Because I'm Your Father
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- You Got A Mutha Thing Comin'
Well, I go and post my first entry in nearly two months, and the wife gives me a scolding. But, rightfully so. You see, Mother's Day was this past Sunday. And although I expressed my love to her personally, it seems she's a little miffed that I didn't post anything on the blog to memorialize it for the world.
(And I think she might also be upset seeing as I didn't get her a card, and seeing as her Mother's Day lunch was at Chucky Cheese. But before you people get all holier than thou on me, know that she didn't get me a Valentine's card this year. And the person in this entry that forgot about Switzerland? Wuddent me... wuddent me.)
Albert, pay attention kid. Cuz I pity the fool that don't treat his mutha right!
And honey, Happy Mutha's Day. Again. I love you.
Wed, 16 May 2007 00:00:00 -0600 - Because Deep Down, In Places You Don't Talk About At Parties, You Want Me On That Blog. You Need Me On That Blog.
Like most kids growing up, I participated in a lot of team sports. Actually, that's a bit misleading. I didn't so much participate IN the sports, as I did just show up, occasionally practice, then enjoy the spoils of victory with pizza and ice cream.
Take my brief foray into little league football. After discovering that getting the wind knocked out of you hurt like hell, I would intentionally lose my mouthpiece so I didn't have to practice (which ironically resulted in me having to run laps, and not being able to breathe). I always got to dress come game time, but the only action my ass ever saw was a little section of pine at the end of the bench.
It should come as no surprise then that in 9th grade, whilst enrolled in my school's junior varsity athletics program, I didn't compete during one minute of baseball, basketball or football. A coach told me that I was the only person in the history of the school to go through the entire sports program without being involved in a single play. But guess what? I still got the letter-jacket baby.
By the time I reached college, I had come to terms with my lack of athletic ability (and manhood). But my desire to do what all my other friends were doing still reigned supreme. My sophomore year, I was determined to serve on the student advisory board of our business school. Why? Duh, because two of my close friends were doing it. However, in order to get on the board, you had to be nominated by a student and faculty member, appear on a ballot, then voted in by the student body. Democratic process you say? Pshaw! Just talk to the Dean, impart to him the virtues of having you on the board, and request a special appointment. I 'served' for two years.
This phenomenon of non-participation participation is to a large extent responsible for my career in the music industry today. You see, I can't sing for shit, or play an instrument. But most of my good friends in high school could. And they were getting chicks, dude, chicks! So when a few of them decided to start a rock band, I had to find a way to be 'in the band' so I could keep hanging out with them, and hopefully get laid. Best way I could figure to do that was to become the 'manager' and sound guy. This more or less allowed me the benefits of being in the band (partying, beer, and uh, CHICKS), without actually being IN the band.
And don't think for a minute that my follow the leader mentality, this selfish desire to be one of the kewl kids wasn't part of the reason I started this blog, and this one, and pretty much begged to be a contributor to this one.
OK, I'm sure you're wondering where the hell this is all going, so let me just get to it...
Despite the fact that I've blogged maybe a dozen times in the last year, and even though my site's traffic is as at near Radiator Springs levels (pre-McQueen, of course), someone out there has apparently decided that my little joint is worthy of not one, not two, but THREE Blogger's Choice nominations: Best Parenting Blog, Hottest Daddy Blogger, and yes, Best Blog Of All Time.
OK fine. It was a friend. And he asked me if he should nominate me before he did. I said "oh hell to the yes." There. Pthbtht!!!
Anyway, don't get me started on the cruel irony of this award being called Blogger's Chioce, a term which I'm quite certain that I, ME, NO ONE ELSE invented with my once semi-regular music series that I haven't done in over a year. Don't EVEN get me started. And don't get me started on how I'm qualified as best blog of ANY kind when there are far more superior sites out there like Dooce, Dad Gone Mad, Rock Star Mommy and Perez Hilton (oh wait, did I say that one out loud?). Don't EVEN get me STARTED.
Ok, Hottest Daddy Blogger I totally get...
Anyway, be like me. Go get yourselves nominated, vote for my site, and I'll vote for yours! It's not like any of us are gonna come close to beating Danny or Heather anyway.
Tue, 15 May 2007 18:09:42 -0600 - Well That's The End Of THOSE Romance Points
"I've got some Canadian coins leftover from Canada. I can probably just exchange those at the bank, right?"
"It's probably not enough to make it worth the trip. Just save 'em and we can let Albert play with them later. I've got a bunch of foreign coins in my drawer upstairs."
"When have YOU left the country?"
"I've got some leftover from London (a suprise trip to meet Peter Gabriel), Canada (our honeymoon) and from Switzerland."
"Switzerland? When were you in Switzerland?"
"Oh yeah, right."
Sun, 25 Mar 2007 11:09:13 -0600 - Near Is The Summer Of My Discontent
I realized this morning that something isn't quite right. Something just seems to be missing. There is an unexplainable void, as if The Haitian has paid me a visit recently. Is it the fact that I've neglected my blogs to the point that BIYM actually got mad at me about it yesterday? Is it that one elusive blue Wedgit I need to complete my masterpiece. No, that's not it either.
Then it hit me... THERE IS NO FOOTBALL TODAY.
Just as the epic struggle between The Snow Miser and The Heat Miser begins as the seasons change, the football and summer sports gods wage their battle near the close of winter. But the deities of sport are not little fuzzy, lovable, singing bundles of joy. Nay, they are indeed unmerciful bastards. For to foreshadow the vast, dark, emptiness of summer in such a viciously cruel way, as to leave the week between the playoffs and the Superbowl free from the glorious pigskin, is the stuff of Shakespearean tragedy.
(For those of you who enjoy that summer "sport," of which I do not speak, I refer to a previous entry for my thoughts on the matter.)
Well, there is always Arena Football. Oh, wait a minute. Our team is called The Kats. Eh, maybe not. I suppose I could look to hockey to quell the tide of summer. YES! Why not. That team is called The Predators. A much more fearsome moniker. And would you look at that. They have the best team in the league right now. So bring back the cold and ice (aaa-ooo), if for just a few more months! Timonen's across the blue line... He shoots! He scores!!!
Sun, 28 Jan 2007 11:08:08 -0600 - Merry Christmas!
(click to enlarge)
Wed, 20 Dec 2006 13:28:16 -0600 - Save The 2-Year Old, Save The Blog
A young boy has emerged with what can only be described as special new abilities. His transformation from ordinary infant to extraordinary toddler has not occurred overnight. Although unaware of it now, this boy's 2nd birthday will not only change his parent's world, but save the blog forever.
Every story has a beginning. While his has been documented in the journals of his father, much of the boy's recent transformations remain untold. Tragically, a force much larger than his father is the villain behind the void. This evil force, The Career, is not sentimental.
For a time, the father imagined himself the loyal narrator of his boy's second year in life, capable of humorously describing each milestone. He had no choice in doing so when the boy rose and fell. Was it evolution that took the boy by the hand? Did science point the way? Or was it the law who intervened, keeping him safe?
It is the sad province of the father that he has not been able to share more recent triumphs. He can only choose now to stand when the call of inspiration comes. Hoping that he'll have the courage (and time) to answer. For this father's heart finds pure joy and renewed life in the smallest of moments. And his desire to faithfully document these moments remains strong.
So happy 2nd birthday young boy. Know always that you are truly your father's hero.
Sat, 02 Dec 2006 12:46:06 -0600 - We'll Miss You So Much More Than A Lil' Bit
Today is an extremely difficult day for the BIYFamily, and especially for BIYM. We had to put down our beloved cat Lil' Bit early this morning. She was a 16-year old Cymric (long-haired Manx), who BIYM's had since she was a kitten. We discovered about three weeks ago that she had a tumor near one of her shoulders, and sadly her health deteriorated very quickly. She will be tremendously missed.I've never been a cat person, but not long after BIYM and I started dating, Lil' Bit won me over. BIYM named her Lil' Bit because she was so incredibly small. For most of her life she weighed somewhere between 4-6 pounds. I couldn't help but love it when my new girl's precious teeny-tiny little Tribble cat sidled up next to my leg and purred. She was as sweet as they come.
Lil' Bit was no delicate flower, however. She may have been as tiny as Tom Cruise, but she could hold her own. When we got our dog Peanut a few years back, BIYM and I thoroughly enjoyed watching them test each others' boundaries. Let's just say that when the bell rang, Lil' Bit was Sprint's Mobile Broadband to Peanut's Cingular EDGE. In fact, she was the most dog-like cat I'd ever encountered. I tried throwing her a frisbee once, but the abilities didn't extend quite that far. I've never had more fun with a laser pointer in my life. And watching her pounce on dust-balls, or box a feather-on-a-string was non-stop entertainment. She was so full of energy and spirit.Lil' Bit had some endearing little quirks as well. Cymrics have no tails, so to compensate for balance, their back legs are a bit longer than other cats. When they walk, they have a funny swagger about them. I always expected to hear a burlesque-like ba-dump-chhh ba-dump-chhh drum beat every her little hips swayed back and forth. When she ran, she looked like a bunny rabbit.
She was allergic to EVERYTHING. When I first met Lil' Bit, she had an inverted mohawk straight down the middle of her back. The cat would literally lick her hair down to the nub, so she could get her little sandpapery tongue to the epicenter of the itch. After a few visits to the vet, he concluded that her problems were primarily food related, so he started her on a special diet: Duck and Venison. Thankfully, he assured us we would not have to prepare any kind of orange-almond glaze, or mint jelly as a side dish.
As we sat petting Lil' Bit last night before we went to bed together for the last time, BIYM fought back tears and wondered aloud why we keep pets, knowing that we will ultimately lose them in such a short period of time. I didn't have a good answer at the time. But I think it is because we crave the love they have to give, just as much as they crave it from us. The relationship we have with our pets, just as with our children, is based on pure, unconditional love and loyalty. And that is why losing them is so hard.The comfort for our pain, of course, is the lasting memory of our beloved. We will miss you more than just a Lil' Bit sweet girl, and will remember you fondly, always. May you frolic freely in the green grass, and have all the chicken and tuna your Lil' heart desires until we meet you there.
Thu, 12 Oct 2006 10:30:00 -0600 - Would You Like To Touch My Monkey?
Fri, 29 Sep 2006 21:09:45 -0600 - And Now For Your Extended BIYForecast:Expect An Autumn Wind To Blow Across The Frozen Tundra For The Next 17-21 Weeks
Shh. Listen. Can you hear it? Be still. Do you feel it? Close your eyes. Open your arms. Embrace the feeling. Oh, how it begins to blow. So swiftly. So strongly. So determined. It is pure. It is perfect.
BOO-YA! It is football time once again my fellow baby's daddies! Thank. Christ.
I know there are several freaks of humanity out there that still care about baseball. Hell, some of you actually enjoy it! Seroiusly. Dudes. C'MON! Is that really what you want on your SportsCenter every night. I don't even need to say it. George... they're all yours.
Hello Amstel Light. Hello Cheetos. Hello Mr. Wingo, Salisbury, Boomer. Hello John, Al, Troy, JB. So good see you all again. I'm ready. Let us begin...
Thu, 07 Sep 2006 14:00:00 -0600 - Co-miss-erating With My Blog
BIYF,
I miss you.
Love,
Your Blog
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Blog,
I miss you too bloggybear. I really, really do. I swear I am not avoiding you. I've just been so busy at work lately, and too wiped out at the end of the day to write you. I know I've made promises before, so this will sound hollow still, but I will TRY to do better for you.
BIYM and I are going on a cruise this weekend (I know, I know, such perfect content for you). It will be the first time we've both been away from Albert. Oh the tears. The heartache. We will miss him so. damn. much.
Anyway, I'll take lots of pictures and tell you all about the trip when I get home.
Smoochies!
BIYF
Thu, 24 Aug 2006 00:27:58 -0600 - BIYF-E-MART
Given the increased traffic around here these days, I should probably get back into the semi-regular swing of things, huh?
(By the way... a tip for you fellow bloggers: Wanna exponentially increase your site traffic? Or find a way to bring in thousands of new readers? Just use words like PBS, Melanie Martinez, and menage a trois, then sit back and watch the Google referrals fly)
So, with all the convenience of your local 7-11, but without the slight indian accent, I offer up a variety of everyday items for your kwik-e-consumption:
Feminine Products
This weekend is the annual BlogHer Conference in San Jose. Earlier in the year, before my workload beat me into bloody submission, I had this crazy idea to recruit a bunch of daddy bloggers to crash the conference, as a sort of tribute to MetroDad's suggestion of a BlogHim conference, but also for the opportunity tooglecat-callmeet the likes of Paige, Sarah, Kim, Amy and Heather. Wubba Wubba! I've heard that a couple of dads I know are going, but they ain't got game like me.Discount CDs
Apparently oblivious to my blogroll over the last several months, I missed the boat on Paige's Top 100 Albums Of All Time game. I've very much enjoyed reading through everyone's entries. Although I'm extremely disappointed to have not seen Golden Throats: The Great Celebrity Sing Off among the favorites. I'm long overdue for a music update, so stay tuned for a BIYFpod tribute to my Top1004020 very soon (ROFL! No way I'm doing 100).Drive Thru
BIYM has been lobbying me for years to buy her a Volvo (they're boxy, but good!). I may no longer have a say in the matter. And after much thought, I have finally decided on which car I'm going to buy for my 60th birthday: The 2028 Mercedes-Benz CL-Class. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.Full Service Gas
Last weekend, while enjoying a delicious bass with BIYM and the boy, a foul oder filled the dining room. Satisfied that it wasn't the bass, or the boy, BIYM turned her nose that knows towards yours truly. I tried to deflect her gaze with the She-Who-Smelt-It-Dealt It Defense, but to no avail. After a fully justified scolding (it really was pretty rank), she expressed her genuine concern that something was medically wrong with me and that I "should have my poopchute examined." I explained that we'd need to find a geneticist, for my poopchute problem is a hereditary one (hi dad!). I then reminded her that her poopchute didst oft offend, to which she replied, "I don't have a poopchute. I have mudflaps." Talk about quick wit, my girl's got it.Adult Novelties
Looking for the annual post about my charity golf tournament? Well, don't bother. I didn't get around to writing it back in MAY. But feel free to rifle through the shrink-wrapped duffer-debauchery in the back of the store.
Thu, 27 Jul 2006 00:05:26 -0600 - Brings A Whole New Meaning To Sproutlets Grow! (UPDATED)
ED NOTE: I originally wrote this entry for The BlogFathers, but decided to duplicate it here, considering this joint is in serious need of fresh content. I know that probably breaks all kinds of internet rules, but oh well.
About year ago, the 7 Things meme proliferated through the blogosphere. Among other things, it required a list of your 7 Celebrity Crushes. At the time, Albert was only around 9 or 10 months old, and had not yet been formally introduced to television. And I had not yet introduced myself to the 00's world of children's programming.
(I should stop here to note that prior to Albert's birth, BIYM and I bought into the study linking infant/toddler television viewing to attention problems, and made the choice to wait until he was older before showing him what his daddy lovingly refers to as Sunday's Mistress (HBO Sunday nights, NFL, Indy-Car... mmm Sundays are so hot!). While we continue to limit his exposure, we have come to our senses enough to occasionally take advantage of Elmo's magical ability to hypnotize the boy into a limp bodied, drool soaked coma at the click of the remote, ending the kind of tantrum that might have otherwise caused our heads to explode in such glorious fashion that even Michael Ironside would have been proud. But I digress...)
When I posted my 7 Things entry, had I known of Melanie Martinez, the cute as a button host of PBS Sprout's Good Night Show, I would have very likely substituted her for Suri's momma. Then, as if my sick, twisted fantasy of a BIYF/Melanie/Star menage a trois wasn't enough, I discovered that Ms. Melanie dabbled in a little showbiz while she was in college. She made an indie video (adult content - watch CLIP 1, CLIP 2) that has since made it's way across the blogmos. Needless to say, Ms. Martinez just waddled her way up the charts to #1 with a bullet!
SAD, IRONIC UPDATE:
Just as I was about to click publish, I found THIS! It seems that Melanie recently made PBS aware of her prior work. They apparently decided the video "is inappropriate for her role as a preschool program host and may undermine her character's credibility with our audience," and as a result, she was fired!
Considering that this video has been available on the internet for quite a while (my brother tells me he saw it last year), and that it is highly unlikely that the target demo for The Good Night Show is regularly surfing iFilm or YouTube, I think they probably could have found a way to quietly let it slide. I do get the sense after reading their statement that they really wished they could keep Melanie. However, I understand and respect their decision.
I suppose in this world of new media where blogs sprout exponentially, it's inevitable that people like us won't be able to keep our collective traps shut. Clearly I couldn't. After discovering that she'd been fired, I did consider not including the first part of this post. I kind of felt bad for her (and for my attempt at humor), and didn't want to rub salt in the wound. But ultimately I decided to include it because it helps to make the point of this second part.
Unfortunately good people who have done 'questionable' things in their past, and are found out, will more often than not be affected in some way (case in point). Melanie - now a 34-year-old actress and mother to a 3-year-old - took it upon herself to alert PBS to the video. So, I think we can safely surmise that she'd considered the consequences, and for all we know, wishes she hadn't been in the video in the first place.
Personally, I'm sad to see her go. Albert will be too.
Sat, 22 Jul 2006 13:24:07 -0600 - In Appreciation Of The Potholes In My Lawn
So, a brief break from the recaps... all two of them. Yes, I know the site is called Because I'm Your Father and I did not post a Father's Day entry. But consider this entry when thinking about how patchy it's been around here lately.
Eric had a great post over at The Blogfathers yesterday (you know, it's that other site I don't post to anymore either), about man's desire to keep his lawn perfectly green, and properly trimmed, so that it is the envy of the neighborhood.
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Three Wise Plugs, See How They Yodel
I too want to keep my yard in Chemlawn approved shape. But for one reason or another I can't seem to defeat the weeds, or the bare spots, or fertilize it properly, or mow it with weekly regularity. But when I do spend the time to really work on it, I am able to stand back and gaze upon it with a sense of accomplishment. I'm filled with the pride of a job well done, regardless of whether or not it would still make Paul James cringe.
And as Eric rightly points out, it isn't so much about what you're able to see up close. Rather, it is the standing back, the totality of the thing, the sum of the parts, which ultimately matters. Or, as a former neighbor simply put it, "I don't give a shit what's growing in it, as long as it looks green from across the street."
Personally, I think we should remember this little metaphor for life when considering our neighbors (and their lawns), and we should apply the same philosophy to ourselves, as parents and as people: Don't sweat the small stuff so much. Every time you're in the weeds, keep the big picture in mind, and step back every once and a while to enjoy the green.
Because... with apologies to Messers Gekko & Stone... the point is, ladies and gentleman, that green, for lack of a better word, is good. Green is right, green works. Green clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the landscape. Green, in all of its forms; green for life, for money, for love, knowledge, has marked the upward surge of mankind. And green, you mark my words, will not only save your lawn, but that other malfunctioning corporation called Humanity. Thank you very much.
Thu, 29 Jun 2006 17:15:41 -0600 - Welcome To Paradise! Alleluiah!
For the last several months, this dusty little corner of the internets has been an empty shell, devoid of meaningful entry. But after surfing the desert web for forty days and nights, I am once again filled with the spirit, and desire to testify, to blog for you the good BIYFamily news. You may be seated...
As you may recall, we spent a joyous Easter weekend with my aunt BamaMom, and Rosco's Holy Holy Holy. But what I didn't share with you at the time, is truly the second greatest story ever told.
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Jesus Is Here! Don't Tell The Devil!
BIYM and I were raised in, married in, had Albert baptized in, and currently spend our Sunday mornings in the Episcopal Church (OK, confession: we actually attend about as often as I blog, but we try to go when we can). Episcopalians are not what you would typically characterize as, charismatic. Sunday services are conducted pretty much the same every week, ceremonial and based on Anglican tradition. So, it should come as no surprise that our Easter Sunday dip into the holy-roller water of a Southern Baptist church in Alabama was to say the least, an awakening.
BamaMom had done her best to prep us for how things would play out, detailing the praise-worship stylings of Mr. Preacher Man and his flock, how there would be lots of singing and a rock of ages band involved in the production. But even she couldn't have predicted the full-fledged audio-visual multi-media onslaught that would lay hands upon us.
The service commenced with a fairly large group of teens clad in perfect Polyphonic Spree, acting out the Easter Story through interpretive dance - all of which was set to fabulously Ashcroftian gospel music. As you know, BIYM teaches ballet. So seeing a bunch of kids dancing BADLY was just a bit more than she could stomach. If she'd had a mouth full of water, she would have provided a Bellagio-sized dancing waters feature to the production. Needless to say she had to avert her eyes, or, like the Nazis in Raiders Of The Lost Ark, melt away at the sight of such intense holiness.
After several more numbers from the band, and a near feature length film that I'm quite sure Mel Gibson did not direct, we were treated to a closing prayer that was the absolute antithesis of the event laden service. But, one which I'm sure is all that a spiritually spent Mr. Preacher Man could muster.
And I quote:
Dear Lord - You are such an awesome God, and we thank you for that thing you did. Amen.
Fri, 16 Jun 2006 16:45:29 -0600 - The New Season Of BIYF
All is much too quiet on the BIYFamily front this late, Monday evening. BIYM, Albert and The Nut have been in North Carolina since last Wednesday, visiting with Albert's Nonny and Poppy, and rough-housing with The Three Irish Toddlers, his cousins Liam (4), Quinn (2) and Aaron (3 mos). I miss them terribly, and have resorted to keeping the TV or music on in the house at all times. The silence is deafening, and just too depressing.
Having no wife or kid to contend with, and nothing but free time after work, you might ask, where is all the blogging? Two little words my inquisitive internet peoples: Honey Dos. I don't know who among you watches Malcom In The Middle, but my cork-board plastered with pending post-its puts Hal Wilkerson's to shame. And BIYM's ability to
nagcasually remind me about every single task, is eerily Lois-like. Needless to say, I've spent the last several days trying to make a serious dent, and add a few years to my life.
But, as sit here tonight in my favorite Daddy chair, with legs propped, lappy on lappy, ginger ale, Cheetos and trusty remote by my side, I will struggle to move my fingers, which, with my eyelids, comprise the only remaining body parts blessed by semi-painless mobility (2 days of weeding and 30 bags of mulching done whooped my ass), in an effort to satisfy your hunger for The BIYF, and resume what I hope will be semi-regular blogging.And if you've learned one (fantastically frustrating) thing from watching 24 or Lost, it's that you're not gonna get ALL the good stuff in one sitting (plus, I'm pretty sure that my fingers are on their last legs, if you know what I'm sayin). So, I'll catch you up on all the recent goings on, but will do so episodic style (complete with cheesy soundtrack), starting with tonight's premiere:
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Uh Oh, Here Comes The Gramma
(I was gonna call this episode 'Alright Stop... Grammytime,' but I just couldn't bring myself to post the song.)
I can trace the genesis of my blog's winter nap (and subsequent spring siesta) to BIYM's week-long trip to Toronto in March. While she was up norde training with the Royal Academy of Dance to become a better ballet teacher, and while I was working to make that money to start Albert's bank accounts for his orthodonture and his university, my mom came to stay with the boy and me.
BIYM hadn't been away from Albert for more than a couple of hours, so she was understandably saddened by the fact that she wouldn't see him for nearly a week. Before she left, she half-jokingly worried that I would allow my mom do the unthinkable, and actually mother us with her sneaky motherly ways, with the cooking and the cleaning and all of these things. I thought her concern was very cute, and very sweet, and I assured her that she was, and would always be, her baby momma. (Psst... don't tell BIYM, but Albert and I were briefly fooled by Mom/Grammy's trickery, and we unwittingly let her take care of us for at least two of the six days she was gone. Shhh. Our secret).
Anyway, I recall thinking at the time that I'd have more of an opportunity to post, and be chock full of fun topics, given the scenario. But instead, I chose to spend quality time visiting with Mom/Grammy, who I don't get to see that often, and enjoy watching her play with her oldest son's oldest son. It was worth every non-blogging minute too.
On the next episode of BIYF... WELCOME TO PARADISE
Mon, 12 Jun 2006 23:55:01 -0600
