DadCentric

Can You Hear Me Now? Good.

I'm sure you're all as frantic as I am about what to do about the safety of our families in light of recent revelations made to that crazy loon our brother in Christ, Pat Robertson, by the Man Upstairs.  Yes, we here on the left coast are apparently in line for something akin to a big macking tsunami if what was revealed to Pat during his most recent "prayer retreat" ends up being true.  The only thing I'm having a little difficulty with - and please, I'm not trying to discredit Mr. Robertson as he is truly a prophet of God - is the fact that he questions whether or not he may have "heard the Lord right" during all this.

Correct me if I'm wrong here, but, doesn't God kind of sound like James Earl Jones when he talks?  At least he did in The Ten Commandments.  I'm pretty sure it's one of those deep, loud, booming voices that carries pretty far at the very least.  My guess is that, if the Lord Almighty spoke to you, He would probably make it a point to 1) speak loud enough for you to hear and 2) enunciate. 

So, Pat...maybe you could hit Him up again and verify all this for us.  It's important stuff, you know.  The safety of my family is at stake here.  Besides, I'd like a confirmation before moving to Kansas.

Art Show Confidential

There are some people who believe that parents do not have some inalienable right to bring their kids everywhere; that although  you think your kid is cute and wonderful, the rest of the world is at best indifferent and at worst downright hostile to him; that sometimes you need to leave the kid at home with the babysitter, and folks, I am here to tell you that I am one of those people.

Case in point: Saturday, we were lucky enough to secure VIP access to L.A.'s hottest photography show, Gregory Colbert's Ashes and Snow. It's a truly impressive experience, housed as it is inside the Nomadic Museum (pictured above), a makeshift gallery the size of an aircraft hanger - a temporary Guggenheim on the Santa Monica beach constructed entirely of recycled material. The images themselves are awe-inspiring - well, at least to adults, a couple of thousand of which were there to view them. The lines wrapped around the building twice, a couple of hours' wait just to buy a ticket, and then another couple of hours' wait to actually get inside. But we had connections, and were whisked past the teeming throngs while getting a quick tour of the facility (see the walls? Old shipping containers. The curtains? Thousands upon thousands of teabags, stained and sewn together). Yes, we were excited to step away from our usual Philistine existence and experience some Art.

One problem. Lucas. For some reason, we thought that a hip art show would be the perfect place for a manically energetic two-year-old boy. Yes, we took our Stupid Pills that morning, and were rewarded handsomely; five minutes' worth of sepia-toned portraits of elephants and skinny people in white robes were about all the kid could take, and then the squirming and wailing began. A sort of mortified horror crept over me; they were a surly lot, these people that had been standing in line since 6:00 that morning, and there was some bad juju in the air. I could feel the glares, boring into my back like psychic daggers, and after about two minutes of the aforementioned squirming and wailing I hustled the kid out of there.

Luckily, we had the Santa Monica Pier, with its rides and sidewalk entertainers and most important, a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf that sells chocolate milk. So Lucas hung out and watched the cavalcade of freaks, tourists, and seagulls, a show more to his tastes. And I tried in vain to scalp the Boris Godunov ticket we bought for him.

CPK=AOK

For Mother's Day, after sending my wife to a spa for a long massage and a facial (not to mention some kid-free time to herself), we went to dinner at CPK.  A place, mind you, that is gradually overtaking Hooters as our favorite family-friendly dinner establishment.  Let me tell you why:

• Call ahead wait list - Phone them, tell them you're coming and, upon arrival, you're next in line.  This, in lieu of offering traditional reservations.  It's a wonderful fuck you to the poor bastards who didn't think to take advantage of this nifty feature.
• A bottle of wine is strategically priced 20 - 25% less than its four-separate-glasses equivalent.  This is a new concept for us.  Our experience has been that they are usually priced the same.  This, of course, requires us to order a bottle every time, otherwise, we're just suckers. Touche, CPK.
• I'm having a hard time finding anything on the menu priced higher than $10.99.
• Crayons and multi-paged coloring books for the kids.
• Kids menu kicks ass.
• It's closer.

We got really lucky this round because our waiter's name was J.J.  This also happens to be the name of one of our daughter's favorite shows. We got lots of mileage out of that one.  Of course, she now has to mentally digest the difference between a jet plane and a black man, but, we considered this her first lesson in diversity.

I've included a photo taken from our dinner.  I guess it goes without saying that this is a shot of Horsie giving Kitty and Baby a night-night kiss in a comfy bed of fusilli and parmesan.  But, you probably already knew that.

Now, if we can get their female wait staff to show some cleavage, we'd have a serious battle on our hands.

What's In A Name

When we were struggling with names for The Baby Now Known As Mia, we made it our mission to come up with something different but not completely out there.  We wanted something classic, something you didn't hear everyday, yet not a name that suggested participation in either adult activities or premature grandmothering and shuffleboard at age three.  Bubbles, Champagne, Crystal, and Misti (or Misty...or Mistee) were tossed right the fuck out the window.  Gertrude, Pearl, Thelma, and Melba were similarly dismissed.  We were, therefore, thrilled when we stumbled upon Amelia.

I have to admit, I'm a little bitter seeing this.  Dagger!  I guess the saving grace is the fact that we live in neither Arizona nor Texas (no offense to those of you who do - native Texan here, myself).  At least we stayed out of the top ten.   

Godmommies

I wanted to say something about Lucas' godparents without sounding like an Upper Middle Class White Liberal Guy Proudly Proclaiming His Liberalness, but I realized that no matter how I frame it, somebody's gonna read it that way. So I'll get it out of the way: Lucas' godparents, two of our very best friends, are (gasp!) a LESBIAN COUPLE. (I also voted for Kerry! And I have black friends! Huzzah for me!)

Was this a conscious decision? Only in the sense that we thought long and hard about who we'd want to raise our kid should calamity befall us, and decided that we wanted Lucas to be raised by smart, fun, active, socially conscious and successful people, people that we love and trust and who are as much a part of our family as our flesh-and-blood relatives. "CC" and "Hilly" were the obvious choice. A no-brainer, really.

Past that, there's no statements to be made, no agenda. I will say that part of me is glad for Lucas; he's getting a nice lesson in how life really works, despite what the Santorums of the world would have you believe. We don't see CC and Hilly very often - our schedules are reaaaaally fucking up our social program these days - but when we do, Lucas loves every minute of it. (Plus they spoil him. My son will love you too, if you buy him a trike. He has the scruples of a Republican congressman.) So as Mother's Day approaches, a special shout-out to our godmommies - thanks, gals, for everything.

Couch Tater Tots

In what is being seen as a loud F.U. and general thumbing of the nose at the American Academy of Pediatrics, BabyFirstTV, a 24-hour channel, will debut on DirecTV at $9.99/month - don't ask me where these infants are gonna get the 10 bucks, though.  Not one of them is gainfully employed.

Oh, where to begin, where to begin.  Initially, I thought "round-the-clock" programming?  For infants?  Then I nodded my head and said, "Of course.  They're up, why shouldn't they have something like "Insomniac Theater?"  Or maybe they could develop something along the line of MST3K: an infant, and two sock puppets tear apart and add witty banter to Baby Einstein videos and Bear in the Big Blue House.  I might watch something like that.  Anyway...the plan is for this channel to launch with 250 hours of content, 80% of which will be original, and they promise to have the channel available in Spanish by the end of 2006.

Now, I'm not here to get into the argument on whether or not children under two should be watching television.  What you do is your business - maybe you want your child to be like Martin Tupper - entirely your perogative.  But, is there really a need for BabyFirstTV?  Are these children out there organizing a petition writing campaign, clamoring for a channel that speaks to them?

U Got The Look: Study Reveals That Women Learn A Lot From Men's Faces

A ground-breaking new study indicates that women like guys who like kids, and that they use mens' facial expressions to gauge whether or not they'd be a good life partner, or a mere roll in the hay. DadCentric has obtained exclusive access to the study, including photos of some of the men that were used as test subjects. The results? Surprising.

This gentleman fared poorly. Notes on him included the following:

"Chest like a cancer patient." "I most certainly do not want to feel his serpentine...tine." "Clearly a commitment-phobe. Ten years for Chinese Democracy?""A bandanna and a Swatch? These speak of a Peter Pan complex on a scale unheard of." "I thought Kevin Federline was already married."

This gentleman drew mixed reviews. "I think it's weird that he looks like Arvin Sloane." "Well, I'm not sure I'm into the Israel-will-burn-in-an-ocean-of-atomic-fire thing, but he has nice taste in podium decor. He could do the flowers at the wedding, saving us a bundle.""I once dated a Mahmoud in college. I'm pretty sure it wasn't this guy, unless he was a Teke - could be him, though...I drank a lot back then.""He's a haughty hottie!""Sorry - I'm not into Pure Evil." "

This gentleman also drew mixed reviews. "I think it's nice that this survey included head trauma victims." "That sweater makes him look fat, and those eyebrows are unfortunate." "He is shockingly handsome, virile, and brilliant to boot. I believe I speak for all women everywhere when I say that I wish to breed with him." (Editor's note: the last comment is under investigation; it was the only one that was handwritten, and appeared on the back of a used Carl's Jr. napkin.)

This gentleman received no comments.

This gentleman received mostly negative comments. "Oh, this was when he was trying to look like Nicole.""Oddly, the puffy shirt suits him." "I feel the need...the need to run away screaming.""He's old enough to be Kirsten Dunst's creepy domineering Scientologist boyfriend.""I'm just not sure that a young hotshot loner, who lives on the edge, goes against his superiors (who grudgingly recognize that he's the best high school football player/fighter pilot/NASCAR driver/bisexual vampire/secret agent they've ever seen), woos the hot female expert on football/NASCAR/fighter piloting/vampiring/secret agenting, and ultimately learns to be a team player, gaining the respect of his rivals, is husband/father material."

This guy was the hands-down favorite. The responses were all the same: "I kiss you!"

Up In The Hair

OK, gents.  We all value our hair.  But how much do we invest in it? Personally, I treat mine like shit and probably spend less than $50 a year on it.  The washings and conditionings are infrequent.  The haircuts are even less frequent and I can't remember the last time I ran a comb or brush through it other than to make funny hairdos for the girls while they're in the bath.  It's safe to say that, other than being thankful it's there, I don't put much thought or effort in to mine. That's sad too because I've got plenty of it right now. 

I bring this up because it's getting really long and, if I want to keep the length without looking like this guy, it's going to take more than $8 and a Chinese immigrant with a set of clippers to do it up right.  It's decision time, boys.  It's either Supercuts or I plunk down for a bonafide salon styling to get me through the next year. 

Where do you go for your haircuts?  Are you a do-it-yourselfer?

Pay Attention to Your Kids, or They May End Up in a Snow Globe

This weekend we walked up to Lincoln Center to see attention-whore stunt performer David Blaine float in a giant fish bowl of water.  He was surrounded by hundreds of people craning their necks to see him, probably just as he was peeing into his catheter.  I assume that most everyone there was thinking something along the lines of the following:

"What the hell?"

What compels someone to submerge themselves in water for a week?  Every year Mr. Blaine seems to concoct some stunt which draws millions of network viewers and almost inevitably ends with him in a hospital.  Is it fun to him to buried alive, or to be frozen in a block of ice?  He didn't walk normally for over a month after that one.  I get bored watching 15 minutes of Will & Grace...I can't even fathom standing on a pole for 35 hours.  Why would anyone want to do that to themselves?

I'm not a professional psychologist, and it would take a particularly skilled one to pick apart this freak's psyche.  But I'm a snarky bastard who isn't afraid to offer my own diagnosis:  is there anyone on the planet who wants you to like him and pay attention to him more than David Blaine?  He basically admitted as much tonight, when they pulled his convulsing body out of the Orb of Death and tearfully thanked everyone for coming out to see him and support him (which, admittedly, is a pleasant departure from athletes who thank God for their touchdowns...I didn't see God pushing that cornerback out of bounds, chief).  David Blaine wants you to notice him, and if that means he needs to throw himself into rotating helicopter blades then he'll do it.

He never knew his father, and his mother raised him while taking on as many as three jobs...I can cut him some slack.  It's the overt public displays that get to me.  Isn't there another way to cope with your abandonment issues?  Perhaps with a blog or something?  Is the only difference between him and the ignored kid down the street a gypsy grandmother willing to teach him card tricks? 

My first inclination with him--and with anyone who's constantly in your face trying to show off--is to ignore them.  Impress me with your intelligence, your insights, your contribution to society, and you'll have my attention and respect.  Channel those energies into something which helps other people instead of flailing your arms in the air and yelling, "LOOK AT ME!  LOOK AT ME!"  That sort of behavior tends to produce a consistent response from the rest of us.

"What the hell?"

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

Friday night in New York City was absolutely gorgeous.  It was one of those beautiful Spring evenings that puts everyone in a good mood and makes winter almost seem worthwhile. 

As luck would have it, BossLady and I had plans to go see my beloved Mets that evening.  They were playing at Shea Stadium against their arch-rivals, the Braves, and it was going to be our first game of the season.  We couldn't have picked a nicer evening. 

The game was fantastic.  It was a 14-inning nailbiter that culminated in an exciting Mets victory.  Couldn't ask for anything more.  We had a great time.

The next day, I started adding up the cost of the evening.  At first, I couldn't believe the numbers.  I had to check them 3-4 times to make sure that my eyes weren't deceiving me.  You guys have to got to see this.  Tell me that I'm doing the math wrong or something.  Here's the breakdown of our night's endeavor:

Two tickets:  $82.00
Two hot dogs: $10.00
Potato Knish: $4.50          
Cheeseburger:  $6.00
Italian Hero:  $10.00            
Three 12-oz. beers:  $21.00 
Two ice cream cones: $9.00
Two bottles of Water: $10.00
Diet Pepsi:  $4.50
Infant Mets Jersey:  $25.00
Baby Sitter:  $80.00

Memories of a great Spring evening?  Priceless?  Fuck no! 

Did you look at those numbers?  Holy shit!  A spring night at Shea cost me $262.00!!!  Is it me or is that highway robbery?  I know I hear parents constantly complaining about the ridiculous cost of taking their kids to DisneyWorld or Six Flags.  And I don't want to sound like an old fogie but I really do remember when you could buy a ticket at Shea for $10.  A beer and a hot dog would cost you another $5.

Sure, the extra-innings cost of the babysitter skewed the numbers a little bit.  But c'mon!  $7.00 for a beer?  $5.00 for a hot dog?  I'm starting to feel like my father ("I remember when you could buy a steak for $1.00!")

Is it just the Mets or does going to a MLB game everywhere else in the country cost this much now?