Archive for June, 2009


June 30, 2009


Holy shit. Nieratko just turned me on to this site “Why the fuck do you Have a Kid?” and it is a time vacuum more intense than “Awkward Family Photos.” Say goodbye to the rest of the day if you check out either.


June 29, 2009


NYC is a trippy place to be a daddy. It’s great because the proximity to thousands of crafty little brats can really bump your kid’s learning curve, and for the most part, as a dad, you can get away with dressing like a madman. NYers are gaga for fashion, but there’s a flip side too — which most of America is unaware: we don’t gussy up day-to-day. Power people show up to meetings looking like they slept on a park bench. They may be wearing patent leather Prada sneakers, but won’t have showered, shaved or embraced the trappings of middle class faux-cleanliness, like cologne or starched shirts. It’s a freak show of a working world.

Don’t misunderstand, NYers are always on a fashion mission to dazzle with the latest accessory or trendsetting mustache, but most winning outfits are a curious hi-lo combo. For example, the successful pairing of a snappy new outfit with beat up, old, dress shoes. Shoes with a patina that would never make it in the professional boardrooms of Atlanta or SF are here considered not a harbinger of poverty but an accent of style. In most corporate, or even working class environs, you could never get away with wearing the same pair of jeans to work week after week. Even if they cost $500. Fun Fact: a denim expert in a Manhattan jean boutique told me to never wash my jeans. Hahaha. How do you think that would fly in Dallas business class?

The point here is that being well-scrubbed and synthetically dry cleaned in not a necessity. People wear the same shit day after day. And no heed is paid to quirky attire, because often the people looking the most like vagabonds have diamonds, both literal or metaphorical, dripping from their pockets. Dressing for the office like you’re walking off a bender is a nice caveat in a city where living is hard and one is often walking off a bender.

Flash to this morning as Bratzo and I are readying to leave for his day care. He’s already dressed to the kiddie nines so I grab black jeans, cowboy boots and a weird Helmut Lang blazer to offset the t-shirt I’d slept in. It’s a one-block walk, but we always bump into some cultural maven, so you have be dressed like you don’t give a shit and simultaneously as if you can afford not to give a shit. This place is nuts.

I frequently hang for a few minutes at the school, ‘cuz the kids are fun and they think I look like Woody from Toy Story. Chit-chatting with parents, it should go without saying, is far less interesting. Today, I sprawled on the baby-sized couch and the gang went bonkers. The twelve of them jumped around and on me and not until one of the mothers began meandering my way inquisitively did the dread come home to roost. The kids were excited because of the Garfield t-shirt I’d been wearing for days. They kept touching it and laughing. The thing is, it isn’t a Garfield t-shirt.  It’s a TV Carnage model with Gary Coleman’s black face superimposed over Garfield’s body.

The liberalism of NYC is easy to live with ’till they turn on you. As the paranoia starts to well up inside me, I know Brooklyn Mom is thinking, Who’s this nefarious dude bringing his race and animal hatred to bear on my innocent, impressionable lamb? Gulp. I’m chicken when it comes to mothers thinking I’m a bad influence, so I morphed into the bumbling Buzz Lightyear and made for the exit. Brooklyn Mom, who seemed familiar beyond the world of Russian day care, moved with deft professionalism to cut me off. I nodded a fatherly hello waiting for her counter but to my relief there was no PC talk about the shirt, just a request to take a picture of me with the kids. I was happy to oblige. We all posed and she snapped a half dozen pics while chatting amicably. As I beat it to the sidewalk suppressing a chuckle at my near cultural slip-up, it dawned on me. Oh God, Brooklyn Mom works for Gawker.


June 27, 2009


Ugh, I met one of the most cynical babies on earth last night. He was a male model for Yo Baby and just about everything I said garnered this “Oh yeah, who says?” response. What kind of world do we live in where someone who is 0 years old is already so skeptical?


June 25, 2009

I love rich parents. They provide for their children and understand how important it is to give them a balanced diet. They would never consider a free lunch- I mean literally, a free lunch. Bloomberg has been bragging about New York’s new Free Lunch Program and most middle class parents are asking, “How much is a fucking ham sandwich, 30 cents? What, you can’t scrape some mac & cheese together? You can’t? Well then what can you do? Sorry but you shouldn’t be having kids if lunch is out of your league. It’s like drunk driving. They say you can’t drive a vehicle if you’re had 2 beers. Well you shouldn’t be driving at all if you can’t commandeer a vehicle properly with 2 beers in your system. Get it? That’s you with kids.”

They understand only a homeless person could justify needing a free lunch for their kids.

I love poor parents. They accept the fact they didn’t spend 12 years in medical school memorizing boring latin terms and studying the history of vaccinations. When well-informed doctors tell a poor parent he needs his shots they don’t fret about the 30 seconds it’s going to make the baby cry and say, “Sounds good to me.” Subsequently, you don’t get poor kids bringing back ancient diseases like Scarlet Fever. That’s right. The bourgeoisie over at Northside Preschool in Brooklyn have brought back Scarlet Motherfucking Fever. The Working class parents at the school are – understandably – pissed off and asking, “Wait, what? You refused shots because why? Because you don’t think you need them? What did you take in school? Huh? What the fuck is Mass Comm!? Now you’re crazy bullshit ideas about medicine is putting MY kids health at risk!? What the fuck? Look shitheads, I don’t care if you rich people want to fuck up your own lives. That’s none of my business. But now you’re bullshit is making it unsafe for all our kids. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

They understand the dangers of scoffing at hundreds of years of medicine and how that makes  all our kids unsafe.


June 25, 2009

Oh how I hate this video. Let me count the ways.

Picture 5

1- Yes lady, you are correct. Pit bulls are NOT responsible for the majority of attacks on children. Here’s the clincher however you stupid cow, pit bulls represent a tiny minority of the breeds out there so they are DISPROPORTIONATELY responsible for attacks on kids. Do you know what “disproportionate” means? Let me put it this way: Most smokers do not die of lung cancer.

Picture 4

2- I realize 9 children a year is not a big number in the grand scheme of things but you might want to avoid announcing it in huge block letters like it’s great news.

Picture 2

3- You’re trying to show us what great parents pit bull owners are but all I can see is kids sprawled out all over the living room, passed out. What the fuck do you do, live your life like a single person and just watch your kids fall over when they run out of batteries? I hate to sound bourgeois but the rest of us provide beds for our kids with actual nap times. You may want to raise the bar to at least that prehistoric level before you go off on a bragging montage.


June 23, 2009

I have made some groundbreaking movies in the field of childcare over the years. Watch and learn.


June 22, 2009


In the early days of fatherhood, I found the moments where Bratzo was inconsolable troubling. Desperate to help the little guy through his early onset angst, I’d run through the mandated checklist: hungry, dirty, tired? But more often than not, there was no clear answer. (Although a gentle shaking seemed to hint disconcertingly that the course of action most forbidden might offer my only relief.)

This confusion got me thinking about the flip side. If every second with my son was cooing and kissing and lovey clinging, I’d sure as shit become a baby junkie in no time. I’d forsake all other stimuli. I’d cease to speak to the mother, quit work, throw away my phone; in short, I’d drop out of the world to spend my days hugging him. Recognizing that the love of a child is a dangerous drug snapped me from my new daddy reverie. With effort, I’ve forced myself to embrace his crying, to not question the mystery and take it for the sign it surely is. Now, at the slightest screech, like a dedicated martial artist, I take his energy for my own and leave the house. Often this leads to drinking with other fathers, but for the record, it’s all done with the best interest of the family in mind.


June 22, 2009


Christopher Hitchens wrote a very compelling letter to his young daughter about the existence of God but I can’t seem to find it so maybe it was Sam Harris. Oh wait, I just found it. It was Richard Dawkins.
The point is, the letter was heartfelt and moving and conveyed, in layman’s terms some very profound ideas about Faith and where the world is at. In the same spirit of love and honesty, I’d like to do the same.

Dearest Sophie,
It’s 2009 and we are living in troubling times. The economy consistently spirals lower than anyone could have ever predicted and our war with Islam shows no signs of slowing down. In the midst of this chaos, a surprising smell of Hope fills the air. We have our first African American president, an elegant Christian with a Muslim name and, at the risk of sounding naively optimistic, there is nowhere to go but up. This is why, at this turning point in your generation’s history, I’d like to get a few things off my chest.

1- Re: Hide and Seek
Are you fucking BLIND? You checked the laundry room twice and I was right there both times. It’s called 360 degrees, try it some time. Shit. I hope checking only two sides of a tiny room is not any indication of how thorough you’re going to be in the future because 50% is 1% away from a failing grade. Also, it’s “1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10, Ready or not. Here I come” not “1,6,7, Here come.”

2- Re: Drawing
Why do you always have to fuck up my shit? It’s not easy drawing someone like Big Bird (which you asked me to do) and then – ppsshshsflflf – you draw a huge fucking crayon line right through it. Are you jealous? Don’t ask me to draw something if you’re not prepared to see it done well.

3- Re: Your Brother
Is this rocket science? He’s a fucking baby – do not hurt him. Why do we have to go back to this basic premise every single fucking day of your life?

4- Re: Again
Here’s a notion: How about after doing the same fucking joke a couple of dozen times we let sleeping dogs lie? I don’t mind pretending your shove sent me flying (it didn’t even come close to sending me flying by the way – I could barely feel it) but how many fucking times do we have to do the same joke again and again and again and again?

5- Re: Your Face
You have snot on your face. I tried wiping it but two new lines immediately come down to fill their place. The only way to prevent this is for you to actually blow when I put the tissue over your nose. Like, literally blow. Not just make sounds like you’re blowing your nose.

PS: It’s “strawberries” not “strawbobos” and it’s “Spongebob” not “Sumbum.”

From here.


June 22, 2009

Here we are fucking around in the hood as we are want to do. If any of you see us out there do yourself a favor and get the fuck out of the way. Our shenanigans amuse us to no end but they will ruin your day.


June 22, 2009


Can you believe this guy’s stance? He makes Humpty Dumpty look more flappable than Nancy Reagan’s pussy lips. Fucking hands on the hip, down to brass tacks lean, Sylvester the cat leg cross… you’d think he’d been shitting in a potty for 40 years. No wonder they use him to teach people about this shit. He looks like he owns the joint.
If you have any questions, any questions at all, do not hesitate to go up to my man Ern and ask him what’s up. He will not make you feel embarrassed and he will not tell anyone what you said. You’re too big for diapers dude. Let’s do this.

(From here)