MetroDad

The Modern Jedi's Guide to Parenting

"Why do I get the feeling that you will be the death of me?" — Obi-Wan Kenobi

Many of you know that I'm an avid reader of parenting books.  And in my on-going quest to be a better parent, I've traversed the entire diaspora of parenting literature and gleaned bits of information from virtually every book ever written on the subject.  However, after all this research, I think I've come up with a new and novel approach to parenting. 

I'VE DECIDED TO RAISE THE PEANUT AS A JEDI.

Like young Master Luke, the Peanut is both impatient and impetuous.  Therefore, I believe that she would benefit greatly by learning the way of the Jedi.  Their collective wisdom has provided guidance for thousands of generations.  How can you argue against that? 

I have to admit that part of the fun in raising one's child as a Jedi is that you get to talk like Obi-Wan Kenobi or Yoda all day.  But in all seriousness, I'm finding that these Jedi pearls of wisdom are turning out to be a lot handier than I thought!

• When the Peanut sees me eating a cookie and runs over to grab it out of my hand, I quickly hide the cookie in my pocket and say, "Your eyes can deceive you; don't trust them."  Other times, I'll look her straight in the eye and say, "These aren't the cookies you're looking for!"

• If we're at the playground and Peanut tries to follow one of the older kids, I pull her aside gently and whisper, "Tell me, Peanut. Who's the more foolish: the fool, or the fool who follows him?"

• Lately, she's been having fun pushing me around.  I'm trying to break this habit quickly so she doesn't do it around other kids.  Any time she pushes me, I boldly prounounce, "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

• And when she starts throwing a hissy fit demanding that something be done HER way, I'll just pick her up and loudly proclaim, "Only Sith deal in absolutes!"

In teaching the Peanut the ways of the Jedi, I've been forced to use a few Jedi tricks of my own.   As I mentioned last week, the Peanut has become a very fussy eater.  Therefore, for the past week, I've used my Jedi powers at dinnertime every night to convince her that she's actually a dog.  I put her food in a dog bowl, set it on the floor, and say to her, "Puppy, you are.  Hungry is the belly of the puppy!" 

And just like that, she's convinced that she's a little puppy and will start eating out of her dog bowl...

What?  You've never played Jedi tricks on your kids before?  No, really.  Never?  C'mon.  'Fess up! Have you?

Notate Bene...

(1) When training a young Jedi, it is imperative to ensure that your child's powers be used only for good rather than evil.  However, it is equally important to make sure that they never use their newfound powers against you.  Peanut's friend Juniper is also a young Jedi and has sometimes been known to mind-trick her own parents.   

(2) Yeah, internets, I know this is a terrible precedent to set.  If I don't stop feeding her out of a doggy bowl, the Peanut is only going to want to eat on the floor.  However, I'm thinking of just sticking a tatami mat under her butt and say that she's eating "Asian-style."  What do you think?  Is the wife going to buy it?

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Am I a Mommy Blogger?

All my life, I've had a pretty healthy relationship with women. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  Like I've said many times (almost TOO many times), I'm definitely a "guy's guy."  

Most of the time, I pee standing up (sometimes I even lift the seat up!) I'm a complete sports fanatic, love classic rock, drive way too fast, and am perfectly happy eating dinner over the sink.  I drink scotch, eat meat, and nothing cracks me up like a good fart under the covers.

But I also have a softer, more sensitive side.  For a sarcastic wise-ass, I'm fairly introspective and generally in touch with my emotions.  I love curling up with a good book.  I love cuddling in bed with my wife.  And personally, there's nothing more relaxing for me than a day at the spa.

I bring this up because I'm noticing that the vast majority of my readers seem to be women.  I also find that most of the blogs I read are written by women.  In fact, most of them are written by women who have children.  It may be unusual but I enjoy reading about the challenges of raising children.  I love getting advice on how to become a better parent.  And call me crazy but I NEVER get sick of the cute stories that people tell about their kids. 

HOLY SHIT...AM I A MOMMY BLOGGER?

As my half-Korean Seoul sister Kristen informs me, there is evidently a negative connotation to being a mommy blogger.  Apparently, many people who read blogs look down on women who write about being moms and brush them all off as being bored and vapid housewives with nothing better to do than read Redbook and talk about their kids.  All "mommy bloggers" are somehow categorically dismissed and marginalized simply due to the fact that they have children.  The fact that these same mothers are smart, interesting, funny and insightful is completely disregarded by the vast majority of the blogosphere. 

To me, this is just another form of stereotyping or bias.  It's insulting and demeaning.  It's almost as offensive as dismissing and trivializing people solely due to race. 

Shit, I'm a "daddy blogger."  And if mommy bloggers are the dregs of the internet, then daddy bloggers are their red-headed stepchildren (no offense to any red-headed stepchildren out there.)  But really, NOBODY even knows that we exist!  If they did, who knows what they would think of us? 

For the most part, I'm sure many people would stereotype "daddy bloggers" as a group of emasculated and oversensitive fathers who are either SAHDs or who subscribe to some sort of New Age-type of parenting.  Those people should come here and say that to my face!  Because I'm not fucking around here.  I will literally take off my apron and beat those fools silly with a spatula and my copy of Iron John.

In all seriousness, any dismissal of fathering blogs is probably related to the fact that, when it comes to issues of parenting, fathers are often marginalized out of the discussion.  You always hear about the Mommy Wars.  Or the struggle of balancing parenthood and careers.  Or the difficulties of being a single mother.  But how often do you hear those issues as they relate to men?  Very rarely. Does this bother me?  Not at all.  I'm much more interested in being inclusive rather than divisive.  I want no part in a battle that divides mothers and fathers.

So, to all my favorite "mommy bloggers" and "moms who blog," I stand with you in unity! 

Screw all the haters!  Who cares what they think?  Life's too short too worry about all that crap.  We may all be parents but we're also a diverse group of individual personalities who have a lot more to discuss than baby wipes, drool and potty training.  So, like I've said before, fly your freak flag!  Speak your mind!  And, together, let's show the haters that there's more to all of us than just being a parent!

After all, how boring would it be if our entire identities were wrapped up solely in the fact that we're also moms and dads? 

Friday's Million Dollar Idea

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

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

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

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

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Fucking Hector!

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

Still here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

MetroDog Love

BossLady and I were hanging out last night, feeling extremely guilty about how little love that MetroDog has been given since the birth of the Peanut.  Before the Peanut was born, it's safe to say that MetroDog was our first child.  He slept in our bed with us, watched TV with us, and even travelled around the world with us.  The three of us were practically inseparable. 

Together, we would go for long hikes in Central Park almost every day and, on weekends, we'd cruise all over the city together.  Hell, we even used to arrange play dates for him so he could hang out with some fellow Frenchies.  I'm almost embarrassed to admit it now but, on his birthdays, BossLady and I would always throw him picnics in the park...complete with veal shanks from the butcher, some doggie ice cream, and a special birthday present.

We were discussing tonight about how cool and weird MetroDog is.  He's the friendliest pooch around.  He loves people and, more importantly, absolutely loves babies.  When BossLady was pregnant, we were a little nervous about how'd he react to a new member of the family. 

The first night after Peanut was born, I came home with her baby blanket and introduced her scent to MetroDog.  Things didn't get off to a good start when I returned home the next day and found the blanket shredded to pieces.  But when Peanut came home for the first time, MetroDog was the perfect elder sibling.  He knew to be gentle with her and was instinctively protective of her.  They got along famously from the start and continue to have a very entertaining relationship.

It's ridiculously adorable watching the two of them together.  She loves walking him around the apartment and feeding him snacks.  He loves licking her feet and sniffing her butt.  Sometimes, BossLady and I will hear them in the next room, chasing each other around and laughing their asses off together. 

MetroDog...We love you, dude.  This post is for you.  Now that you have a younger non-canine sibling, I promise that I'll try to save you from BossLady on Halloween.  I can't promise anything for sure but I'll definitely try, my friend. 

After all, I know that you never really forgave us for that whole bumblebee incident back in 2004 (and, for that matter, the birthday hat incident of 2003.)  Sorry, dude!

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March Mailbag (v. 2006)

It's been awhile since we've done a MetroDad mailbag.  For those of you unfamiliar with this aspect of the site, this is when I answer questions submitted by my readers.   Some of the questions are related to parenting.  Some of them are, um...not.  As always, I'll start off by saying that I have no professional experience except for my 37 years on this planet and the brief 17 months that I have been a father.  Any consequences of taking advice from me are at the reader's own risk. 

Let's kick things off, shall we?

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Dear MetroDad---my youngest nephew is graduating high school this spring and my sister (who is a single mom) wants me to sit him down and give him some worldly advice before he sets off for college.  I'm not really the philosophical type.  Any idea on what sort of advice I should give the kid?
-Steven (Vancouver)

I believe that philosophical advice is best left for philosophers.  I think kids today really just want some common-sense rules to keep them out of trouble.  There are a lot of mixed messages going on out there.  You never know where wisdom is going to rear its pretty little head.  Personally, the best advice I ever heard came from the highly-underrated cinema classic "Teen Wolf."  Here are the timeless words of Coach Bobby Finstock...

"I have three rules which I live by: Never get less than 12 hours sleep, never play cards with a guy who has the first name as a city, and never go near a lady with a tattoo of a dagger on her hand.  Now you stick with that, and everything else is cream cheese."

Pretty good advice, don't you think?

Alternately, you can follow the wisdom of my always verbose father who, upon dropping me off at college, gave me a couple hundred bucks and merely said, "Be careful" (translated from the original Korean, this brief two-word aphorism actually means, "Don't even THINK about doing anything to fuck this up.  Don't get kicked out of school.  Don't get in any bar fights.  Don't get anyone pregnant.  If you do any of those things, we will disown you in less time than it takes for me to fly out here and kick your ass!  Have fun.")

MD, during a recent interview on "The View", Donald Trump said that he would probably date his daughter, Ivanka, if they weren't related.  How disturbing is this?  What's wrong with this guy?  As the father of a teenage girl, I'm scared to let my daughter out of the house!
-Brian (Philadelphia, PA)

Brian...apparently, Donald has been making statements like this about his daughter for quite some time.  In fact, I believe the last time he admired his daughter's nice figure, he even added that she's got "YUGE breasts," a "fifty billion dollar ass," and is "a gazillion times classier than that Martha Stewart lady!"  What can you say about Donald?  He says things for shock value in order to get attention. Most people don't take him for anything more than the blustering PR machine that he is. 

But since actions speak louder than words, you know what really gets my boxers in a bunch?  Billy Joel.  Have you seen his new wife?  She's 24 years old!  He's 57!  His daughter is 22!  I know there's a precedent with rich guys marrying younger women but Billy Joel clearly violated the long-honored Younger Woman Age Limit Rule (Divide your age by two, then add seven.)  Besides, seeing Billy Joel with his new wife also goes beyond the Raised Eyebrow Rule.  Because of them, we're forced to start a new category, The Puke a Little in Your Mouth Rule.  At least Trump's new wife is a LITTLE older than his kids!

(Going back to Trump...have you guys heard that Raj from "The Apprentice" is running for Congress?  Next thing you know, a pro wrestler will be governor of Minnesota!)

Dear Metro---My family is constantly making fun of my pregnant body.  The last time they came over, my uncle couldn't stop laughing when I stepped outside to the pool in my maternity bathing suit.  Then, my MIL got her camera and said, "I was told to get blackmail pictures."  At the time, I was 30 weeks pregnant and had only gained 19 pounds.  I'm perfectly fine with my weight gain but my family is pissing me off.  What can I do to get them off my back?
-Susan (Arlington, VA)

Fight fire with fire, Susan!  No offense but you've got a family full of insensitive assholes.  Sure, you could take the mature route and politely ask them to refrain from making any pregnancy jokes because they're hurting your feelings.  But, personally, I think you're better off fucking with them.  Next time your uncle says something, just burst out into tears and wail as loud as possible!  Then, in front of your uncle, ask your husband to kick his ass.  The two things that most men can't resist are a woman's tears and the thought that they may have offended another man's wife.  If your uncle has any sense of shame, he'll feel like a total heel.

As for your MIL?  Blackmail that bitch right back.  Next time she's in the shower, pop open the bathroom door, take a few photos of her naked, smile lovingly, and say, "Sorry.  I was told to get some blackmail pictures.  See you on the internet!"  Let's see who gets the last laugh!

MD, my wife is pregnant with our first child and I'm freaking out about money.  All this baby crap is so darn expensive and my wife is going nuts with her daily trips to BuyBuyBaby.  What can I do?  Should I get a second job?
-Leo (Seattle, WA)

You're in luck, Leo! I can solve all your money problems right now. I have developed a fool-proof way of making money fast.  Plus, you can work from the confines of your own home!

If you want to find out how to make over $1,000 just by asking people for money, please send me a check or money order in the amount of $1,000 (c/o Manhattan Porsche, NYC). 

Act now and you'll receive a complimentary ColdHeat Soldering Tool.  It's yours to keep ABSOLUTELY FREE!  As seen on TV!

Hey, MD, did you watch the Oscars last week?  Did you notice that Reese Witherspoon almost forgot to thank her husband Ryan Phillipe when she won the Best Actress award?  How funny would it have been if she had forgotten to thank him?  And if YOU won an Oscar?  Who would you thank?
-Larissa (Los Angeles, CA)

Funny that you mentioned this.  As several people have noted in their hate-mails to me, I'm a self-centered egomaniac.  Therefore, as one might expect, I've already written all my speeches for when I (1) win an Oscar, (2) receive the Nobel Peace Prize, and (3) gain admittance to the Baseball Hall of Fame. 

But, in all seriousness, BossLady and I have actually discussed my Oscar speech in great detail.  We both decided that I should definitely break precedent and start off by thanking myself.  Because without my undeniable talent, there's no way I would have won the award.  Second, I would definitely thank BossLady because she has to put up with me and my insanity on a constant basis.   But that's it!  No praise to agents, managers, stylists, studio execs or personal assistants.  MetroDad don't kiss no ass when he's paying out suckas 15% of his gross earnings. 

As for Ryan Phillipe?  All I can say is that it can't be easy when your wife is pulling in $29 million per movie and YOUR best known work is playing Billy Douglas on "One Life to Live."  The sooner he comes to terms with being Best Supporting Spouse, the better off he'll be.   Besides, when he gets really despondent, he can always jump in the Bentley and grab lunch at the Ivy with Rita Wilson, Kelly Preston, and Jada Pinkett.  There are worse things than being a Hollywood wife (or so I'm told.)   

MD---I'm not sure whether you can help me out with a problem we're having.  In order to toilet train our 3-year-old son, I've been offering him a scoop of ice cream for every time he manages to "pee pee or poo poo in the potty."  Unfortunately, my reward strategy seems to have backfired.  The kid's blackmailing me now.  Although he's fully trained, he still wants his ice cream and if I don't give it to him immediately, he just pulls down his pants, squats, and craps all over the carpet.  I think I've created a monster.  Help!
-Brad (New York, NY)

Dude, I'm speechless.  This is far beyond the realm of my parenting experience.  I have NO idea how to toilet train a child nor have I yet to experience infant blackmail.  Anyone else want to take this one on?  Anyone? 
 
Metro, did you watch "24" last week?  Can you believe they killed Edgar!  And to make matters worse, they brought back annoying Kim?  Are they fucking with us or what?  Any thoughts on all of this? Are you still watching the show?
-Andrea (Tulsa, OK)

The death of Edgar really got to me.  I fucking loved that guy.  He wasn't good-looking.  He had a lisp.  He was a low-level civil servant.  Poor dude.  Somewhere up there in heaven, Edgar, there's a double-meat cheese steak with your name on it.   And I know I'm not the only one who felt like this because, if you noticed, the producers gave Edgar the very rare silent clock at the end of the episode (which has only happened 4 other times.)

As for the show?  I'm still loving it but, like many people have mentioned, I think they're going a little overboard with the cameos.  Bill Simmons mentioned recently that it's absolutely ridiculous that we're halfway through the season and Sean Astin has yet to wear his Notre Dame jacket on the show.  I totally concur. 

However, all the absurd cameos have added an interesting twist to watching "24." In fact, my favorite new pastime while watching "24" is to yell out famous lines from other movies in which the the current collection of cameo co-stars have appeared.

Whenever Sean Astin appears, I find myself yelling, "God damn it!  You're a Ruettiger! There's nothing in the world wrong with being a Ruettiger!"  When I get tired of using that line, I sometimes just put on my quiet voice, turn to the BossLady and say, "Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?"

Whenever Peter "RoboCop" Weller appears, I yell, "Dead or alive, you're coming with me."

So you can only imagine how happy I was to see C. Thomas Howell on the show last week.   When he left CTU at Jack's request, I immediately yelled out at the TV, "Stay gold, Pony Boy!  Stay gold." 

Try this game at home next time you're watching the show.  It's pretty fucking fun.  Meanwhile, I'll look forward to more new episodes.  Who knows who they'll bring on next?  Maybe Ralph Macchio?  Aidan Quinn?  Rick Springfield? 

Meanwhile...I'll mith you Edgar Thiles.

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Beyond the Blogosphere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      

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Steppin' Out!

Have you heard the story about the married couple with kids?  Recently, the wife was doing the dishes in the kitchen when her husband stepped up behind her and said, "hey, girl.  You want to go out?"  Without even turning around, the wife quickly replied "Oh God, Yes!!!  We never do that anymore.  I'd love to."  Anyway, the couple went out and had a wonderful evening.  But it wasn't until the end of the night that the husband confessed that his question had been directed at the family dog, who had been lying at the wife's feet on the kitchen floor!

BossLady and I are generally pretty good at making sure that we get time for ourselves away from the baby.  As anyone with kids will attest, this is no easy task.  But we find that if we don't get some time alone together or with some friends for a long dinner, we start going crazy.  Usually, the threshold is about three weeks.  If we don't get an evening out together in three weeks, we'll start picking fights with each other over who left the dirty dishes in the sink (her), whose turn it is to walk the dog (me), or which American idol needs to go (I say Gedeon.  She says Kinnik.)

Anyway...this past Friday, BossLady and I decided that it was time for another much-needed date night. 

Now, I don't know whether I've ever told you that, in addition to her many great attributes,  the BossLady is a fucking rock star.  Seriously!  She's got an awesome voice and, during her grad school days, she even played bass guitar in an all-female alternative rock band.  Back when we were a childless couple, the two of us would often go to these private karaoke rooms (noraebang) that are prevalent throughout New York City.  Sometimes, we'd make it an entire evening.  Other times, we'd be hanging out with friends and, on the way home, the two of us would decide to make a pit stop to belt out some tunes together.  More than once, we emerged from those rooms just as the sun was starting to come up. 

Recently, we'd been lamenting the fact that we hadn't done this since the Peanut was born.  So, on Friday night, we got a babysitter, went out for some Korean barbecue, headed over to our favorite karaoke joint, got our our own private room and started belting out tunes. Needless to say, it was just like old times.  I did my usual repertoire of songs by Bush, Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Bruce Springsteen.  BossLady covered everything under the sun...The Killers, Madonna, Dido, Beastie Boys, Cheap Trick and even a few Korean songs.  (However, in my honest opinion, you haven't lived until you've heard her versions of Lauryn Hill's "Doo Wop,"  Night Rangers' "Sister Christian," or Radiohead's "Creep.")

We had an awesome time.  For five hours, we remembered what it was like to be young and childless.  Never in a million years would we ever regret deciding to have a child.  But for one night?  It was great visiting our younger selves, rocking out and having fun in the moment.

The only downside is the cost of getting someone to watch the Peanut.  Like everything else in NYC, babysitters are expensive.  We generally pay our sitters between $12-15/hour.  We give them another $15 to order some dinner.  And if we stay out past 11:00 pm, we usually hand them another $20 to take a taxi home.  So, needless to say, sometimes even going out for a quick burger and a movie ends up costing us $120!  It's insane, right?  Thankfully, MetroBro is an excellent babysitter and loves spending time with his niece so we usually only end up having to pay for a sitter once a month.  But generally, we chalk up the expense of a babysitter as an essential cost of living.   

After all, you can't really put a price on one's sanity, can you? 

But, as usual, I'm curious about other parents in the blogosphere.  Do you have date nights with your spouse?  How often?  Who watches the kids?  What's the market rate for a babysitter where you live? What do you do on date night? 

Take Your Daughter to Work Day!

I'm currently here at work in my midtown office, typing in the dark as the Peanut sleeps beside me in her Pack 'N Play.  The nanny called in sick this morning and since BossLady's company discourages people from having children (much less bringing them to the office,) it's fallen upon me to bring our little daughter to work with me today.  I would have stayed home but, unfortunately, I have several important client meetings.

Thankfully, I work with a great group of women who are not only all mothers but also are more than happy to watch over the Peanut while I'm with my clients.  However, during one of my meetings this morning, the Peanut somehow managed to escape from captivitity and ran into my conference room, holding a jar of food and a stapler above her head, yelling "Dadddeeee!" 

I must admit that it broke the tensions in the room and everyone enjoyed a good laugh.  But these were clients whom I've known for many years.  Let's hope the same thing doesn't happen for my 4:00 meeting! 

Ahh...the perils of parenting in the new millenium.  I think it's safe to say that neither my father nor any of his peers ever had to manage THIS problem.  Welcome to modern day fatherhood!

But I'm curious, my friends.  If you have a nanny who happens to call in sick, what do you do with your kids?  And if, for some reason, the kids are sick and need to be pulled from school or daycare, who stays home with them?  How do dual-income working parents deal with these situations? 

An inquiring mind wants to know.