MetroDad

CHAOS THEORY: November 2010

As most of you have witnessed by now, I'm not the most prolific writer. Being a single dad in the middle of an apartment renovation and a stressful economy aren't necessarily helping things these days. However, I've got some random thoughts to share so I thought I'd spit them out here quickly.

 

THE PEANUT TURNS SIX

Every year when the Peanut's birthday rolls around, I ask her in my saddest and most forlorn voice, "Hey sweetie, do you want to have a party this year?" immediately followed by an exceedingly enthusiastic "or would you rather go to THE ZOO, pet some CUTE BABY SEALS, and eat a MOUNTAIN OF CAKE?"

This year, she didn't fall for it. Instead, she insisted on having a Princess Party with six of her closest girlfriends. This involved multiple outfit changes, macabre make-up sessions, insane amounts of screaming, criminal acts of civil disobedience, mosh pits, pizza gorging, and a chocolate cake orgy.

As far as I know, nobody got hurt or developed an eating disorder. Yay, success!

It's funny thinking about how it wasn't long ago that the Peanut was just a little baby whose sole ability was to be adorably cute on demand.

But strictly speaking, I like these days much better. It's incredible having an inquisitively playful, intellectually curious, and emotionally connected kid who never ceases to amaze you.  So yeah, six pretty much rocks.

Happy birthday, kiddo. I hope you always know how much I love you.

 

DO THE MATH

I, on the other hand, recently turned 42. While I generally feel pretty good about this benchmark, my daughter helped put things in a wholly different perspective.

Every time we're on the subway together, I give her math problems (yes, I'm that Asian dad.) Last week, while quizzing her on the 2 train about our age difference, she did the math in her head and then loudly yelled out for everyone to hear, "HOLY COW, YOU'RE 36 YEARS OLDER THAN ME? THAT'S CRAZY!"

I hope to someday be rich enough where the two of us will never have to take public transportation again.

 

OLDER, WISER

I used to think my dream woman was a mash-up of Zhang Ziyi, Tori Amos and Phoebe Cates but now I think she’s probably more a mash-up of Maggie Cheung, Christine Amanpour and Joan Didion. I could be wrong about this though.

 

SHORT BOOK REVIEWS OF BOOKS I HAVEN'T FINISHED YET

"The Snakehead" by Patrick Radden Keefe

An incredible account of how a middle-aged grandmother, working out of a tiny noodle shop in Chinatown, built a multimillion-dollar global empire smuggling Chinese immigrants into America. Book reads like a thriller as it explores the underbelly of human trafficking around the world.

"Hitch 22: A Memoir" by Christopher Hitchens

Love him or hate him, Hitch could care less. For him, the pen is always mightier than the sword. These memoirs are shockingly candid and brilliantly written. Quite possibly my favorite literary memoir since Martin Amis' "Experience."

"Freedom" by Jonathan Franzen

I know people had mixed reactions to "The Corrections" but I thought it was one of the best books written in the past 10 years. And while I'm only one chapter into Franzen's latest, he remains in my mind as one of the best story tellers in contemporary fiction.

 

CHING CHONG RACISM: YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST TIME

As a young Asian-American kid growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood, I always knew that I was different from all the other kids.

But it wasn't until I was in 5th grade that I experienced racial hatred for the first time.

During a friendly game of tackle football, I got in a scuffle with an Italian kid named Tony. While we were pushing each other around, Tony made the "chinky eyes" and said, "Fuck you, man. You're nothing but a fucking chink gook!"

I was nine years old.

I'd never even heard the words "chink" or "gook" before. And yeah, I knew my eyes were smaller but I didn't know that was something to be teased about. Shit, I never made fun of all the other kids because of their fucked-up noses or their jacked-up teeth.

As I stood there trying to process this new information, I heard my Irish buddy Tom and his older brother get in Tony's face. Even at that life-altering moment, I remember wondering whether the two of them were actually defending my honor or just looking for an excuse for a really good brawl. Heck, the last time Tom had gotten in a fight was when Tony made us sit in his driveway and watch while he drove the motorized go-cart his dad had gotten him for his 8th birthday.

Anyway, a few moments later, Tom and his brother grabbed Tony, pinned him down, and yelled for me to come over and punch him in the face.

Man, I have to admit that hitting him felt good. And yeah, the first time I experienced racism was also the first time I got into a fight. I don't think it's a coincidence that those two facts are related. Nobody likes to be different. Especially when you're nine.

As has been well documented, I love raising my daughter in New York City. Growing up here, she's been exposed to a wide diaspora of race, colors, creeds and sexual orientations that have made her oblivious to the differences that separate and divide so many of us as adults.

Sadly, that bubble has been broken.

Last week, BossLady was picking the Peanut up from school when an elderly Latino gentleman approached her to apologize for his grandson's behavior. Apparently, his grandson and another boy had been mocking and teasing the Peanut by making "chinky eyes" and yelling "ching chong, ching chong."

The kids are in first grade.

As BossLady was listening to the elderly man's apology, she saw two students in 3rd grade run past the Peanut and yell "ching chong, ching chong." Apparently, this has been a trend in the school.

Are you fucking kidding me?

When we discussed this with the Peanut, she said that she thought the boys sounded stupid making those noises and that she was "lucky" that her teacher stepped in to move the boys to a different table. What's the world coming to that my daughter has to feel "lucky" to not be taunted with racial epithets in her first-grade classroom?

The Peanut is in a new school this year. We moved her because we were so impressed with how the school seemed to truly embrace diversity and, to be honest, the school handled the incident wonderfully and appropriately.

However, I find it sadly ironic that the Peanut had no concept of race or color before she even came to this school.  It took less than a week before she learned that she was Asian. One of her little classmates had apparently lectured her on racial stereotypes and distinctions.  The Peanut was so confused that she came home one day and asked whether it was true that we were "Ajin".  

She knew that people looked different but there was never any judgment behind that.  It was beautiful to see and I'm sorry to see that loss of innocence. 

Like I said, you never forget your first time.

 

ON THE FLIP SIDE: USING MY ASIAN POWERS FOR MY OWN ENTERTAINMENT

Despite the fact that all my friends know I was born and raised in NY, some of them still cannot help but think that all Asians are imbued at birth with some sacred and mystical Far East knowledge. It's truly amazing to me.

Last week, I went over to a buddy's apartment and, as a joke, I told him that the Feng Shui in his apartment was completely off and that he needed to immediately move all his furniture around if he wanted to regain spiritual balance in his life.

I had him moving stuff around for about an hour before I couldn't take it anymore and started laughing so hard that tears were coming down my eyes. The dude was lathered in sweat from moving all his couches around the apartment. He even started complaining that my prank had caused him to re-injure his shoulder.

I told him to stay cool and grab some toothpicks so I could perform some ancient Far East acupuncture on him.

Ha!

 

HOUSEKEEPING

(1) Thanks to KoreAm for naming MetroDad as one of the Top 10 Asian-American blogs. I am humbly honored.

(2) Still undecided on whether to maintain my Twitter page. Whom should I be following?

(3) I know times are tough these days but, as the year ends, if you are lucky enough to be able to donate a small amount in order to help those less fortunate, please consider donating to help honor my friend's memory. The Andrew Golkin Fund has provided scholarships to some incredible kids and we'd love to do even more for them.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and all your loved ones!

CHAOS THEORY: August 2009

Firstly, thanks so much for the outpouring of love and support. I'm completely humbled and confess that your comments and e-mails moved me more than I ever expected. In retrospect, I probably should have put that post up months ago. The response from all of you was both heartwarming and cathartic.

Virtual hugs and fist bumps all around. Rock on.

Life is hectic these days so I'm not sure how much I'll be writing here for awhile. Between juggling custody arrangements, getting my ass kicked at work, plowing through 3 books per week, battling insomnia, having long-distance phone sessions with my therapist, writing a television pilot, trying to launch several new businesses, and contemplating the benefits of a semi-eremitic life, I find myself with very little free time. 

But as usual, I've got some random thoughts that I wanted to share with you.

I hope you're all having a great summer and thanks again for being so cool.

THE GRASS AIN'T ALWAYS GREENER

When the Peanut gets older and inevitably starts pointing out my shortcomings as a father, I'm going to sit her down and force her to watch the episode of Wife Swap featuring the Stockdale family (Season 4.) Here are some of the rules in their parenting manual:

"Our children are being raised away from violent language, sexual influences, drinking, smoking, drugs, rap music...all the things we left behind in the city. Instead, we are raising our children on a diet of wholesome activities and farm work; keeping their minds pure and their bodies healthy and keeping out any influences of modern society. That is why we home-school. I give my boys a large spoonful of cod-liver oil after dinner to keep their hearts and minds strong."

“We teach our boys that to succeed, you have to work. We raise chickens and process chickens, and what we don’t eat we sell. We all pitch in, and I can gut a chicken in under four minutes. The boys receive tokens for every chore they do and an extra token if they do it with a glad heart. They trade their tokens for privileges like listening to the radio or for a stick of gum."

Seriously? I don't know about processing chickens but if the Peanut learns to gut a fish in under four minutes and make fresh sushi for me every day, the kid's going to be trading in those tokens for a brand-new BMW by the time she's 11.

Especially if she does it with "a glad heart."

Man, rednecks are funny motherfuckers.

NON SEQUITUR ADULT ENTERTAINMENT IS FREE AND CHEAP

I used to laugh at the random non sequiturs that would come out of the Peanut's mouth when she was younger. However, a few months ago as part of an entertaining social experiment, a friend and I decided to start reciting several choice non sequiturs to complete strangers.

For example, at the local deli when the cashier asked, "Paper or plastic?" we'd reply, "Let the love flow, y'all." The looks and responses were so hilarious that we tried to recruit more people for our social experiment using the same catch phrase. Good, cheap, fun.

A few days ago, inspired by the Carrie Underwood song, I spontaneously began using a new phrase that seems to have a more interesting socio-anthropological effect. When my overtly religious dry cleaner bade me farewell by saying, "God be with you," I simply turned to him and replied "Jesus take the wheel, yo!"

Now I can't stop saying it to every stranger I meet and cracking myself up until I'm practically in tears.

Hard to believe I'm 40 years old, isn't it?

DANTE'S 10TH CIRCLE OF HELL: THE MEET & GREET

My worst nightmare has finally arrived.

In September, Peanut will be starting Kindergarten. New school. New teachers. New friends. It's an important milestone for her and we're all extremely excited. That's not the problem.

Recently, I received a mass e-mail from one of the parents in Peanut's kindergarten class inviting everyone for a picnic so we could all get to know one another before school started. It was a wonderfully kind gesture and will undoubtedly make the transition easier for everyone. In a way, I find it truly touching. That's not the problem either.

I'm the problem.

Despite the fact that I'm a genuinely affable guy, I hate being forced to meet new people. Idle chit chat bores the crap out of me and in all honesty, I suck at it. I don't care what you do, who you know, how much you make, or where you live. I'd rather know your favorite author, band, or vegetable. Just give me something so we can connect on a somewhat deeper level.

Because if you don't, I'm sorry but unfortunately I also suck at feigning interest. 

By the way, if you need me, I'll be the weird guy at the picnic in sunglasses standing off to the side eating potato salad and reading a book.

SOUND BITES: 2009'S BEST TV QUOTES ABOUT PARENTING

''A new study finds that trendy baby names lose their appeal after about 20 years. Which is bad news for my little brother, MC Hammer Fallon.''---Jimmy Fallon on Late Night

''Two thousand years from now, all of human life will be traced back to three families: the Madonnas, Octomoms, and Jolie-Pitts.''---Jimmy Kimmel on Jimmy Kimmel Live

''All right, Stewie, your dad's going to help you learn how to be a man. Real men have a couple of beers and then project their inadequacies on their kids. You ready?''---Peter on Family Guy

''I can promise you Ritchie does not have lice. He takes a 45-minute shower every day. I mean, if you told me he was going blind, that would make sense.''---Christine on The New Adventures of Old Christine

''Jenna Jameson gave birth to twins yesterday. She decided to name the boys after her first pet and the street she grew up on.''---Jimmy Fallon on Late Night

''Look at you and me and our biological clocks. You're going baby crazy, and I keep getting turned on by car accidents.''---Jenna to Liz, on 30 Rock

FIVE REASONS I AM THE MCGYVER OF PARENTING

(1) When I run out of club soda, I sometimes use Elmo Punch as a mixer for my vodka.

(2) I once made an emergency diaper out of three sanitary napkins and some duct tape.

(3) I mashed up Chef David Bouley's legendary Chatham Bay Codfish with my fingers so they looked like Chicken McNuggets.

(4) Too lazy to go to the den and grab the free weights, I sometimes use my daughter as a barbell to do curls, squats, and shoulder lifts.

(5) I once sent Peanut to school with toilet paper stuffed in her shoes because they were a little too big for her.

HER FIRST PAYCHECK

Here's a truly heartwarming story about the bond formed between a little 5-year-old girl and some construction workers that makes you believe that we CAN make a difference when we give a child the gift of our time.
 
A young family moved into a house next door to a vacant lot. One day, a construction crew turned up to start building a house on the  empty lot.
 
The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door, and spent much of each day observing the workers.
 
Eventually the construction crew, all of them gems-in-the-rough, more or less adopted her as a kind of project mascot.  They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her odd little jobs to do here and there to make her feel  important.
 
At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing a couple of dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who said all the appropriate words of admiration, and suggested that they take the two dollar "pay" she had received to the bank the next day to  start a savings account.
 
When they got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the  little girl how she had come by her very own pay at such a young age. The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with the crew building the house next door to us."
 
"My goodness gracious," said the teller,  "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"
 
The little girl replied, "Sure, if those assholes at Home Depot ever deliver the mother-fucking sheetrock!"

RECENT TEXT MESSAGES FROM MY FRIENDS

My closest friends tend to share my off-beat sense of humor. I'm not sure if it's a birds-of-a-feather thing or I just like surrounding myself with people who "get" me. Either way, I like saving their text messages until my phone's memory can't hold them any longer. The following are all about to get purged so I thought I'd put them here for posterity:

"Some dumb blond pointed to my Cleveland Indians hat and said Ohio. I pointed to her rack and said Silicone Valley."

"Where are you tonight? I would like to buy you a vowel."

"I can smell the leather pants and Duran Duran from here."

"One girl salad and a beer won't kill me."

"What up, Foolio? It's not cool to correct people's grammar on text messages."

"Having dinner with my husband. We're both totally bored with each other and want to know if you can join us."

"I met a guy in an airport once who collected dried apple cores and named them after presidents."

"Your dog is a chick magnet, has a very strange foot fetish and likes slices of cucumber in his water. It figures."

"If Sotomayor gets in, does that mean if I want to be a firefighter, I need to get really really tan?"

"Donna wants to take the whole family to Whole Foods for Thanksgiving and make it BYOB."

"We need a gang sign and t-shirts. Or maybe a secret handshake and some polo shirts."

"They sell Metamucil popcorn at Whole Foods. Just shoot me."

"Meet me on the roof. I'm cooking the shit out of some short ribs and asparagus."

"Whole Foods put the fish next to the bath and soap products. Not a good aroma. Reminds me of a French girl I dated."

SAP & THE CITY: A VERY SPECIAL EPISODE OF "METRODAD"

The Peanut is at that wonderful stage where she sometimes likes to just sit quietly on my lap and ask me a lot of questions.

Occasionally I have answers for her. Why is the sky blue? How do planes stay up in the air? Where does cheese come from? Does strawberry milk come from pink cows?

I cherish these moments more than you could ever imagine.

But occasionally I don't have answers for her. Or maybe I just don't provide the kinds of answers that a 4-year-old girl can comprehend.

Daddy, what do you love to do the most?

I don't know, sweetie. I love to write, I say. I love losing myself for hours in a good book. I love introspectively contemplating the path my life has taken and exploring the journey within. I love hearing a great song over and over again until I'm completely immersed in it. I love lying in bed by myself on a cool summer night and listening to the Mets game on the radio. I love lying on the grass and staring up into the stars. I love the beauty of small things. I love embracing everything great this world has to offer and appreciating the very brief time that I'm on it. 

But most of all, sweetie. I love watching you grow up.

Whenever I say things like that to her, she looks at me with a furrowed little brow. These answers are insufficient and they only serve to confuse her.

But I don't understand, Daddy. What do you love more than anything else in the whole world? Little Einsteins? Chocolate chip cookies? Sand castles? Balloons? Fireworks? Kites? What do you love the most?

Those are the times that I take her into my arms, stare into her tiny eyes, and hug her with all my strength. 

No kiddo, I say. None of that.

More than anything else in this entire world, I love you. I love being with you. I love talking to you. I love showing you new things. I love seeing the world through your eyes. I love guiding you through the journey of life. But more than anything else, I simply love you.

Do you understand what I'm saying? 

Yes, Daddy. I love you too. Can I have a hug? 

Of course you can, sweetie.

Anytime.

Three for Tuesday

EMPTY THREATS, KOREAN DEATH STARES, AND JENNIFER ANISTON 

Once kids realize that you're not serious about a threat, you're fucking toast.

This past weekend, we were at The Doctor's house in the Hamptons. We had a fantastic time playing in the pool, taking the kids to the beach, chasing them around the backyard, and cooking all weekend. By the time we got home on Sunday night, we were exhausted.

When we walked inside the apartment, I told Peanut that if she didn't immediately take a bath, then she couldn't have any dinner. She started to whine until I couldn't take it anymore so I made her a sandwich and let her go to bed. 

The next night when I told her to take a bath, the Peanut tried to get out of it by telling me, "You said I wouldn't get dinner last night but I did."

Needless to say, I shot her my KDDS (Korean Daddy Death Stare) and she was in that tub faster than you could shout, "Girl overboard!"

Empty threats are dangerous. Not only do you have to be able to back up your threats but you've also got to be aware of the stakes involved.

If not, next thing you know, you're Jennifer Aniston telling Brad Pitt, "If you don't spend more time with me, I'm leaving you"...and having no idea that Angelina Jolie was waiting in the wings!

DRIVING IN THE SHALLOW END OF THE GENE POOL

Driving back into NYC, we were stuck behind a pick-up truck who, for about 100 miles, had its turn signal on. What did you think that clicking noise was, buddy?  The explosion of neurons misfiring in your cerebral cortex?

We would have tried to pass him but I was too terrified by the woman driving while drinking a 64-ounce Big Gulp of Orange Crush, putting on her mascara, and texting on her iPhone. The woman was swerving all over the road like Nick Nolte on a 3-day bender.

Now, as most of you know, I'm a pretty laid-back guy. The only time my temper rises is when I'm in the car. Usually I don't have to worry about negatively influencing the Peanut because she has this amazing ability to sleep in the car. I can be blasting Jay-Z with the windows open for 5 hours and the Peanut won't wake up for a single second. So every once in awhile, I'll yell out at another driver or mumble an insult under my breath.

I immediately stopped doing this a few months ago when a woman cut me off on the Long Island Expressway and I heard a sleepy little voice coming from the back seat saying, "That woman drives like a mofo, right daddy?"

THE GRASS IS SOMETIMES GREENER

Last month I was at dinner with friends. All of us were parents except for a buddy of mine who remains happily single and childless. A few of the women were giving my buddy a hard time, accusing him of secretly wanting a relationship and desiring children. I have no idea why women always want all of their friends to be married. Does anyone know the answer?

At some point in the evening, all the parents started whining and bemoaning the fact that they had to go home soon in order to wake up early to coach soccer practice, go on a Costco run, take the kids to a birthday party, clean the house, attend a PTA meeting, cook dinner for the in-laws, and help the kids with their homework. 

Right around this time, my buddy got up and sat down next to the mom who had previously been giving him such a hard time. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he looked her right in the eye, threw down a double shot of tequila, and said, "''I am a little bit jealous, you're right. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do whatever I feel like doing, all the time!''

He then left the table to hit on the hostess of the restaurant.

But if you listen real closely, you can still hear him laughing his ass off.

CHAOS THEORY: February 2009

Sorry for the lack of posting here, my friends. As always, LIFE has been hectic these days. However, as usual, I've got a lot of stuff on my mind that needs an outlet. Until I find some free time to write a real post, here are some cocktail napkin scribblings:

ATTACK OF THE QUEEN BEES

This past weekend, I flew out to Utah with a few buddies for four amazing days of skiing at Alta.

Meanwhile, BossLady and the Peanut were back in Tribeca doing the dreaded pre-school birthday party circuit. Last Sunday, they were booked for a back-to-back double header.

The first party was a blast. All of Peanut's school friends were there and the kids basically loaded up on pizza, ran around in circles, and stuffed their faces with cake.

The second party consisted of six four-year-old girls dressed up as princesses and playing with dolls. It was a really "girlie girl" party. The birthday girl is a neighbor in our building who goes to a different school so most of the girls were strangers to the Peanut.  

When BossLady told me about the girl party, she practically started crying.

It turns out that, from the moment the Peanut walked into the apartment, all the girls started ostracizing her and purposefully excluded her from all their activities. These little pre-school bitches were mean, rude, and obnoxious. Even the birthday girl's parents felt bad. They tried to get the girls to play with the Peanut but there was nothing they could do. The girls continued to completely shun the Peanut. My daughter, being the well-adjusted kid that she is, took it all in stride and ended up playing with the birthday girl's brother in another room.

I've spoken to dozens of mothers who, at some point in their lives, have had their self-esteem damaged by mean girls and female bullies. Seeing their own daughters experience the same thing at such a young age often dregs up painful memories of the past. In fact, sometimes I think the whole thing is more traumatic for the mom than it is for the child!

Personally, I always had this image of little girls being made of sugar and spice. Now it seems like half of them are actually made of anthrax and aresenic. What does this growing trend of pre-school Queen Bees say about us as a society? Does it develop from a lack of parental oversight? Or is it part of the growing sense of entitlement prevalent in our culture?

Now, most of you know me as a relatively laid-back guy. However, I hate bullies of any sort and when I get pissed, I can be a real son of a bitch. I've already started plotting my revenge. I won't reveal all the details but suffice it to say, it involves eating disorders, giant tarantulas, prank phone calls, and fake birthday party invitations. I might even start applying for credit cards in these girls names.

Nobody messes with Daddy's little girl and gets away with it!

THE MANNERS NAZI (COMING SOON TO A TOWN NEAR YOU!)

As I mentioned, I had a fantastic weekend with a great group of guys. Back in our single days, we would vacation and party together all the time but, over the past decade, we all got married and had kids so it was virtually impossible to find the time.

Needless to say, fatherhood has changed all of us in ways that we could never imagine. Aside from the fact that we spent an inordinate amount of time on the trip talking about our kids, we also found ourselves acting reflexively in a manner that belies how much we've changed over the years.

Perhaps none so more than myself.

Saturday afternoon, we're all sitting in a spacious hot tub at a gorgeous spa overlooking the mountain. A stunningly beautiful woman leans over to me and asks me to pass her a towel.

My response?

I hold the towel away from her and, using the same sing-song voice I employ with my daughter, reply "What's the magic word?" 

I think I can still hear the sound of my friends' howling laughter echoing off the mountain.

CONVERSATIONS FROM HELL

My Mother:  How come you didn’t call us on Sunday night?

Me:  The Oscars were on.  Did you watch? 

My Mother:  We tried but we fell asleep before they started.

Me: They started at 8:00. 

My Mother:  We’re old.  We get tired easily.  By the way, that dustbuster you bought for us last time you were here doesn’t work.

Me:  Is it plugged in?

My Mother:  You have to plug it in? 

Me: Aaaarggh!

MORE CONVERSATIONS FROM HELL

Me:  Hey kiddo, You want some edamame? 

Peanut:  No. I want my mommy!

Me: Very funny. I meant, do you want these soy beans?

Peanut: Why would I want toy beads?

Me: Aaaarggh!

RETAIL THERAPY: THE METRODAD STORE FOR CHARITY

I think we all know that times are tough for everyone these days.

But if I have to listen to my personal valet complain one more time about how tasting my food is not "technically" in his job description, I swear to God I'm going to club him on the head with a loofah. Look, Julio, it's a fucking recession. We've all got to pull a little more weight around here these days.You don't see the poolboy complaining, do you?

All kidding aside, this recession is profoundly affecting virtually everyone I know. Nobody's job is secure. Nobody's future is guaranteed. And the palpable sense of fear is both very real and very frightening.

However, it's during times like these that I strongly feel it's even more incumbent for people to help those around us who are less fortunate. Virtually every charity or non-profit organization with which I'm involved is struggling for resources. They're having a harder time garnering donations at a time when the need for them is at an all-time high. The struggle is very real.

So, to help play my part, I've decided to launch an online store over the next few weeks. Since parenting is an important part of me (and this blog,) most of the proceeds will be donated to various children's charities around the world. I'm thinking of starting off by launching a line of baby onesies and daddy t-shirts with funny catchphrases on them.

Here's what I've got so far...

ONESIES

“Nobody puts baby in a corner.”

“Girls Gone Wild:  The toddler years”

“Turd is the word”

“When I grow up, I want to be a Jedi”

“The Future of Hip Hop”

“Fight for your right to potty!”

“Crapper’s Delight”

“Straight Outta Daycare.”

“Where the potty at?”

“Me so ornery.”

DADDY T-SHIRTS

“Fatherhood is the new black”

“Eat it or wear it”

“Men who change diapers change the world.”

“Who’s yo daddy?”

“I’m not a playa. I just gush a lot.”

“I like it when you call me big poppa”

“I’m just the manny!”


Anyone got any ideas for more slogans for the online store? Leave them in the comments. Remember, it's for a good cause! Also, if you come up with any slogans with artwork, feel free to e-mail them to me. Thanks!

Two for Tuesday

NEVER BET AGAINST BLACK

For the past two weeks, I’d been hyping up the Super Bowl to my daughter.

I told her how it was a magical day filled with all-you-can-eat ribs, baked beans, and more creamed corn than she could ever envision. Naturally, as she always does these days, she looked at me like I was crazy and went back to playing with her stuffed porcupine (affectionately named “Porky.”)

This past Sunday, I asked her who she wanted to win the big game. Without flinching, she turned to me and said, “Barack Obama!”

I told this story to a friend of mine this week who happens to be not only a dyed-in-the-wool NYC liberal Democrat but also a major fundraiser for Barack Obama.

She also happens to have a daughter around the same age as the Peanut.

Prior to the election, my friend was elated to hear her little daughter staunchly declaring her devotion to Barack Obama. Between home and school, everyone she knew was endorsing Obama. How could she NOT be influenced by those whom she loved?

However, after one specific conversation with her little girl, my friend realized that her daughter’s devotion to Obama was the result of more nefarious influences. She told me that, shortly thereafter, she found herself at her daughter’s pre-school declaring, “Ok, I’m not mad but I just want to know. Which one of you teachers told my daughter that if McCain is elected, he’s canceling Christmas?”

Brilliant!

Naturally, I’ve now begun making up bedtime stories about how the NY Yankees are scary monsters who hide under the bed and make little girls eat vegetables until they throw up.

Go Mets!

COOKIES ARE FOR CLOSERS!

When my daughter and I first started playing Candyland together, my natural paternal instincts were to let her win. I’d selectively shuffle the cards and purposely tank games just to see her overwhelmed by happiness. After each win, she’d jump up and down for joy, give me a giant hug, and then very earnestly shake my hand while saying, “Good game, Daddy.”

Then I realized that I wasn’t doing her any favors by letting her win. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there and it was my job to help indoctrinate her into that harsh reality.

Now, some seriously humorless individuals have criticized Candyland as a moronic game of chance, arguing that the message of the game teaches children that they are powerless, that destiny is determined by pure luck, that the only chance you have of winning lies in following the rules, and accepting the cards as they come.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we’ve found our nominee for “Sourpuss Dad of the Year.”

Are you fucking kidding me? I started playing Candyland with my daughter when she turned three. Why? Not because she couldn’t understand the rules of chess but BECAUSE SHE WAS FUCKING THREE!   

I wholly side with Tom Armitage who writes, “Candyland is a great first game; literally, the very first. It teaches turn-taking. It teaches the mores, the manners, and the culture of playing boardgames. I’m totally fine with the idea of a game to teach you how to play games. After all, there are loads of games that teach you all manner of things; what’s wrong with the ideal of the first one teaching you about the medium itself?”

I couldn't agree more with that sentiment.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon, the Peanut and I had a marathon battle of Candyland. She won the first game, jumped up for joy, and yelled, “Ha ha, Daddy. I won!”

I was pretty peeved about her being a bad winner so naturally I decided to take this opportunity to impart one of my infamous parenting life lessons.

I stacked the cards in my favor and beat the Peanut in 5 straight games of Candyland. I made sure the games weren’t even close. I crushed her. After every victory, I did a touchdown celebration dance, started singing “We Are The Champions,” and gave mini-speeches praising the almighty Jesus for allowing me to be such a kick-ass Candyland player.

Proud of myself for demonstrating to my daughter how NOT to act in the face of victory, I turned to look at her to ensure that she was comprehending the full extent of the lesson.

What I saw was a little girl on the verge of tears. Her lip was quivering and she had the saddest look on her adorable face. Needless to say, my daughter’s tears are my personal kryptonite.

I immediately pulled her close to me and tightly hugged her in a warm embrace. I told her I was sorry that I acted like a jackass and that I was only trying to teach her a lesson about being a gracious winner. I also apologized for going a little overboard and told her how truly badly I felt. Was there anything I could do to cheer her up?

“Sure, Daddy. How about some cookies?”

Hmm…sometimes I wonder who’s playing whom.

Chaos Theory: August 2008

LET'S HUG IT OUT

Thanks to all of you for your touching comments, e-mails, phone calls and sympathy cards. I'm truly humbled by your kindness. If I could come over to your house, give each of you a hug, and take you out for a drink, I would definitely do so. But let's face it. That could take a really long time and would probably interfere with my busy television-watching schedule. Besides, I don't know your addresses. Hey, here's an idea! How about you come over to my place and I give you a hug while we watch TV together? If you could pick up a bottle of scotch and some pickles on the way over, that'd be great. I'll be the guy on the couch watching the Olympics and weeping like a little school girl.

 

MY DAUGHTER THROWS LIKE A GIRL

I recently realized that while the Peanut and I have been spending our afternoons farting on the dog, drawing funny pictures of the neighbors, and pretending to shop at Whole Foods so we can sample the free food, a lot of the other kids in the neighborhood are immersed in after-school activities like gymnastics, swim lessons, tae kwon do, or Super Soccer Stars. Really, I had no idea.

Now I'm worried that it's too late for the Peanut to catch up. I'm thinking that her only shot of achieving athletic excellence is to pick an obscure sport and master it. So, every night, as we watch the Olympics together, I ask her whether any of the sports appeal to her. Archery? Badminton? Curling?

Yesterday, after listening to me rant about choosing a single sport, the Peanut though about it it for a few minutes and told me, "I don't want to do sports, Daddy. I just want to wear dresses like a princess."

Hmmm...field hockey, anyone?

TO BE FILED UNDER "UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES"

Most of you know that I'm pathologically obsessed with instilling good manners in my daughter. It's like I'm launching my own personal war against the decay of civilization and the Peanut is my ambassador to the world. I'm sure I'm going to drive her crazy in the future. Especially when it comes to my pathological compulsion regarding hand-written thank you notes. I apologize in advance, Sweetie.

At home, I've taught the Peanut to say "excuse me" whenever she farts. The only problem is when we're in public, she'll randomly say "excuse me" to a bunch of strangers. When they inquire why she's saying "excuse me," she enthusiastically yells out "Because I tooted! Want to smell?"

NO THANK YOU!

CHILDREN'S BOOKS THAT NEED TO BE WRITTEN...IMMEDIATELY!

(1) "Santa Only Comes If You Eat Your Vegetables"

(2) "Stop Yelling: Mommy and Daddy Can Hear You!"

(3) "I Don't Care What Your Friend's Parents Do"

 

THINGS KOREAN PARENTS MUST SAY TO EACH OTHER BEFORE HAVING KIDS

(1) "We should definitely never talk about our feelings."

(2) "Let's cut their hair at home until they're 18. We'll use the kalbi scissors."

(3) "What else can we pack for lunch to ensure that he's teased mercilessly?"

(4) "Whenever his friends come over, make sure the whole house smells like kimchi."

(5) "Don't forget to use guilt whenever possible."

 

WIKI, WIKI...WHAT? (FUNNIEST WIKIPEDIA ENTRIES)

There's a lot of high falutin' scholarly debate about whether sites like Wikipedia make us dumber. Personally, I think these scholars should be looking at the lack of funding for public-school education or the increased prevalence of video games but hey, that's just me. I'm crazy like that. Besides, I love Wikipedia. It's a constant source of entertainment for me. Witness!

The Mermaid Problem

The Sudanese Goat Marriage Incident

Toilet-Related Injuries

QUICK THOUGHTS ON THE OLYMPICS

-Even the Peanut thinks that Bela Karolyi sounds like The Count from "Sesame Street." Every time Karolyi opens his mouth, I keep expecting him to say, "TWELVE is the number of the day!"

-Sports Illustrated is reporting that Michael Phelps is listening to Young Jeezy and Jay-Z on his ipod. Why don't I buy this? He seems more like a Hootie & The Blowfish guy.

-Speaking of music, why does floor exercise music suck so bad? Wouldn't you rather see Shawn Johnson tumble to "Who Let the Dogs Out," "Hell's Bells," or "Fight The Power?" After sticking the final landing, she could stick her tongue out and throw up some gang signs!

-BossLady and I made a conscious decision when Peanut was born that we weren't going to kiss her on the lips. Watching Nastia Liukin and her dad smooch on the lips after a successful vault confirms that we made the right decision. The Liukins have officially replaced Angelina Jolie and her brother as "Most Disturbing PDA of All-Time." Fucking Guh-ross!

-I'm sure you've all read the controversy regarding Spanish athletes being photographed making "slanty eyes" and then claiming that they're not racist because hey, they have a lot of "Oriental" friends. Of course, this is the same country who rained chants of "Monkey, Monkey!" on French striker Thierry Henry during a friendly soccer match. But hey, it's cool. Because I'm sure those Spaniards had a lot of black friends too. So to show solidarity with my Spanish brothers and sisters, I will spend the next week being completely fucking lazy, drinking cheap wine, taking 3-hour naps, avoiding showers, and getting my ass kicked by Italians, Moors, Germans, and the French. But hey, it's cool. I have a lot of Spanish friends. Ok, not really. I hate those slimy bastards. Fuck you, Spain!

-By far, the best coverage of the Olympics has been on The Onion. Aside from articles like "Hurdler Overcomes Many Hurdles To Win Hurdle Race," my favorite has been "Green-Clad Olympic Archer Steals Gold Medals From Rich, Gives Them To Poor."

REJECTED OLYMPIC SPORT: TODDLER TOSSING

Rejected Olympic Sport: Toddler Tossing - Watch more free videos

Although I would never do this with my own daughter, I would totally do it with someone else's kid. I think I would be fucking awesome at it. The only thing I might do differently is spray a little rosin on the kid first. You know, as an additional safety measure.

In all seriousness, I've watched this video about a dozen times. I can't decide whether it's a shining example of Darwinian stupidity or whether I'm just a nervous nelly. There's a good part of me that wants to report these people to the proper authorities. Clearly, their parenting license needs to be revoked.

It's interesting because we're now at that stage where the Peanut feels compelled to try and give me a heart attack every single day. If I take my eyes off her for one second, I'll look up and see her climbing scaffolding or picking up trash from the street and putting it in her mouth. Thankfully I only have one kid. I don't know what I'd do if I were outnumbered.

In fact, there's an idea for a new Olympic sport. Put one person in a room with 20 toddlers. If you make it out alive after 24 hours, you get the Gold!

Winner gets their face plastered on a Wheaties box.

THREE-PEAT THURSDAY

LATHER, RINSE...REPEAT!

Although I curse like a fucking sailor, I'm extremely diligent in never doing this in front of the Peanut. Toddlers are experts at parroting anything they hear from their parents. Things that you whisper under your breath will come back to haunt you. Maybe not tomorrow or next week...but sometime.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I banged the shit out of my thumb with a hammer. Wincing in pain but seeing the Peanut right next to me, I yelled out under my breath, "GOSHDERNIT, MODDAFREAKING OW!"

Needless to say, the Peanut started laughing hilariously and began hopping around on one leg around the apartment while holding her thumb and yelling, "GOSHDERNIT! GOSHDERNIT! GOSHDERNIT!"

I'd wash both our mouths out with soap but really, it's too damn cute for words.
 

3 PHRASES I'VE TAUGHT THE PEANUT FOR MY OWN ENTERTAINMENT

(1) "Mommy, there's something in your eye. Oh, it's a sparkle!"

(2) "What are we ordering for dinner, lady?"

(3) "Hey pretty mama, you want some fries with that shake?"

3 MOVIE LINES I'M TEACHING THE PEANUT FOR MY OWN ENTERTAINMENT

(1) "Luca Brasi sweeps with the fishies. "

(2) "I drink your milkshake. I dwink it all up."

(3) "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!" 

3 PHRASES I NEVER THOUGHT WOULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH

(1) "PLEASE stop walking around the house with your finger up your butt!"

(2) "Did you eat two packages of Starburst while I was sleeping?"

(3) "For the last time, stop putting your dresses on the dog!"

LIES, DAMN LIES, OR STATISTICS?

Here are three recent parenting news headlines that I find EXTREMELY hard to believe...

(1) "The average mother of a child under 15 spends more on fast food every year than on books, music, movies and video games combined."---NY Times

(2) "A new study shows that mothers argue with their toddlers an average of 20-25 times per hour."---CBS News

(3) "Nearly HALF of all pregnancies each year are accidents."---Boston Globe   

NOTA BENE TO THE THIRD POWER, YO!

(1) As many of you noticed, I finally have a new design for this blog. Long-time readers may remember the first version of this site (which we all affectionately decided looked like a pumpkin had thrown up on a chalkboard.) The last version wasn't much better. The type was so small and the background was so dark that I could barely read it. 

Kudos to the wonderfully talented Half Mama, who not only designed the winning banner but also won herself a brand-new Apple Shuffle, a full ensemble of athletic apparel, and a $50 American Express gift certificate.

I'm still going to tinker around a little with the site design. Feel free to offer up ANY suggestions!

(2) The last post? Holy cow! Almost 300 comments? It made me feel all Doocey inside. Anyway, it seems that slightly more than 90% of you would want to be woken up from a coma to say bye to your loved ones and then be told that you were about to die. Andrew believes that the polling data is skewed by demographics. He thinks that people who would read a "daddy blog" are most likely parents with young kids themselves and therefore more inclined to want to be woken from the coma. He still believes that, in the general population, more people would NOT want to be woken up.

And since many of you asked...No, Andrew and his wife do not have kids. Should that make a difference?

(3) We've been so busy going back and forth to Texas to see BossLady's father that I just realized this is the FIRST time in my life that I don't have a song of the summer. Where's my "Hey Ya," my "Brass Monkey," or my "Since U Been Gone?" I can't believe I have nothing!

Every summer, I burn a CD of summer pop songs so I can listen to them while I drive in the car. This weekend, we're going out to the beach and all I've got are Donna Summer's "Stamp Your Feet" and Coldplay's "Viva La Vida."

I'm looking for suggestions, people! What's YOUR song of the summer for 2008? What's rocking YOUR ipod right now?

P.S. I can't stop watching this video of one of my favorite bands, The Roots, cover U2. Check it out.

Chaos Theory: April 2008

AND SO IT BEGINS...

Recently my 3.5-year-old daughter has gotten into the habit of rolling her eyes at me and sighing. Are you freaking kidding me? It starts that early? I thought I had at least another 5 years.

Oh well...at least she doesn't give me the hand and say "whatevah!"

TV: TOOL OF THE DEVIL OR MAGICAL PARENTING MACHINE?

Am I a bad parent because I'm trying to teach my daughter how to operate the remote controls for the TV so I can get a few extra hours of sleep on the weekends? It's frustrating as hell. I don't understand why she can't comprehend the concept of powering up the plasma with the black remote, turning on the cable and 5.1 surround sound system with the silver remote, and then switching on the Tivo with the white remote. Jesus Christ! How hard can it be? Even my parents can do it!

CHASING IMMORTALITY AND NORMAL-COLORED PEE

I recently read an interview in Wired magazine with Raymond Kurzweil, the brilliant scientist and pioneer in the fields of health, artificial intelligence, the technological singularity, and futurism. Apparently, he has been working with several of the world's leading longevity physicians and is on an advanced nutritional regimen that involves taking 180 to 210 vitamins and mineral supplements a day.

Hell, I figured this couldn't hurt so I started trying a modified version. I started taking some advanced multivitamins, niacin, Coenzyme Q10, and CLA.

I stopped after one week because my pee looked like nuclear waste from Chernobyl. It was radioactive yellow. I've never seen anything like it in my entire life. It also smelled like the urine of a Frenchman who had been subsisting solely on a diet of asparagus, Gorgonzola cheese, and andouillette.

Too much information? Sorry, my friends. Let's move on.

THREE (MORE) PHRASES I NEVER THOUGHT WOULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH

(1) "For the last time, I do NOT want to look at your poop."

(2) "Please stop shoving edamame up your nose."

(3) "I really don't like it when you wake me up by licking my entire face."

 

READING IS FUNDAMENTAL

Been on a bit of a reading tear over the past two weeks. And because so many readers often e-mail me and ask what I'm reading, I thought I'd do another set of short book reviews.

Quick thoughts:

Lush Life: A Novel (Richard Price): It's only April but this has to be on the short list for one of the best American books of the year. Presently, there is no better writer chronicling urban life in this country. His dialog and attention to detail are masterful.

His Illegal Self (Peter Carey): I've always been amazed by Carey's versatility. His ability to master so many different genres, his brilliant sense of social context, and poetic mastery of the English language make him one of our greatest modern authors. However, I think I must be the only person on the planet who didn't like this book. I just didn't "get" it.

The Player of Games (Iain M. Banks): I used to read a lot of science fiction when I was younger. Mostly stuff like Asimov or Bradbury. I hadn't really read any in over 20 years. A friend sent me this and I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn't know people whose work focused on science fiction could also be such talented literary writers.

Bangok 8 (John Burdett): Don't believe the hype. I give this book the finger. This so-called exotic thriller romanticizes Thailand in a patently absurd and shallow manner. You'll feel no human connection to any of the chapters and the plot lines take forever to develop. If you're interested in this genre, check out Colin Cotterill's series of mysteries set in Laos. Much better written.

Also, I'm pleased to announce that two friends of mine have released books this past week. Rebecca Woolf's "Rockabye: From Wild to Child" chronicles her entry into motherhood and Pamela Paul's "Parenting, Inc." breaks down the business of parenting. I've received advance copies of both and am still reading them. They're both fantastic reads. Go check them out!

PARENTING JOKE OF THE DAY

One night a wife found her husband standing over their newborn baby's crib. Silently she watched him. As he stood looking down at the sleeping infant, she saw on his face a mixture of emotions: disbelief, doubt, delight, amazement, enchantment, skepticism.

Touched by this unusual display and the deep emotions it aroused, with eyes glistening she gently slipped her arms around her husband.

"A penny for your thoughts," she whispered in his ear.

"It's fucking amazing!" he replied. "I just can't see how anybody can make a crib like that for only $46.50!"

This joke is dedicated to my friend Greg at DaddyTypes, who has taught me that there are more people than I ever would have imagined who can afford to spend $3,000 on a crib!

LIFE IMITATING ART

My daughter and I spend a lot of time together so it's only natural that she's picked up some of my colloquialisms and expressions. However, she's at that age where she will instinctively pick up any adult phrase and start employing it immediately with her peers. I had no idea how far things had gone until I went to visit her at daycare the other day.

As we all sat in a circle listening to the teacher quietly read us a story, one of the Peanut's classmates let out an audible fart. Immediately, my tiny little daughter stood up and yelled, "Hey, who stepped on a duck?" Her comedic timing was impeccable.

I've never been so mortified and proud at the same time.

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I'M MISSING SOMETHING HERE?

Asked for a reaction to the news that he'd been endorsed by reality-soap bad girl Heidi Montag of "The Hills," John McCain told Time magazine: "I’m honored to have Heidi’s support and I want to assure her that I never miss an episode of 'The Hills,' especially since the new season started."

 

THE TERRORISTS HAVE WON!!!

Have you seen this mind-boggling article in Philadelphia magazine? Over the course of the piece, we learn about:

1. An eight-year-old receiving a bikini wax.

2. A ten-year-old getting microdermabrasion.

3. Numerous children under ten getting highlights.

4. Nine-year-olds getting professional makeup lessons from Vogue photo-shooting makeup artists.

5. Birthday parties where all the little girls get a full day's worth of beauty treatments.

Apparently today's girls are spending much of their time looking in the mirror. They have a new obsession — a self-obsession — and it's being aided and abetted by their mothers. What the hell is wrong with these mothers? Why can't they just let their kids be kids?  Shouldn't we call Protective Services on them?

This disturbing beauty obsession among young girls has apparently gotten to the point that there is a chain of full-service spas/salons targeting young girls scheduled to launch soon.

This makes me gasp, cringe, cry, throw up, and want to send my daughter off to a convent. With all that's going on in the world around us, it's hearing things like this that make me lose my faith in humanity. 

Oy vey, someone get me a freaking cocktail.

Chaos Theory: March 2008

UMM. THANKS, COACH!

Yesterday, my not-quite-3.5-year-old daughter smacked me on the butt and said, "Nice job today, Daddy. I'm really proud of you!"

IF HILLARY HAD WON, THEY'D HAVE GONE WITH "VANILLA ICE"

After John Edwards dropped out of the race, Ben Cohen and Jerry Grenfield, co-founders of legendary Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, publicly endorsed Barack Obama for president. Those of you in the U.S. know that Ben & Jerry's is famous for naming flavors for those they admire; past flavors include "Cherry Garcia" (named for Jerry Garcia) and "Americone Dream" (named for Stephen Colbert.)

Recently, Slate Magazine held a funny contest to name a new ice cream flavor for Mr. Obama. Some of my favorite entries included "Obamana Split," "Baracky Road," and "Barackademia Nut."  Ready for the winning entry?

"Yes, Pecan!"

Man, I love this country! Is that brilliant or what? What flavor would you make up for McCain?

THREE PHRASES I NEVER THOUGHT WOULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH

(1) "Eat your broccoli or no dessert."

(2) "Stop putting Cheerios in your vagina."

(3) "Bend over so I can wipe your butt."

 

CHECK YO HEAD!

On Tuesday night, I saw the Beastie Boys in concert (that's right, mofos. On a SCHOOL night!)

The concert was fantastic. The Beastie Boys and I are roughly the same age and in many ways, I consider their music to be the soundtrack of my youth. Throw in the fact that they're native New Yorkers and I feel even more of a special kinship with them.

Quick thoughts:

(1) The crowd was very strange. I expected a typical cross-demographic representation of B-boys, club kids, hip hoppers, and hipsters. However, the audience was predominantly a bunch of thick-necked white guys from New Jersey. Lots of air-punching going on.

(2) When the tickets say that doors open at 7:00, you know that the band probably won't come onstage until 10:00. In a previous life, you would have spent those three hours drinking with your friends or trying to meet women. Now, you spend those three hours quietly calculating how much you'll ultimately have to pay the babysitter.

(3) Also to be filed under "Sign of the Times," you will incredulously leave the concert before the band is done playing because you want to "beat the rush." Teenagers will look at you scornfully with disgust.

(4) When you're no longer 25 years old, you can't run around onstage for 3 hours straight. The Beasties are no different. I found it amusing how they would alternate high-energy songs with funky mellow instrumentals. It reminded me of myself trying to jog.

(5) I was always a big fan of MCA (aka Adam Yauch.) I used to run into him at bars, concerts, or parties back in the day. Now, I think it's funny that the only time I see him is when I'm at the playground with the Peanut and he's there throwing a frisbee with his daughter. Man, the times they are a changin'.

PARENTING JOKE OF THE DAY

A woman gets on a bus holding a baby.
The bus driver says: "Holy shit. That's the ugliest baby I've ever seen!"
In a huff, the woman slams her fare into the box and takes a seat near the rear of the bus.
The man seated next to her senses that she is agitated and asks her what's wrong.
"The bus driver insulted me," she fumes.
The man sympathizes and says: "Why, he's a public servant and shouldn't say things to insult passengers."
"You're right," she says, "I think I'll go back up there and give him a piece of my mind."
"That's a great idea," the man says. "Here, let me hold your monkey."

3 THINGS A MAN SHOULD NEVER DO...EVER

(1) Wearing a toupee or use spray-on hair. Toupees always look fake. With spray-on hair, you're essentially painting your head. If you're going to paint your head, then while you're at it, why don't you just wood-panel your testicles, ok?

(2) Ask a policeman, "You ever shoot anybody with that thing?" Ask a woman, "Hey, you got a license for that ass?" Ask yourself, "What would Martha Stewart do?"

(3) Shout out a response to "Are you ready to rock?" (That question is, and always should be, completely rhetorical.)

BANNER VOTE

Thanks to everyone who submitted MetroDad banners for the site. I can't believe how many you guys sent in. It was awesome. Thanks so much.

Here are my five favorite banners that readers submitted. I'm not sure which one I'm going to use. Tell me which one you like best. The designer of the winning banner will receive (1) a brand-new Apple Shuffle, (2) a full ensemble of work-out/casual athletic clothing, and (3) a $50 American Express gift certificate.

Vote for #1-5. (Click to enlarge)

Which one do you guys like best?

 

CHAOS THEORY: January 2007

Happy New Year, my friends!

Sorry for the delayed absence. After two weeks of vacation, I've practically forgotten how to type, shower, shave, speak English, or wear clothes while eating.

On the plus side, I've confirmed that my true life's destiny is to become a professional bon vivant. I remember when my immigrant father retired, he was worried about how he was going to spend his days after working non-stop his entire life. Screw that!

If anything, the past two weeks have taught me that I would be fucking fantastic at retired life. Bring me your finest meats and cheeses! Who wants another mai tai?

Anyway, I'm still readjusting to normal society. I promise to write more in the coming year. Meanwhile, here are a few quick thoughts:

.

SANTA CLAUS: THE CARROT AND THE STICK

Sadly, I regret to inform all of you that we never made it to see Santa this year for the annual photo session. Whenever I mentioned it, the Peanut started freaking out.

On the plus side, she learned about Santa at school. She doesn't know about the elves or the North Pole or any of that shit. However, she gets the gist that if she behaves like a good girl, Santa will bring her presents.

For the past month, whenever she started giving me attitude, I'd just give her the Korean Death Stare (KDS,) reach for my cell phone, and say, "That's it. I'm calling Santa right now!" Wham! Total obedience.

And now, even though Christmas is over, I've got the whole thing down to a science. Whenever the Peanut gets cranky, I just lean over and whisper softly in her ear, "Santa." It's awesome.

That whole thing I said a few weeks ago about not wanting my daughter to be concerned with an omnipotent mythical father figure making value judgments about her behavior? Forget I ever mentioned it.

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT FOOT (AGAIN!)

For the record...from now on, I am NEVER going to ask a woman if she's pregnant unless she's in the hospital, has her feet in stirrups, and is pushing out a baby.

READING IS FUNDAMENTAL

One of the highlights of my vacation was just having hours upon hours to read leisurely while lying on the beach. Even though I'm a speed reader, I was still tearing through books like a mofo. Anyway, because many of you often e-mail me and ask what I'm reading, here's a quick recap of what I've read over the past week:

Free Food for Millionaires  (Min Jin Lee): Very impressive but somewhat flawed debut novel about an angry young Korean-American woman, raised by status-conscious immigrant parents in Queens, who falls out with them after she graduates from Princeton. Although the characters' troubles and struggles are cross-cultural, I think those of you whom are of Asian descent would appreciate this book more. It's almost great.

After Dark (Haruki Murakami): Classic Murakami. As always, his writing is hypnotically alluring and filled with themes of loneliness and alienation. Delicate. Suspenseful. And magical. If you've never read Murakami before, this is a good book with which to start.

Life Lessons from America's Greatest Writers: This is an anthology of never-before-published short essays by America's literary greats, culled from speeches they've given over the years at the annual PEN/Faulkner gala. Particularly great pieces from George Plimpton, Joyce Carol Oates, Alice Hoffman, Hoyce Carol Oates, and William Styron. Great toilet-reading material.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (John Perkins):  The author claims to have been chief economist at a private firm helping U.S. intelligence agencies and multinationals cajole and blackmail foreign leaders into serving U.S. foreign policy and awarding lucrative contracts to American business. I don't know what annoyed me more about this book, the poor writing or the self-inflated pretension. Skip it.

NEIL CUMPSTON: WORLD'S GREATEST FILM REVIEWER

I admit it. I'm a total effete film snob. My tastes usually run towards quirky or daring independent films, obscure foreign films, or arthouse movies. I see films at Lincoln Center. I read Film Comment magazine. And I have a little nerd crush on Pauline Kael and her writing.

Ironically, I usually hate people who are snobs about anything. Take music for example. Is there anything more annoying than speaking to a music buff who keeps dropping references to bands that you've never even heard of? That's why I generally keep my film preferences to myself.

MetroBro, a writer/director of independent films who not only shares my film sensibilities but also my strange sense of humor, recently sent me a link to a few reviews by Neil Cumpston, a brilliantly foul-mouthed film reviewer who is the most refreshingly honest critic writing today. It's like reading a review by your drunk uncle who suffers from Tourette's.

Take for example, his review of the forthcoming J.J. Abrams-produced horror flick CLOVERFIELD (Warning: language NSFW)...

"So here's the story: a monster attacks News York City. But that's not the fucked-up part.

The monster RIPS THE LIVING SHIT out of the city, and everyone in its path. It's like the Iraq War and Hurricane Katrina and Kathy Griffin's vagina combined and turned into a giant murder-beast and it's hungry for every hip person in Manhattan.

Which is another cool thing about the movie – everyone that's getting eaten are like characters you see in those annoying movies that are always on IFC and Fagdance. Movies with titles like Thinkin' 'Bout Being Sad and Zoe Gets a Latte and 2 Bedrooms.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the giant monster starts rubbing itself on buildings, and then stuff falls off it's gross body and crawls the fuck away – only the crawling-away stuff doesn't stay away for long, if you know what I mean...Also, I don't know if the movie-makers are looking for poster quotes, but this movie is like a pussy that eats YOU out."

If you liked this review, check out his reviews of Batman Returns and Sin City.

NEXT YEAR'S BONUS WILL BE PAID IN SNARK

As most people understand, 2007 was a tough year for the economy. For those of us who run small businesses dependent on the retail market, it was especially tough. Personally, my company had a rough year. Consumer spending was down. Sales were down. Margins were lower. Meanwhile, health care costs, taxes, and Manhattan office rents went through the fucking roof.

Despite the bad year, I not only threw a holiday party for all my employees but I also gave everyone a cash bonus. I wanted them to have some extra money so they could really enjoy the holidays with their families. This wasn't easy for me to do. In fact, in order to do it, I had to borrow money from the bank and forgo giving myself any bonus.

I have 10 employees working for me. For each one, I wrote a personal note, gave them a gift that I bought myself, and enclosed a bonus check. Guess how many of them thanked me? TWO! Is that fucking incredible or what? Not surprisingly, the only ones who thanked me were older.

As for the younger ones? What do you think it was? Lack of manners? Sense of entitlement? Ignorance about the state of the economy? Upbringing? I've told this story to a few friends my age and it didn't seem to surprise any of them. WTF?

My daughter is three. And if you handed her a piece of shit off the sidewalk, she'd still look you right in the eye, smile, and say, "thank you very much."

MELANCHOLY AND THE INFINITE SADNESS

I think I've got the post-holiday blues. Or maybe I'm suffering from SAD (Seasonal Affliction Disorder.) I spent the past 4 days out at the Doctor's house in the Hamptons. He's got this incredible Sonos/Rhapsody sound system. Basically, you can listen to any song ever written in the entire universe. For the past 4 days, I was loading up his music queue with the world's most depressing songs. Finally, the Doctor had to grab the remote control from my hands and smack me on the fucking head. Anyway, in case you're interested, here are my five favorite current depressing songs:

1. "Landslide" by Smashing Pumpkins
2. "Everybody Hurts" by REM
3. "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division
4. "Scientist" by Coldplay
5. "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley

Quick. What's your favorite depressing song?

MY VAPIDLY SUPERFICIAL NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

1. Wear suits more. Cargo pants less.
2. Stop experimenting with my facial hair.
3. Never drink cheap booze again.
4. Take sushi-making class.
5. Eat foie gras and fried chicken whenever the fuck I want.

You guys got any good resolutions for the coming year? Let's hear them.

Next post: Yeah, I bought my daughter a Cinderella doll for Christmas. Got a problem with that?