights of Manhattan, I used to run around this city like it was my own personal sandbox.  Being a young man in my 20's with an abundance of energy and absolutely nothing to worry about except paying the rent and making it to my desk in the morning, my social life made "Bright Lights, Big City" look like an afternoon TV special. 

I was a "work hard/play hard" kind of guy in the sense that it took a lot of work for me to play that hard. 

Recently, I was cleaning up my office when I came across my 1999 monthly planner.  Curious about taking a walk down memory lane, I flipped through my datebook to see what I had been up to exactly seven years ago.

Looking back, I hardly recognize myself or the things that I was doing at the time.  At the risk of sounding like a completely vapid asshole, here's what my planner says I was doing during June of 1999:

• Attended Vogue Magazine party for Anna Wintour at Mercer Hotel.

• Knicks vs. Pacers playoff games at Madison Square Garden.
  

• Volunteer work at adult illiteracy program.

• Dinner at Indochine with designer Michael Kors and friends.

• Anniversary party for a friend's nightclub.

• Opening party at art gallery for Peter Beard.

• Attended Yasmina Reza's off-Broadway play "Art." 

• Long weekend partying in Paris with friends from college.

• Private screening of "Fight Club" at HBO. 

• Canoe trip in the Delaware Water Gap.

• Garden party at MOMA, Hole concert at Roseland, Neil Young at the Garden. 

• Assorted dinners/dates at restaurants all over town.

Looking back, I don't have any regrets about this time of my life.  Despite the fact that my social calendar resembled a bad episode of "Sex in the City,"  from what I can remember, I had a pretty fun time back then.  In fact, I've always thought that EVERYONE should live in NYC when they're in their 20's.  It's a great place to be young and single. 

However, I'm also self-aware enough to realize that despite all the fun I was having, my life was emptier than Gary Busey's minibar at the Chateau Marmont. 

Back then, older friends of mine would always tell me about how much better life got for them when they reached their 30's and settled down.  Being a sarcastic wise-ass, I would always reply by saying, "I'm sorry.  Did you say something?  I couldn't hear you.  Claudia Schiffer is yelling in my ear about going to Bowery Bar and doing tequila shots off Kate Moss' neck.  Gotta go!"

But there comes a time in a man's life when it's natural to settle down and reevaluate one's priorities.  For me, that happened the very first day that I met the lovely BossLady.  Sure, it helped that I'd already completely mastered Tetris and that the Mets were 20 games behind Atlanta but I think those were more coincidences than causation.  Meeting the BossLady truly changed my definition of what "having fun" was really about.    

And as much as my life changed by marrying the BossLady, it changed even more with the birth of the Peanut.  Nothing quite turns an adult inside out like having children.  Without a doubt, parenting is the most important thing I have ever done or will do.  I've embraced this new stage of my life wholeheartedly and I've found that I'm having more fun than I've ever had in my entire life.  Living with the BossLady and the Peanut is a blast and I wouldn't trade this time for anything in the world.   

But you know when I really realized that my life had changed irrevocably? 

Last night, when I turned to the Peanut and said, "eat your vegetables or no dessert." 

Once you utter those words to your kid, there's no turning back.   

 

Phantom Dinner Guests

I fucking love guacamole. 

If I'm at a party and someone's got some good guacamole, I will just sit there by myself and dip chip after chip into the bowl.  If nobody's watching me, I'll scoop the guacamole onto a chip and just lick it off.  I won't even eat the chip.  I'll just keep dipping the same chip into the guacamole repeatedly.  (Totally gross, right?  I'm like a double dipper to the nth degree.) 

Because let's face it.  Chips are really just vehicles for your guacamole.  They're dry, salty and taste like crap on their own.  If guacamole didn't exist, I'd never eat another chip in my entire life.

Why am I talking about this?  Because in the familial relationship metaphor of inter-generational dynamics, BossLady and I are the chips and Peanut is the guacamole. 

Whenever we're around my parents, BossLady and I might as well not even exist.  The Peanut is my parent's first grandchild and to say that they are "fawning" is to insult fawns everywhere.  Peanut is their life.  Their weekly schedules, their vacations, their daily conversations...all of it is at the mercy of a little 20-month-old girl. 

Yesterday, we had a family dinner with my folks and MetroBro to celebrate BossLady's birthday.  Though my wife's birthday is always cause for celebration, I think we've officially reached the point where my parents would celebrate Idi Amin's birthday if it meant they got to spend time with their granddaughter. 

At one point, I looked up to see my father physically wrest Peanut away from the BossLady so he could carry her.  Didn't even say a word.  He just grabbed her out of BossLady's arms like the Lindbergh baby.  I know he didn't mean to be rude.  He just loves carrying the Peanut around. If it were up to him, the Peanut's feet would never touch the ground and the two of them would spend their days reenacting the marsupial relationship between Angelina Jolie and young Maddox. 

During dinner, as usual, all attention is focused on the Peanut.  Sometimes when I'm speaking, I can actually see my mother's mind working as she pretends to listen to what I'm saying.  Although she may be looking directly at me, I know that, in her head, she's thinking, "I love my granddaughter so much.  I wonder what she's doing this very nanosecond.  She's so cute!  Where is she?  What is my son saying?  When will he be done talking?  I just want to see my granddaughter.  I love her so much."

Like many people, I've found that my parents are far better grandparents than they were parents.  Particularly in the case of my father, he seems to be atoning for various past sins and transgressions.  He's already much more involved in the Peanut's life than he ever really was in my own.  It's almost as if he's getting a fresh start. 

Having been severely abused by his own parents, my father ran away from home at a very young age.  He never had parenting role models to admire or emulate.  Because he was abused by his family, he's always had problems dealing with emotional issues and has a very dysfunctional way of dealing with expressions of love and affection.  My relationship with him when I was younger was always tumultuous and conflicted.  Parenting was NOT a subject that I imagine he spent much time thinking about.

In several ways, having the Peanut has changed the dynamics of the relationship between me and my parents.  Like everything in my life now, my primary concern is my daughter's well-being.  And because I never had any grandparents of my own, I'm glad that the Peanut does.  I'm glad that she gets all this doting attention.  I love the fact that she has so many people who love her as much as I do. 

So if it means biting my tongue as my father grabs the Peanut from me?  Or sitting silently as my mother ignores me?  Or going to family reunions and feeling like the Invisible Man? 

Well, that's just fine for me.  I'll just be here in the corner eating some guacamole with my fingers.