MetroDad

Who the hell are you? And what have you done with my daughter?

The dawning of a new era has begun here at Casa Metro, my friends.  Yes, that's right, folks.  We are now officially in the Tantrum Stage of childhood development.  My heretofore adorable, little 16-month-old daughter has apparently decided that now would be a good time to start exploring the bounds of her independence and pushing the limits of her parents' patience.

I'm not quite sure exactly when it began but, during the past week, the Peanut has been, for lack of a better phrase...a whiny little rugrat. 

Several times a day, she becomes so extremely temperamental that BossLady and I are convinced that she's embarked on a secret mission to slowly drive us insane.  It's a war of attrition and, right now, we're getting our asses kicked!

If the Peanut could speak in complete sentences, it's safe to say that this would be a close approximation of what she's been saying the past few days..."Pick me up!  No, put me down!  Grab my hand!  Follow me!  Read me THIS book!  No, read me THAT book!  What is this?  I'm not eating this crap.  Give me something different!  Now!  What's taking so long?  Here, watch me as I take food out of my mouth and throw it at you!  Bath?  Hell, no!  I'm done with baths!  Naps?  No naps!  Naps are for suckers!  Diaper change?  Good luck!  Let's see you wipe my butt and put on a new diaper before I kick you in the face and attempt a double-back flip off my changing table!"

Since the Peanut CAN'T speak right now, it all comes out roughly as "Waaaaaaahhhh!!!"

Sometimes the whine is so high-pitched, the dog fucking freaks out and starts running in circles. 

Now, I might be exaggerating a little bit but that's only because the seismic shift in her personality over the past few days has been pretty cataclysmic.  She's still the adorable little apple of my eye: the one who loves hugging other infants, kissing her mother in bed, snuggling up on my chest, and laughing at the funny things in the world around her.  But when she's not engaging in that kind of adorable behavior?  Dude, it's brutal.  You just want to stick her in a box marked "Return to Sender."

(FYI...that's the part of the post where some of you humorless playa haters say, "OMG!  Put a baby in a box?  Can you believe what MetroDad said about his own daughter?  Horrendous!  Bad Daddy!  Bad!")

Anyway, in all seriousness, BossLady thinks that we might be spoiling her and that the Peanut's diva-like behavior is evidence that, due to all the constant love and affection that we've bestowed on the Peanut, we've somehow actually trained and conditioned her to be a brat.  I don't entirely disagree but there's another part of me that thinks this is just a phase that she'll quickly outgrow.

When the Peanut gets in one of her "moods,"  I've tried taking different approaches.  Sometimes, I'll just pull her up in my lap, look into her crying eyes, and calmly speak to her.  "Peanut.  It's ok.  It's not that big of a deal.  Let's just chill out, ok?  Daddy loves you."  Other times, I'll try to out-scream her to the point where together we sound like a pack of hyenas.  Although it's pretty funny to witness, that tactic doesn't seem to be working out so well either.   

So, internets, help a brother out.  What's going on with my temperamental little girl? Could it be because her molars are growing in?  Or is this just a stage in her social and cognitive development?  How long will this last?  How can I teach her that this kind of behavior won't be tolerated?  What can I do to stop the whining from echoing in my brain?

Because let's face it, folks.  There's only room for one high-maintenance prima donna in this apartment...and I was here first!

Introducing...Rice Daddies!

For me, the coolest thing about blogging is the sense of community.  As most of you know, I originally started this site mainly to try and find a group of like-minded fathers who were dealing with modern issues of parenting.  As time went on,  I found myself connecting with all kinds of parents (dads, moms, dads who wanted to be moms, moms living with other moms, etc.)  Eventually, this community grew even wider and began to include many people who were not even parents but who shared either my interests or my strange sense of humor.

That's the beauty of the internet. 

Online, you can find people who not only share your own interests but also might even share your bizarre idiosyncrasies.  In fact, it's safe to say that, these days, you can find pretty much anything online.  Interested in the afterlife?  Well, then, sell your soul and send out your last-emails.  Sick of traditional holidays? Celebrate Steak & a Blowjob Day instead.  Or maybe you want to spend your days looking at the world's cutest photos?  Or how about Dwight Schrute's "Lost" theory?  And do I even want to mention the video of the infamous breast-feeding cat?
 

As for blogging?  Hell, who DOESN'T have a blog these days?  (When you have free time, check out these real-life celebrity blogs by M.C. Hammer, Gene Simmons, Moby,and RuPaul.)

Anyway, as usual, I digress.  Like I was saying...blogging, for me, is about community.  And although I'm a 37-year old man, husband, father and friend, I can't escape the fact that I'm also Asian-American.  It's not only an important part of who I am and something I'm proud of but it's also an important aspect of raising my daughter.  I want her to grow up being proud of her Asian background yet assimilated with the world around her.  I want her to celebrate her ethnicity but also respect the amazing diversity of the people around her.  And, above all, I want her to grow up with a philosophy and culture of inclusiveness, rather than one of separatism or xenophobia. 

So, because this is one of the many things I think about as my wife and I raise our tiny, little girl, I'm proud to announce that I've joined a group of fellow Asian-American fathers in starting a new blog.  It's called Rice Daddies.

The two tag lines we've been using on the site are "the kind of guys Amy Tan doesn't write about" and "the Asian dads you wish you had."  I think that might give you a general idea of what kind of attitude the blog will have.  And while we'll be discussing many aspects related to race and parenting, the site is hardly restricted to those topics.  Whether you're white, yellow, brown, black, or green...I think you'll find that a lot of the issues being discussed are relevant to all of us. 

So come over to Rice Daddies, check us out and let me know what you think.  I just put up my first post ("I suck at math and I don't know karate.")

(As for regular MetroDad posts, thanks for all your concerned e-mails about my week-long absence from blogging!  I'm ok.  I didn't fall under anything heavy.  BossLady and I were down in Florida all week with the MetroGrandparents and we spent most of our time teaching the Peanut how not to eat sand, poke jellyfish or stare at old people.  Whatever free time we had was used teaching my parents repeatedly how to use their VERY FIRST MICROWAVE!  More posts to come during the week!  Thanks again for your concerns!)

 

 

Random things that entered my mind this weekend in Vegas

On Friday night, we went to SW Steakhouse and gorged ourselves on porterhouses.  One of the guys eating with us was wearing a leather jacket, leather shoes, a leather belt and drinking a milkshake.  I couldn't get over the irony.  It was like he was half-man, half-cow!   Surprisingly, nobody else thought this was funny.  I think I'm getting weirder in my old age. 

Another guy in our group was a hard-core vegetarian and refused to eat with us at the steakhouse.  But later during the weekend, I saw him eating fried chicken and scrambled eggs.  How does that work?  Why does he love cows but hate chickens?  At one point in his life, did chickens kill someone in his family?  I wanted to ask but I was afraid it might bring back too many painful memories.

One of the things I really love about America is the fact that we're not afraid to deep-fry anything.  Whether it's fried turkey or fried twinkies, the strength of this nation was built on Canola oil.  I thought I'd tried everything but, on Saturday night, we went to Fix Restaurant and I had deep-fried Macaroni and Cheese.  It was amazing!  I could actually hear my arteries hardening.

When I was driving from the airport to the hotel, I saw billboards advertising concerts by Ann Margaret, Debbie Reynolds, Englebert Humperdink, and Wayne Newton.  I guess these people are, in some way, all very famous people.  But it's weird because I don't know a single piece of their music.  If I met them and was forced to talk to them for several hours, all I would be able to do is talk about the multiple episodes of Fantasy Island and Love Boat that they were on.  Do you think they would be offended?  If you were going to be famous for ONE thing, wouldn't guest-starring on one of those shows be right up there?  By the way, does anyone know what happened to Charo, Charles Nelson Reilly, and Susan Anton? 

I went to a nightclub on Friday night with twelve guys.  Eight of us were married and six of us have kids.  If you want to feel old, go to a nightclub with a bunch of married fathers.  All I could think of was that kids dress too skanky these days and I'm never letting my daughter out of the house. 

In my next apartment, I think I'm going to remove all the clocks, put the bathrooms as far away from the TV as possible, and have oxygen pumped in on a regular basis. 

Contrary to popular belief, wearing a tuxedo in a casino does not make you look like James Bond.  Unless, of course, there happens to be another James Bond and he's a fat cocktail waiter with a porn mustache working the graveyard shift at Binions. 

My hotel room this weekend was on the 14th floor but the hotel didn't have a 13th floor.  I'm not normally superstitious but, at several points over the weekend, I was a little pissed because I realized that if the Boogieman came and attacked my hotel, he'd definitely be starting on the 14th floor and I'd be totally fucking screwed.  Shouldn't that be worth a discount or something?

My room had motion sensors on the minibar.  If something is removed from the fridge or the tray for longer than 15 seconds, you are automatically charged for it.  You know all those movies where the thieves are trying to trick alarm systems by quickly replacing diamonds for a bag of stones?  Well, I think I've seen too many of those movies.  I spent about half an hour in my room trying to replace a bag of chips with some socks.  It never really worked.  But I have to say that those were the best $200 potato chips I've ever had. 

While I was sleeping in the aisle seat on the flight back home, the man next to me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Yo, can I get out?"  I didn't like his attitude so I said, "What's the Magic word?"  He decided to ignore me so I refused to get out of my seat.  But finally, because he had to pee so badly, he turned to me and said, "Please."  Now, is it really so painful for someone to say the word "please" that they'll actually wait until their bladder is about to burst before they say it?  Has being rude become a matter of principle for some people?  Am I going to have to spit in EVERYONE'S Diet Coke?  Sheesh!

It's good to be back home.

Word is the herb and I'm deep like Bob Marley

Newer visitors to the site know that I'm not afraid to watch a little television.  In recent months, you've likely heard me profess my love for everything from "Party of Five" to "Miami Vice" to "Fantasty Island."  Hell, I even wrote an entire post about "My Name is Earl." 

However, those who know me well know that television is really my dirty little mistress.  Reading has always been the true love of my life and, ever since I can remember, books have always been one of my greatest passions. 

When I was a little kid, I used to freak my parents out by running away from home and going to the library.  Since my parents both worked full-time, I used to sometimes play hooky so I could stay home and read in peace.  Even in college, I remember a time when I stayed up for three straight days because I wanted to finish "Foucault's Pendulum."  So yeah, I admit it.  I'm a total book nerd. 

And while other kids were collecting baseball cards, stamps or coins, I was always collecting books.  I used to spend days foraging the catacombs of used-book stores and flea markets, hoping to unearth some hidden treasures.  To this day, my greatest discovery was a small collection of first edition hardcovers by Norman Mailer that I found at a yard sale in Berkeley.  During this period, he was one of my favorite authors and when I subsequently met him years later, he was kind enough to sign all of them for me.

At one point, I was such a complete and utter dork that I actually kept a list on my computer of all my favorite books.  I also kept a separate list of first edition books that I wanted to own at some point during the course of my life. (As a young child, I had visions of my adult home being very similar to Wayne Manor, replete with a Batcave, a sliding pole and a modified version of the Batmobile.  I always pictured myself reading my first editions in the library as Alfred served me mac and cheese on a silver tray.)   

Quick story about the BossLady...Somehow, when we were dating, BossLady found out about my nerd list.  After we got engaged, she started secretly researching internet databases of book collectors from all over the world.  Over a year later, she presented me with a wedding gift, a beautiful first edition hardcover of Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man," the book at the top of BOTH my lists.  My hands literally were shaking as I opened it.  To this day, it's my most prized possession.  Do you see why I love this woman?

Anyway, I tell you all of this only to explain why it's important to me that the Peanut share my love of reading.  Even though she's only 16 months old now, I can't wait for the day when she's as passionate about books as I am.  I long for the time when we can discuss books that she's read, what she got out of it, and whether she's interested in reading other works by the same author.  In the back of my head, I have this Norman Rockwell vision of the entire family curled up on the couch by the fireplace and spending quiet evenings immersed in our own books.

So, to this end, I spend a lot of time reading to the Peanut.  Whenever she's feeling a little calm, I'll pull her up on my lap and read something to her.  In a way, I guess I'm hoping that my love of literature will rub off on her. 

Unfortunately, I think books are my daughter's kryptonite. 

Don't get me wrong. She loves chewing on them.  She loves grabbing them out of my hand and tossing them at the dog.  And last week, she practically peed her pants when I slipped on one of her books and busted my ass on the living room floor. 

But most of the time?  Put a book anywhere near her and she'll run away from it like she's allergic.

Now, of course, being the totally obsessively neurotic freak-out parent that I actually hate, my head starts reeling with a bunch of imaginary "What If?" scenarios.  What if she NEVER enjoys hearing stories?  What if she NEVER develops the desire to read?  Even worse, what if she never LEARNS to read and becomes a functional illiterate?  What if her dislike of reading causes her to drop out of school?  What will she do then?  How will she survive?  OMG!

Sigh...well, at least she's pretty.

(Update:  Somehow, the Peanut must have known that I was going to put up this post.  Over the past few days, she's been pulling books off the shelf, bringing them over to me, and climbing herself into my lap so I can read to her.  I haven't been this happy since the day she was born!  Special thanks to one of my favorite bloggers and fellow reader, LandisMom, for preaching patience to me when I thought my daughter would never learn how to read.)

By the way, I just finished three books that I was reading simultaneously so I'm looking for a few good books to read.  What are YOU guys reading these days?  Got any recommendations? 

 

T.W.A. (Travelling While Asian)

For the next month or so, I'm going to be traveling almost non-stop.  I'm going to Vegas for a bachelor party, Florida for a wedding, Asia for work, and then Arizona for yet another wedding.  And while I generally enjoy travelling, I can't stand dealing with airports. 

Going through security at the airport drives me bonkers.  Without fail, I always seem to get stuck behind the slow-moving moron in cowboy boots travelling with his stripper girlfriend and four carry-on bags filled with his entire collection of scissors and razor blades.  What the fuck?  Where do these people come from?  How come I only see them at the airport? 

Personally, I don't think they need to check EVERYBODY through security.  I honestly think Asian dudes should be allowed to zip right through.  We've never done ANYTHING wrong EVER!!!

(Sure, we deceived the entire scientific community by falsifying cloning data on embryonic research and causing an international scandal but that's HARDLY a security risk!)

But seriously, when was the last time you saw an Asian guy on a plane squeeze a flight attendant's ass, knock over the liquor cart and try to break into the cockpit?  It's ALWAYS a drunk white guy! The only time an Asian dude ever caused trouble on a plane was when a Japanese guy used his chopsticks to poke into one of those cardboard chicken sandwiches that Continental continues to serve on EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN FLIGHT!  Otherwise, we've never been a security risk.  Just let us get on the damn plane!

Being Asian, I also tend to be very self-concious about my safety when flying.  I'm no statistician but I've got this theory that airplanes are the biggest killers of Asian people.  Think about it.  We're ALWAYS going down in planes somewhere over Indonesia.  And when we go down in planes?  We go fucking DOW-UN!  We don't go down in little Piper prop planes.  Nope, we go down in giant Jumbo 747s.  There's usually thousands of us on board at a time!  And you know why the planes go down? Because the second-leading killer of Asians is tsunamis.  If they don't get us on the ground, they get us in the air. 

I heard a comic do a routine recently about how black people never had to worry about tsunamis.  He joked that, in the entire history of the world, no black person had ever been killed in a tsunami.  They could be strolling through the eye of the storm and walk away without a scratch.  White people?  Wind fucks them up.  Hurricances LOVE white people!  They only time they die in tsunamis is when they're hanging out with their Asian friends.         

Anyway, the best thing about travelling is getting to the hotel.  As some of you already know, my work takes me all over this country.   And invariably (at least 9 times out of 10) when I'm checking into a hotel for the first time somewhere in the South or Midwest, the concierge will turn to me and say, "Hello, Sir. Welcome back!  It''s nice to see you again!"  Fuck me!  Sure, I could probably let it slide but we all know I've got a little mean streak in me so I usually reply back in my snarkiest voice, "Dude, I have never been here before in my entire fucking life.  Perhaps you are confusing me with of one of THE OTHER 2 BILLION ASIAN MEN ON THIS PLANET!" 

You should see their faces when I say that!  Most times, the concierges turn bright red and start stumbling all over the place to make amends.  That's when I start hassling them for an upgraded room or free drink coupons.  If they hesitate for even a second, I just look at them sternly and say, "Sir.  I'm trying to stay very calm right now but it's taking all of my patience not to go completely Jet Li on your ass!"

Anyway, I'm done ranting now.  Sorry.  As always, if any of you are in an airport and see a tall Asian dude at the bar tossing down scotches, run up to him, give him a big hug, and be sure to yell loudly, "I just don't know how to quit you, Ennis!"

Who knows?  It could be me. 

(If not, you'll definitely give the guy something to talk about when he gets home.)

 

Advice for First-Time Parents

From the comments and e-mails that I've been receiving lately, I've come to the realization that people are actually visiting this site because they're seeking professional baby advice regarding their newborn or infant baby. 

Unfortunately, folks, I'm sorry to inform you that I have absolutely NO professional or medical training in raising a child.  I'm neither a doctor nor a child-care specialist.  I just play one on the internet!  (Shit, I gotta call Clooney.  Just because he was on ER, I'll bet nobody asks HIM for advice when they're lying in bed with chest pains.)

However, I will say that, although I've only been a father for about 16 months, I certainly have learned a lot.  And if you're actually at the end of your rope and you're coming HERE for advice, it's pretty evident that you've probably got nowhere else to turn.  Maybe you don't have any family members nearby.  Maybe you don't live near a local library.  Maybe you just don't know any better. 

So for those of you who are raising children and have absolutely no idea how to do so, I hereby offer you a quick tip sheet of handy parenting advice.  I hope you'll find this information as useful as I have...

• Always store the baby in a cool dry place.  If you're going to keep your newborn in a closet, be sure to include some cedar wood chips.  Not only will this prevent moths from attacking your baby, it will get the baby's wrinkles out faster.

• At a very young age, you should tattoo your phone number on the baby's foot.  This way, if you lose your baby when you're out clubbing, people will know how to reach you.

• Teething is a very painful process for young infants.  Bubble gum is an excellent remedy. 

• Baby carriers are very expensive.  Personally, we use a Baby Bjorn.  However, if you want to save some money, you can just use a regular backpack.  Just be sure to poke some holes in the backpack before putting your baby in there. 

• Newborns tend to sleep.  A lot.  However, too much sleep can be a bad thing.  If your baby is sleeping more than 48 hours solid, you should probably call your pediatrician.   

• Babies drool and spit up a lot.  If you want to keep them from staining your suit or all your tailored shirts, put little cotton balls in their mouth when you burp them.  Don't worry.  They can still breathe.  That's what nostrils are there for. 

• Babies need to be washed a lot.  Some people even wash their babies every two weeks!  Learn to multi-task.  If you're washing your car, put a snorkel on your baby's head.  Then, you can just hose the baby down at the same time.  Also, if you have cats, cover your baby in catnip.  The kitties will lick your baby clean in no time!

• The best way to tell if your baby needs a new diaper is to throw it up against the wall.  If it sticks, change the diaper.  If not, you're good to go for at least another few days!

Anyway, I hope this advice helps.  By the way, we've got another issue of the MetroDad Mailbag coming up soon so be sure to either e-mail me your child-rearing questions or leave them in the comments section.  Because parenting is HARD work and one of the great things about the blogging community is the sharing of knowledge and experience. 

And like Hillary says, "It takes a village." 

All The Snooze That's Fit to Print

For those of you visiting here for the first time because of my semi-embarrassing quote in the Women's Sports Section of the NY Times, let me just say Welcome!  My name is MetroDad (or, as we like to say here in New York City, "Bienvenido!  Me llamo Metrodad!")

This site is, for lack of a better phrase, a "daddy blog." 

What the hell is a "daddy blog?" you might ask?  Well, I can't answer for ALL of them but I like to think of this site as being very similar to a "mommy blog"...except with real humor!  And 50% less crazy!

I'm kidding, of course.  This site actually began as a way for me to track my journey into fatherhood.  As I gave up living the fast-paced Manhattan high lifestyle of restaurant openings, book parties and the velvet ropes, I wanted to record my segue into responsible and involved parenthood.  How exactly does one go from bottle service to the binky?  From dancing at Lotus to ring-around-the-rosie?

Because, as you may learn from perusing this site, I take parenting very seriously.  I'm 37 years old.  I've always wanted to be a father.  And with the birth of my daughter 16 months ago, I was given a chance to try and become the best father that I possibly can.  So I started this site to reach out to other parents (particularly fathers) who could help me along on this journey.  In the process, I met an amazing number of great parents---people with different backgrounds from all over the world who all take parenting as seriously as I do.  I'm humbled to say that it's been one of the most enrichening experiences of my life.

But, needless to say, this site is also where we take a look at the lighter side of parenting.  Because just because I'm take parenting seriously, it doesn't mean I take myself very seriously.  And this site is also where, as a tiny little community, similar parents as myself can come and debate various topics related to raising a child.   And, because I can't resist an open mic, it's also become a forum for me to discuss anything that possibly comes to mind. 

So, if you've got nothing else to do, take a look around.  Here are a few sample posts that may give you a better idea of what this site is all about.  Enjoy...

So I Put My Ding-a-Ling in her Pee-Pee hole?  (on trying to get my wife pregnant)

Does Johnny Walker Make a Diaper Bag? (on the mass branding of baby gear)

Wouldn't It Be Cheaper to get a Vasectomy? (on buying a mini-van)

High-Stakes Gambling At Home (on drinking my wife's breast milk)

Like a Sailor Without a Fucking Boat (on learning not to curse in front of my child)

My Wife, Porn Star (on the size of my wife's pregnancy boobs)

The MetroDad Mailbag (readers send in their questions)

Confessions of a Grammar Nerd (Strunk & White rock the house!)

 

Right Wing? Left Wing? Chicken Wing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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