Archive for July, 2009


July 27, 2009


If you’re a dad and you see the title of this post you’ll be like “yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know – if it wasn’t for the television, my wife and I would already be dead.”

Not so fast – that’s not what I’m talking about. I MEAN IT’S CRUCIAL FOR THE FUCKING KID. Let me explain:

My wife is a fucking European hippie, so she couldn’t stop complaining about how much television I let our first daughter watch. My wife pretended that she was concerned about some imaginary study which proved that TV caused autism and gave kids ADD.

In real life though, I’m positive that my wife’s resistance to television was because my wife was a Chomsky-ite America-bashing Vegetarian Euro-Liberal whose worst fear was that her daughters would turn into Disney-worshipping American-Girl Barbie-craving robots. (Which is exactly what happened in the end – HA! Awesome Bruce-Lee style punishment for her uppity leftist crimes.)


In the end, because there was FUCK ALL to do at our house, the first kid DID end up watching a lot of TV and getting to play with incredible websites like Sesame As a result, she had a fucking blast, developed a kick-ass sense of humor / hunger for cool entertainment, AND learned the fucking alphabet faster than any kid before the year 2000 could have possibly done it. She was a 3 year old prodigy who could use a mouse and knew what google was.

It was a triumph: the kid was walking around like a little happy genius because of all the media she was exposed to, and meanwhile my wife, in total denial, went around talking about how our daughter had learned the alphabet and all that shit because of the fact that we read books to her and somehow she got it by osmosis or some shit – instead of because Elmo PAINSTAKINGLY showed her EACH fucking letter for TEN THOUSAND hours with more patience than ANY human has.

My wife would not admit how much Elmo and I ruled – On the contrary, my wife maintained that it was because of how much she had LIMITED our daughter’s television and internet exposure that the kid was so sharp.

I let my wife believe what she wanted to – I had been married long enough to be MUCH more comfortable with peaceful injustice than with engaging the futile idiocy of trying to prove a point to an illogical woman who would die before conceding defeat. The kid was a genius, and happy, and that was all that mattered TO ME.  

Fast forward 4 years to the present day, and my youngest daughter is now 3. She wasn’t allowed to watch any TV because my wife cracked down and made sure that she “played with her older sister” instead of spending time on the computer or watching television.

Surprise: She’s already 3, and she doesn’t know the alphabet or her numbers. She knows the alphabet SONG – any retard knows that – but she can’t identify the letters. So now I’m stuck with fucking flashcards trying to teach her letters before she starts pre-school in the fall and we get reported to child welfare.

I sit there with THREE fucking letters on 3 notecards: A, B, and C.

I show her the card with ‘A’ and she says “Three!” 

-I say “THREE is not a letter – that’s an A’

-“Oh! hahaha A! A! A!” she says

I show her a “B”

-“What’s that?” she asks

-“That’s a B!” I say

-“Oh! hahaha B!” she says

-“GOOD!” I say. Then I show her the “A” again. “What’s that.”

-“ummmm, what’s that?” she asks

-“That’s an A!” I say.

-“Oh! hahahaha! A” she says.

This time I don’t move the card. I just keep showing her the A. 

-“What’s that?” I ask.

-“ummmmmmmmmmmmm” she says

-“come on,” I say, “I just said it – you know it!” I start to get a little nervous that she’s retarded, so I start to mouth the letter “A” to her just to let her cheat so I don’t have a panic attack. “What is it? It’s an …aaaaeee?”

-“Three!” she says.


She’s retarded because my wife wouldn’t let this one watch TV. My wife thought she was a badass and that Europe rules, so now our kid is literally slow; a slow child left behind, and it’s not funny.

Children’s television and internet make your kid smart as an asian. But my wife stood strong – she has HER principles, and in the end, that’s what she cares about – her principles and what she thinks is right, rather than the intelligence and long-term happiness of our child.

She wins!!



July 27, 2009


What kind of fucking fag leaves his kid at one year-old? What, it’s not working out with your wife? Well, that’s none of your business. Your life is none of your business when you have kids. If you don’t like her anymore, fine. Don’t fuck her. But you can’t leave your kid and throw him into the most damning statistics there are (worse than being black, worse than being poor, worse than being retarded for fuckssakes). And by the way, how do you know you two aren’t getting along? Who has the time to get along when there’s a baby around? As soon as she misses that time of the month, your life is basically on hold at least until the kid goes to kindergarten. That’s the fucking deal. That’s why you think about it before you propose.

The way I see it, getting married means no more condoms and potentially limitless kids (only 7% of married couples opt out of having kids). Having kids means you are no longer the first priority and the whole concept of “Self” is flushed down the toilet. Technically, the relationship is off the books for about 18 years but there can be no arguing that it is absolutely and positively off the books for the first 3 or 4. People went to fucking war you pussies!

I see the early days as both of you agreeing to move to China for 2 years. You both agreed to it so learn some Chinese, eat worms, inhale the pollution, take your shoes off, listen to that annoying accent, smoke, tolerate brown nylons, have no idea if someone’s mad at you, and watch dogs bleed to death. Now, with kids you get at least some breaks where they’re napping and you’re not in China anymore so reality is actually much kinder than this analogy. When your kid is one, your wife could basically be a racist gay man with AIDS that snores like a cow and punches at least one hole in the wall a day. That’s what your committing to when you jizz inside her.

I know someone that went to jail for 2.5 years for bullshit. He sucked it up and made the most of it. You can’t hang out with a giggling ball of dough who gets a little grumpy when teeth tear through his gums like an alien out of Sigourny Weaver’s stomach? Fuck you.


July 25, 2009



Leon has now realized that with one swing of his rubbery leg he can scale his crib. The crib that has been his evening home without exception is now just another obstacle for this child to scale. The bedtime routine that had worked with such precision for two years is now in total and complete…shambles. We used to read him exactly three stories and a song I’d make up that always ended up sounding like that “I Am Superman” song by REM (the lyrics vaguely related to his day but it never rhymed properly and I usually ended it short when I couldn’t find anything to else to rhyme with dream. Ream?). Three books and a song. That was it. He was out by 7:45. Max. Now the crib is history and so is my night/life. Black, meet white. Up? This is fucking down. You’ll totally get along.

Now, I need to get Maj. Scott McCoy on the horn, because we have a fucking hostage situation on our hands.


Instead of the dump and split, I lie in bed waiting for this 25 pound terrorist to try and fall asleep. He seems to be enjoying his milking it moment. Every once in a while he’ll try to hold my arm or say something nonsensical (tonight it was CANNONBALL!).  His damp blanket which he inexplicably shoves into his mouth is beginning to smell like the Steeler jersey Mean Joe exchanged with that kid for a Coke and a smile. But that’s a good sign. Blanket in mouth means relaxation. Relaxation means fucking sleep, right? Right?!!! Even when this kid actually closes his eyes and you try to inch out and I do mean INCH OUT, he springs up like some home invader just entered the room with a loaded handgun pointed at our heads. Just one icy stare from this midge sends you barreling back to your home base. You’re stuck. The beers in the fridge are starting to gossip. Where the fuck is he? It’s 8:45!!! You’ve tried the slither off the bed and out. He heard it. STARE. Back to bed. You try the super quick pop up that historically has worked because it eliminates extraneous sounds. Busted. STARE. You are fucking stuck. Finally, with one last spaz from his hand, he’s out. You are LITERALLY ON THE GROUND WORMING YOUR WAY OUT OF THE ROOM LIKE A FUCKING GREEN BERET. You get up when you realize you can. Stroll out like it’s no bigs. Fuck, now we have to get him a bed…


July 21, 2009

shirts off coney island

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery but when your son starts to actively observe the drunken antics of co-workers and debauched Texas uncles beware. The mother will blame only you. In no time, he’ll be ripping his shirt off, disrupting downtown art shows and strolling shirtless along ghettoed boardwalks like a cocksure dandy.  Of course, if he wants to hang at Coney Island with the hobos and over-muscular guidos, the shirtless antics of daddy’s past will make him a local in no time flat.


July 20, 2009


Saturday we celebrated my 39th b-day, 10 years in New York (Ed Koch’s definition of a New Yorker), last payment from old company, and the show deal. We also mourned the passing of one of the greatest partiers around. He didn’t understand how to go to the next stage because his father abandoned him at 13. Without context he felt lost and couldn’t make it as a new dad. If only someone was there to explain to him how to make the jump from party phase to dad phase. It’s pretty simple really. You just cut out the hard stuff and close it down before midnight.

His death marks the end of an era and it breaks my heart to think how much his daughter lost out. Study after study proves, no matter how bad a dad is it’s almost always better to have him in the mix. All you have to do is be there and keep trying.


July 13, 2009


My daughter wanted me to tell her the story of the Three Bears without the aid of a book to guide me and I realized I totally forgot how that goes. I looked it up and was stunned to see how lame it is. Do you know the plot to that story? Like all children’s stories in America, it takes place in the forest with some German looking girl wandering around and getting into trouble (could Disney be more German please? Even fucking Mickey Mouse wears lederhosen.) This girl stumbles upon a bears’ house and, after going inside and checking out some of their stuff, she falls asleep. Then they get home and are mad so she leaves. The End.

I find it almost impossible to get through these bedtime stories without yawning my fucking ass off. I swear to God I’m up to about a yawn every page. Especially when she wants to hear the same book again and again.

One of the hardest stories to get through is the seemingly never ending Sleeping Beauty. Do you know that plot to that shlavente goot (German for “sleep well”)? A princess is born and they have a huge party in the castle that everyone comes to. An evil witch who can turn herself into a dragon and kill everyone is furious she wasn’t invited. Have a look at her. Apparently, this morphing creature has never NOT been invited to a birthday party (hole 1). So she curses the child to die at 16 by pricking her finger on a loom. Faeries think this is too harsh and lower the punishment to eternal sleep at 16 (hole 2). You can tweak curses? This story sucks already and we’re on page 3. So the king decides to burn every loom in the village and then banish his daughter to the woods until she’s 16.1. Faeries accompany her but commit to not using magic so as not to draw attention to themselves. All right, fine. I guess this is going to work but what about their other kids? Is the witch coming to the next party? Is the king still going to cum in his wife or is it not worth the headache?

So, the plan works and for 16 years she picks berries and sings and befriends birds. She even runs into a prince (thank god it wasn’t dragon lady. That would have been The End.) On her 16th birthday the faeries decide to bake a cake for her and make  her a dress and tell her she’s actually a princess. They get frustrated doing it as mortals even though they’ve been mortal for 16 years and they bust out their wands at the last second (hole 3). Huh? You can’t wait a few more fucking hours you stupid bitches? You’ve been waiting 16 years for this curse to be lifted and you’re going to bust out your wands at this stage in the game. There’s 140,160 hours in 16 years and you are going to risk it all in the last 6? Why are they even having a fucking party for her? How about we celebrate after 16 years and one day when we actually have something to celebrate?

So these cows get discovered by the witch at the 11.99999999th hour and lo and behold, Sleeping Beauty pricks her finger on a loom and “dies.” The rigamarole that ensues includes, putting the entire village to sleep, turning the entire forest into flaming bramble, slaying a fucking gigantic, fire-breathing dragon, and a bunch of other apocalyptic shit. All because these dumb bitches couldn’t keep it in their pants. What kind of story is that? I guess the moral to this story is patience but if that’s the case, the faeries should have their heads bowed at the end with the king and queen screaming at them. At least that would make a pube of sense.


July 8, 2009


One thing being a dad teaches you is how important it is to have a dad. Do you know anyone from a single parent home that isn’t fucked up? I wrote about it here. There’s a cute article about it here. Though she confuses male role models with male models. Here’s a quote…

“I have done it all: Career, postponed first marriage, had a son, divorced, remarried 11 years after the divorce. During my “single parent” stage (of 12 years or so), I did everything I could to provide my son with male models (our family was out of state, his dad moved to the east coast, but our son did visit him): Doctors, Boy Scouts, Big Brother, karate, male teachers. Kids, boys in particular, need men in their lives because they do NOT need to emulate females. I was very fortunate, my son’s step-dad provided that visible male role model that he (and all kids) needed. My second husband was there for most of my son’s high school years, college, and now, career.

My conclusion on the PP/Sentinel article is that it focused far too much on the mom – it’s the kids who need to be the focus. Survey after survey find that kids simply do better with dad in the house.”


July 7, 2009


The unspoken theme of this blog is ‘strength thru discipline.’  Not corporeal punishment per se but rather developmental regimen.  And, in this case, it’s the parents who need the discipline. Kids crave routine, so it’s up to you to establish orderliness.  The exhausting repetition and bone-numbing attention to detail, which is most certainly killing you, provides an important function. It will build you a kid that is healthy, wealthy and wise.

Kids need to be squeezed in order to break free of the also-rans and a disciplined life offers a framework for them to riff on. Nurturing is a by-product of indoctrination, so pick your spots and occasionally turn your beautiful little monster into a hired hand. He/she will appreciate it and you’ll have a cool parlor trick to show the other dad homies. The possibility of a future slogging long hours in nightclubs be damned.


July 6, 2009


July 6, 2009


A common misconception with Fatherhood is you can’t party as much because the kids take over your life. BUUUUULLLLL SHIT! My life is almost exactly the same as it was when I was single. There’s just a few more hoops to jump through.

For example, if you’re a pal and you’d like to grab a beer, I am available from 2 to 4PM when the kids are napping – unless there’s some pressing deadline or it’s one of the days I go to the gym or whatever. In which case, catch me on my next window which is 9 to 11PM – unless my wife doesn’t decide to go to bed early and would like to catch up on what’s going on in our lives since our daughter doesn’t allow us to have a normal conversation with each other in the day.

We’d have to do it somewhere right near my house because I really do have to go right at 11 and I won’t know if this is going to be possible until the very last second so please be ready. In a perfect world all my friends would have a Batphone and a fire pole so the second I know I’m ready, they jump into their pants and are out the door, sirens blaring.

If you’d like to do something big like go to a fight or see a movie, this is also a cinch. Just call me 2 or 3 days in advance and I’ll discuss it with my wife. If she wants to come we’ll get a babysitter and pay $15 an hour to be out with you. If not, I’ll go out alone with you and owe her one which is also kind of like paying someone $15 an hour.

Also, every second I’m out socializing there’s a nagging voice saying, “Is this really better than being with your kids?” so please keep the interestingness at 11 during the entire course of the night.

See how easy it is? Now let’s get down to some serious partying!