Episode 93: Summertime and the bloggin's lazy...

As I mentioned before, about two weeks ago I really started to think about what I was going to do all summer with Monica home. During a particular moment of anxiety, she pointed out the obvious. Most people would kill to have an entire summer where they barely worked and got to hang out with their family and friends all day and pretty much do whatever the hell they want. Good point. I may not be curing any diseases, solving any mysteries or helping any business get to its next financial goal, but I am having a great time doing virtually nothing.
Unfortunately, as a result of my lazy summer attitude, the blog has kind of suffered. Aside from that comma-riddled stream of consciousness tribute to a squirrel that woke me up one morning (and is still laying fried in the street, albeit mostly decayed and eaten at this point), I have been completely unmotivated to write anything. For that I apologize. I will try to update more frequently.

Part of the problem, like I have mentioned in earlier posts, is that Av spends most of her time with Monica now so I don't have quite enough material. If I wanted to start a blog called '100 ways to drive your girlfriend nuts" I would have a lot of material.

So the baby did have her 16 month appointment yesterday and passed with flying colors, except for the part where she hates milk. Other than that she is completely healthy, extremely tall and has, as I have been saying all along, a giant f-ing head. I always like going to the doctor because she gives us a sheet of tips, pointers and advice for the next few months. Most of it is common sense like, 'don't leave children alone in the bathtub' or 'make sure to cut food small so your child doesn't choke' but it is helpful to read if for no other reason than it is reassuring to know that Av trying to shove everything in to her vagina at 16 months is fairly normal. Fairly.


Another thing I have learned this summer is that babies are apparently not affected in any way by oppressive heat. Despite the 90 degree temperatures and 100 percent humidity we have had all week Av has been more than willing to park it up on even the hottest days. As I had predicted, going to the park in the summer time is pretty much Hell on Earth. Along with the hoards of families infiltrating the playground with their unkempt ways and their out of control kids, most park trips are now plagued by community youth groups. I'll explain.
Because of Salem's rather sizable ghetto (known locally as 'The Point"), there are a large variety of summer youth groups in the city. There is the YMCA and Boy's and Girl's Club groups as well as one called SSCC (no clue what it stands for, but I am willing to bet one of the S's stands for Salem.) I only know what this particular group is called because they wear matching blue t-shirts that have the name of the group on them.

As a former newspaper reporter who was frequently tortured with covering the activities of such summer youth groups, I understand their importance. When there is no school to keep them busy kids- especially disadvantaged ones from The Point- need a place to go. I get it. Good call. Keep these kids away from Carlito and Jose (those are real-life neighborhood coke dealers, I am not trying to racially profile. That is their names.) and make sure that their future stays on some sort of track for success. Here is my issue. The people in charge of these youth groups are typically volunteers or college kids, and these people have NO F-ING CONTROL. These kids are the most misbehaved bunch of little assholes I have ever met. Not just SSCC, all of them. They tool around the park hurling rocks, stealing toys and knocking kids on their asses. They swear, they make inappropriate sexual comments and they generally just don't give a shit. And what do their group leaders do? Rarely anything.

The kids from the YMCA are the absolute worst. These kids tend to be a little bit older (yet are still walked down to the playground every day), and a lot more out of control. Just days after a new playground opened in Salem Common (my least favorite park but, for some reason, Monica's destination of choice) there was graffiti all over it. Monica knew right away that it was the little bastards from the YMCA. They have no respect for anyone or anything. Look, I think it is great that these 'disadvantaged' kids have a place to go. but how about you actually teach them something when they get there? Like a little discipline? Maybe some respect? How about you stop looking around for your community awards and actually make a difference in these kid's lives?

When I was at the paper the Greater Lynn YMCA was one of the worst organizations that I had to deal with for many of those reasons I listed above. Always looking for recognition- and donations- all they ever did was hawk their product. Meanwhile, half the teenagers that ended up in the police log were either members or one time members of their various youth groups. Get it together YMCA. You're disappointing the Village People.

To be honest, I we have really been reconsidering our decision to live in Salem recently. Along with the worries about sending Av to school with these horribly misbehaved kids (lets be honest, we are only a few streets away from the point, she is going to go to school with these bastards), we have also been really turned off by the city's new 'hipster' identity. Gradually over the past four years older buildings and charm have been replaced by condos, trendy, expensive stores and even trendier restaurants. I don't know the details fully, but Monica went out with a friend of her's last week and ended up with a $10 piece of cake and a $12 martini. That isn't what Salem is. My Salem is dive bars and sandwich shops, not trend-tastic cafe's. I think it is time to explore a new home. Maybe in the suburbs. Maybe Rockport. Rockport is nice.

Sorry. Rant over. Coming up this weekend is my second-favorite holiday, behind Memorial Day, and that is the 4th of July. Another day to relax, drink and, most importantly, not have to give gifts. There are no plans for any grandiose barbecue, just some relaxing around Salem with a few friends. Nice...

Music.

I have toiled over which of these two songs I wanted to add to the music section this week and I couldn't decide, so I'll post them both. First, we'll start with Dan Auerbach. If I could be anyone in the entire world, it would be Dan Auerbach. The rift master. Here is my favorite song from his solo album.



Second, in honor of the 4th of July, is another one of my favorite songs by a band called The Mountain Goats. The song is "See America Right." Try to get past his singing voice and enjoy the pure, raw power of the song. It makes me think about when you were younger and you cruised around like an idiot smoking cigarettes and checking out chicks on a hot, summer day.

An ode to power line squirrel

Death fell upon the suburban ghetto early Tuesday morning when an ill-fated shortcut from tree to house resulted in a resoundingly violent and epic end for a tiny neighborhood squirrel.

As I lay in bed, around 5 a.m., struggling to remain asleep because of intense humidity and an unnecessarily loud $30 air conditioner, I closed my eyes and began to fade in to a state of lucidity when an explosion brighter than anything I had ever seen occurred directly in front of my face. The flash was so bright that it proved the natural cover of my eyelids to be futile. It was blinding- and I already had my eyes closed. The explosion was supersonic in nature, shaking the windows and nearly ejecting my heart through my throat. I jolted awake convinced that my rattling, buzzing, shaking air conditioner had exploded inches from my face. No doubt searing off all of my skin and (gasp) destroying my beloved beard. It only took a split second to realize that nothing was on fire and I was not destined to look like Seal, but in my half-asleep confused state it felt like a decade. In the end some loud commotion among startled neighbors and an eventual visit from the fire department concluded that the earlier mentioned squirrel had taken a wrong step- a fatally wrong step -and managed to funnel about 5,000 volts of electricity through its tiny, furry frame. The explosion did not destroy the squirrel, it simply cooked the poor little guy's frame until he looked like something the fat guy from Bizarre Foods would eat off of a stick on some remote South American island. Within an hour National Grid was on the scene and order was restored.

Although his lack of electrical judgment resulted in me nearly puking and crapping myself at the exact same time, I feel like Power Line Squirrel should be remembered as more than a toasted, fly-covered corpse laying at the end of my neighbor's driveway (still). So, without further ado, here is my final send off for the Power Line Squirrel.

Dear Mr. Squirrel. Or is it Mrs. Squirrel? I suppose we will never know (since your genitalia has no doubt been scorched beyond recognition).,

Despite the fact that your poor animal instincts scared me nearly to death and quite possibly accelerated the heart attack that I will inevitably someday have, I can't help but feel sorry for you. I'm sure you woke up this morning, scratched your ass, checked out your acorn collection ans kissed your family goodbye, not knowing for a second that it would be the last time you'd ever see them. As you ventured out, pre-dawn, in search of some food, nesting materials and maybe a young, horny Squirrlette to sink your tiny teeth in to, your mood was bright. Your demeanor was strong. This, my friend, proved to be your fatal mistake. Cockiness. Crossing those power lines- lines that you had crossed a million times before- you had your eyes on the prize. A plush-looking tree, maybe a stale piece of bread still blowing around from garbage day. Your good at this squirrel thing. Go and get it. That is where it all came to an end. One misstep, one short jump and BANG! the entire neighborhood is in the dark- and you, YOU Mr. or Mrs. Squirrel are floating toward the white light. Did you feel any pain? Did you see your life flash before your eyes?

In a way I feel selfish. All I cared about was not having to replace everything in my fridge, but there you were. There you were, eyes burned out of your skull, half smiling. Meanwhile the other squirrels at the camp had no idea. By now the word has spread. So it goes.

Sleep well tonight Power Line Squirrel. Sleep well. I know you will. It's raining.

Episode 92: What the hell am I going to do now?

What does a stay at home dad do when he doesn't really have to stay at home any more? That is a good question. One that I am struggling to find answers for. With summer upon us Monica, who intelligently chose a profession where you get the nicest three months of the year off, is back home every day, rendering me essentially obsolete. Kind of like when robots replaced auto workers on the assembly line.

Sure, there will be days when she needs me to watch the baby- like when she takes a week long graduate school class in July- but, for the most part, I am essentially now looked over as an accessory to the family. I am still involved in everything, but I don't get to take charge of many situations and the baby wants nothing to do with me.

Still programed to wake up early, Monica gets up with the baby most days (which is pretty sweet) and from then on until bedtime, I am pretty much just eye candy. The baby freaks out whenever Monica is away from her. If I am holding her and we are both there she will wiggle out of my arms and in to hers. If Monica gets up to go to the bathroom, she will run after her screaming and make sure that she gets to watch the whole thing. I am not even allowed to take her on car rides by myself any more. It is all very nice that she loves her mother so much, but the days are going to start to get pretty long pretty fast.

Today is really the first day in a while where I literally have nothing to do. I thought about it last night. Monica is home, I don't have to work. I have nothing. Just nothing. And it isn't like a cool nothing. If I were still 22 and single I could find a lot to do with my day (much of it illegal), but bringing a cooler of beers to the beach with your friends is kind of irresponsible when you have a 1-year-old. I think I am going to have to start picking up a few day shifts at work or something.

What I really wish I could do was some solid outside day labor. I love being outside and busting my ass on hot summer days. Getting all sweaty and dirty, when you can feel the muscles throbbing from all of the exercise. If they had a 'digging up rocks' option at the gym, I would totally be there. Oh yeah, the gym. That's another option. Wait- no it isn't. I hate the gym. I hate everything about the gym. I'd rather get a colonoscopy than go to the gym. That's not even an exaggeration. The problem is that I don't really want to commit myself to working one of those jobs every day, and there are certain things- like laying down mulch- that are not in my repertoire. What I would like is to find a place where on Monday and Wednesday mornings I could wake up and go chop wood, cut grass and move heavy things- like rocks or logs- for about six hours, make a few hundred dollars and go home. This place does not exist.

Anyway, my weekends at my friend Joe's house cutting wood and moving rocks has really got my manly gene working. Today as an activity I decided that I was going to do my landlord a solid and re-caulk the bathroom, even though the handy man that replaced our drain a few weeks ago was supposed to come back and do that. I would much rather sweat my ass off in my tiny bathroom in exchange for the satisfaction of a job well done than stand around and wait for Victor all day long and then have to hold down idle conversation with him the entire time he is here. Totally worth it.

Happy Father's Day, or whatever you want to say about it.

So last weekend was my second Father's Day, which is still kind of a strange thing for me to celebrate. I don't remember last year too much, but this year was pretty stellar, I must say. A beautiful day, I was able to just kind of hang out with the family and have some lunch. (Although the waiter somehow mistook my order for jumbo fried shrimp as being a Greek salad with grilled shrimp on top, but that's OK, it allowed me to order sushi for dinner as I was still starving). One thing I do feel kind of terrible about is the fact that Monica finally pushed me in to the 21st century and gave me an iPod for my gift. Don't get me wrong, this is awesome, but I got her pots and pans for Mother's Day, so I kind of feel like a dick.

In my defense, at the time I thought it was a fantastic idea. She had mentioned a few times prior that she wanted a new set of cooking supplies, so I took it upon myself to purchase her said supplies as a gift. Apparently, cooking supplies are actually considered an offensive, thoughtless gift as opposed to a kind and thoughtful one. Who knew? Apparently everyone else but me. The sad part is that I was really excited about giving them to her. Like I really did a great job. Idiot. I should have known when I told my own mother what I got and she said 'Um, she did ask for those, right?' and I said, 'Oh, yeah, she really wants them." Apparently not. Just some advice for all of you men out there. Don't buy household supplies for gifts. Not a great idea. Kind of like the time my mom got a waffle iron from her mother-in-law for Christmas. Now I get why she was pissed.

The strangest thing about this Father's Day was that I only got one card (not counting the ones from Monica and Av) and that was from Monica's aristocratic grandparents- you know, the ones who famously greeted me after the news of the pregnancy with 'Congratulations, or whatever you want to say about it.' I am not at all offended by the lack of cards, I mean, both of my parents called me so it's not like I wasn't acknowledged. In fact, I don't even like getting cards all that much. They are kind of useless to me. They just pile up in the house. It's just that, of all the people in the world, I never would have expected to see 'The Murphy's" as the return address. Just strange.

Open Mic Night

In honor of the now endless supply of music at my disposal in a tiny digital format, I am going to introduce a new music segment at the bottom. I can't think of a good enough name for it, so for now it will go unnamed. This area can be songs that I enjoy, obscure songs that will make you go 'ohhh I remember that' or songs that I think have hysterically lame music videos attached to them. I'll probably do this like once a week or until I get bored and unmotivated with it.

Let's start out with a little Colin Hay. Somehow this song is a lot more creepy and mysterious when it is acoustic- and not accompanied by a stuffed kangaroo on a leash. Even if you hate the cheesy original, check this one out. It is worth it. Enjoy.

Episode 91: This is the kind of thing they write horror movies about

A few months back, around Christmas, I mentioned here that one of the toys I got Av as a gift was bouncing around in my trunk and spontaneously making noise while I drove. Well, apparently this toy, known as the alphabet train, has started some sort of revolution among other sparsely-used noise making toys in the playroom- a revolution that began early this morning.

With dozens of songs, words and letters at its disposal, the alphabet train- which I believe is made by Leap Frog- is one of the more irritating toys that Av owns. I bought it with the idea of her riding it around the house in mind, but all she really did was press the annoying buttons, laugh when the frog conductor said "ALL ABOARD" and within a few months had started completely ignoring its existence.

In close location to the alphabet train are two additional toys of equal annoyance. First, there is Tempo the Tiger, who I have also talked about here in the past. A Jazz singing broom, Tempo's hey day was about six months ago when Av was really getting in to the whole idea of kitchen supplies. After a few months away, Tempo has experienced a recent resurgence, now that Av likes to pretend that she is super busy, moving things around the kitchen, sweeping, eating two-week-old floor Froot Loops and the like. Unfortunately, the soulful tiger/broom's motivational comments like "sweeping is fun!" have apparently become too much for Av to deal with, as she has again banished him to the corner of the playroom.

Joining Tempo is potentially the worst toy I have ever come across in my life. Given to us by some well-wishing family member on her birthday, this musical, encouraging teddy bear is so annoying that not even Av has enough patience to deal with it. The purpose of the bear is to teach children about body parts? Maybe? I am not really sure, but pretty much anywhere you touch it it says something. Not just something, mind you, something incredibly annoying. If you press its hand it will not just say 'hand,' it will say 'haaaaannnnnnd.' Also, there are certain places where you touch it that it will say "I looooove you!" or "You're soooooooo big!" or "huuuuuug me!" It is all a little creepy, to be honest.

To make a long story short, all three of these toys have been essentially speaking out of turn lately. Sometimes when we are playing I will randomly hear Tempo yell "I love to sweep!" or rapist teddy bear whispering "my red heart!" I chalked all of this up to some toy settling near the bottom of the box, or maybe the cats bumping in to Tempo and triggering one of his 567 different noise prompts, but last night things got a little bit creepy.

It was about 5 a.m. and I was struggling to stay asleep, like I do most nights, after a particularly stressful and aggravating night at work when I hear the following song.

"Chugga chagga choo choo spin around, every letter has a sound!"

"What word starts with the letter B?"

(three second pause)

"BOY!"

WHAT THE HELL!? I sat up and looked around to find fat Nugget fat sleeping on her fat cat bed, and Little Cat in her usual morning position- that is pacing around the room looking at my eyelids waiting for them to open so she can immediately pounce on me and lick my face. I appreciate the excitement that I am awake, I do, but it is 5 a.m. Come on. Anyway, with both cats in the room I was a little bit puzzled as to what set off the train. Just as I started to let it go and close my eyes again I hear...

"We have every letter of the alphabet ALL ABOARD the alphabet train!"

"What word starts with the letter L?"

(three second pause)

"LION!"

At this point, I am both annoyed that I am awake and a little creeped out by what is setting off this stupid toy. This went on two more times, with two more different letters- which is the creepiest part about it, because the letter song is only supposed to go off when you push down on the frog's head and spin the see and say on the front of the train, which randomizes the numbers. I kept looking over at Monica to see if she noticed, but she was either too asleep or too annoyed to acknowledge it. Just when I was about to get up and see what the deal was, mostly worried now about the stupid train waking the baby up at 5:15, the songs stopped. Weird.

Later in the morning Av and I were having an argument over the radio in the playroom (she likes to listen to music, but won't stop pressing the buttons so it keeps turning off, which in turn, pisses her off) when Tempo decided to chime in again, this time breaking out in his jazzy sweeping song. This fulfilled Av's need for music but succeeded in making me wonder if these reject noise toys are planning some sort of attack Here is how I see it going down:

Tempo can't move by himself, so rapist teddy bear is going to have to grab a hold of him as they both mount the alphabet train. Scooting across the house I can see the train picking up less vocal members of the toy community as well, like maybe the stuffed Grover she has cast aside and some plastic friends from the play kitchen. This hoard of angry toys will invade the bedroom seeking blood and vengeance. Of course, since they are toys and I am a rather large human being I think I will be able to thwart off the threat, but if they bring weapons there could be a problem.

Poop follies

It has been a while since we've had any major poop incidents. We're going to have to reset the counter after today, unfortunately. She was taking a bath this morning, after a yogurt incident at snack time, and out of nowhere started to cry. I thought that she wanted to get out or maybe hurt herself somehow being an idiot with one of her toys, which she does a lot. I picked her up out of the tub and sat her on the towel where she cried for a few minutes. Once she stopped I let her stand up in the towel and walk to her bedroom. She took one step and a giant clump of poop flopped out on to the bathroom floor. I don't know if she just pooped it out then or if it had been steaming on my lap for a little bit. Either way, it was gross. In my panic over trying to clean up the poop, I forgot to realize that she likes to bend over and touch things, so I had about a split second to stop her from picking up this log of poop and doing God knows what with it. Not a great way to end bath time. Not at all.

Episode 90: General contractors: They're busier than you are

Lately I have been kind of stressed out over the whole 'not having a career' thing, freaking out about stupid things, usually concerning long term finances, like how I don't have any sort of retirement fund or any plan for finding any sort of real job, and like always, most of it is completely overblown. I blame the stress on two things. First, that human resources course I have been taking really got me thinking about the corporate world, most specifically, how I don't in any way fit in to such an environment. My brain is not analytical in any way. I don't particularly understand finances or business practice, and I am really, really bad at pretending to give a shit. The course has improved a little bit and I am starting to become less annoyed with the concept, but I really can't ever picture myself caring about any job enough to worry about half of the crap I am supposed to worry about. I am way to regular of a guy to be a 'champion of business.'

My above thoughts were confirmed last Friday when I got roped in to a crappy conversation with some douchebag dad named Josh at the park. Josh was taking a personal day from his super important job because he had to fly to Syracuse in the morning for business and he accompanied his wife and kids to the playground. Putting aside the fact that his bitch daughter kept stealing Av's toys and not giving them back, the experience was awful because this guy wouldn't stop talking to me. At first it was fine because we just talked about our kids (although, he did keep trying to tell me how to parent, which pissed me off considering that his kid couldn't even handle being told 'no'), but then the conversation switched to business. He kept baiting me to ask what he did for a living and finally I gave in. The thing is, I sat there and listened to him talk about it for 20 minutes and I still don't know. Something about bio pharmaceuticals and engineering or something like that. Whatever it was, the conversation was just like a pile of complicated terms and issues that I couldn't even begin to understand. I had to hear about mergers and acquisitions, genomes, cells and all sorts of other things that sounded so complicated I can't even remember them. I'm pretty sure there was a pop quiz on the periodic table somewhere in there, too. When it was all said and done he finally asked what I did (only to be polite, he didn't care) and I said 'bartender.' Needless to say, the conversation ended around that time. I could never go to work every day and have to deal with guys like Josh.

The second thing I blame for this stress is radio and television ad's. Everyone in television commercials are successful, many of them leading lives so busy that they have to stream their business meetings from public parks or in the middle of airports, secure proposals on their cell phones and instant message their spouses about their 401 (K) while they are on their lunch breaks. From listening to radio ad's I am now convinced that I need to somehow find a way to make money, then secure my investments in gold, or perhaps refinance some sort of loan that I don't yet have. I understand that these people are not real, but they represent a large part of America. A part of America that I feel like I am locked out of. The problem is, simply, that life is swirling way too fast out there. I spend my day handing bread to ducks, watching baby shows and bar tending to pay the bills. I don't even balance a check book. I still have that 2005 cell phone that caught fire in my pocket. I didn't know who Justin Bieber was until like two weeks ago. It is like I virtually don't exist.

I bring all of this up because my recent stress was really compounded by a very nice but very talkative general contractor named Vincent. At or about the same time that I was really stressing about finding a useful, important job our bathtub started to leak in to the apartment downstairs. The downstairs landlord (our building is actually four condos owned by four separate people, three of whom are renting the property out ), who was a massive bitch about the entire situation, decided based on nothing that the issue was us overflowing the tub and asked us to re-caulk and put a towel down . I was not real keen on doing that, since the problem was very obviously that the faucet was leaking and not incompetence on our part, and luckily our landlord agreed, pointing me toward Victor.

After all the radio ad's, HR terminology and stuck up business dads at the park, Victor emerged as the single individual that made me feel more horrible than all of the others combined. First, I called him at what I thought was a reasonable time to catch him before his day started, 8:15 a.m. He answered the phone to inform me that he was 'hanging off of a building' and to call him back an hour later, obviously not understanding the anxiety that I get when I have to deal with situations like this. Victor called back to inform me that he had 'about three or four jobs today' but he would try to make it over. Without calling, Victor appeared at my door about four hours later and wanted to get in to the house. After looking at the tub he left without saying anything, other than he needed to go get his brother who is a plumber. About an hour later, Victor returned with no brother, but with a wrench. He took apart the faucet and said that he had to wait for his brother to get here. The next 45 minutes were spent listening to Victor's life story, which included graduation from college with a degree in aerospace engineering and starting his own company, which he later sold for over $1 million. After retiring for a year, he decided that he wasn't quite successful enough, so he bought up a bunch of property and became a handy man. Now in to his 50's, he makes about $1,000 a week, you know as his 'spending money' so he doesn't have to touch that cool $1 million he has hanging around in his retirement fund. Again, I had little to nothing to add to the conversation. Um, I almost own this computer. I once graduated from college. That's about it.

What the situation taught me is this. I should probably stop worrying about it because I don't particularly want any part of a life like that, other than the money. I may not be successful in any way, but I never have to stream a video of myself to my kid from first class so she doesn't forget who I am because I am on a business trip. I may not own much, but when my tub leaks I don't have to pay some handy man $200 to stand around in my kitchen and talk to my tenants when he could just be replacing a leaky faucet, and I may not have enough money to secure in gold, but I have enough to invest in a six-pack and some sushi for dinner, and that is enough to put a smile on my face.

Episode 89: Does this brain have an off button?

Of the countless neuroses and insecurities that rule my life, my ability to convince myself that I am failing at something no matter the task or circumstances surrounding it is probably at or near the top of the list, just below feeling like everything I say socially is perceived by others as awkward and irrelevant. Case and point, earlier this week, out of nowhere, I happened to decide that I was doing an absolutely terrible job raising my daughter. I told myself that she wasn't learning anything but bad habits and bad language, and her recent behavioral outbursts are entirely my fault. I felt as though I was accomplishing little more than messing her up for the rest of her life. I pictured her going to the first day of school and being the weirdest kid around, completely misbehaved, in no way adjusted and socially retarded. Maybe it was the day of conflict at the park, or the fact that she now has a bad habit of punching me in the face and laughing at me when I get mad. I am not sure what it was, but I found myself counting the days until Monica was done with work so that she could actually have a chance to spend her time with someone who wasn't setting her up to fail.

I guess a lot of it comes from the fact that she is so rambunctious and fresh all of the time, and that she seemingly has all sorts of bad habits that I can't seem to break her from. She still puts everything in her mouth, she still gets weird and quiet whenever we are around someone, she still doesn't talk well and she in no way responds to discipline. So, as a result of this new insecurity I developed a theory- you know, with all of my training in child psychology, education and philosophy. Essentially, the theory states that there are two kinds of parents: supervisors and teachers. Supervisors are there to make sure the child eats, sleeps and remains safe throughout the day while teachers take an active role in developing the child's behaviors as well as educating them throughout the day on speaking, counting and various forms of discovery. Unfortunately, based on this theory that I just invented out of the sky, I determined that I am not effective in either category.

Although as a supervisor I feel like I do a good job of making sure the baby is fed, rested and relatively safe on a daily basis, I am severely lacking in the discipline category. The problem is fairly simple. Av is my daughter, and she is adorable, so seeing her sad in any way pretty much turns me in to a giant marshmallow. Because of this, I rarely yell at her and probably don't tell her 'no' quite enough. This problem is not limited to my role as a father. I am not a discipline type of guy. This is why I could never hold any sort of management position- employees would walk all over me. I don't particularly like telling people what to do, and I pretty much hate confrontation, so I just let things fester until I explode in some sort of illogical, nonsensical melt down. You know, kind of like a 1-year-old. This is where my paranoia about school comes from. Every time I think of Av going to school I can hear the phone call from the principal telling me that she punched some kid in the face, stole his milk and told the teacher to f-off in the process. I feel like she pretty much does that to me every day already.

As a teacher I feel like I am even more of a failure. I play with Av and try to read books, but I just don't see myself doing anything that is actually enriching her life. I see moms at the playground teaching their kids sign language or speaking to them in these calm, strategic voices. The other day we were playing and some other lady started teaching Av about her shadow, trying to get her to wave to it. I would never in a million years have thought to teach her that. FAIL.

I tell you all of this so that I can essentially now admit that I am pretty much just a neurotic, paranoid dumb ass.

I know I have been talking about the playground a lot this week, but another nice day led us there again and that is when I became enlightened. I always get nervous when other kids are around, not just because of my irrational fear of them and their moms, but also because I am weary of how Av is going to behave. With me she is usually quiet, awkward and weird around them, but Monica has told me stories about her punching kids, stealing toys and pretty much just being an all around bully. I don't need that in my life. Lately the problems we have been having center around her wanting to play with other people's things. She tries to steal kid's balls, climb in to strollers and essentially just cause trouble all over the place. Because of this, today I made sure we were equipped with a ball and a $1.99 shovel and pail from Walgreens, so I could have something to distract her with if things got out of hand.

At the playground today were two kids around the same age as Av, a girl who was a few months older and a boy who was a few months younger. As always, Av towered over them both like Robin Williams in 'Jack.' Supervising/teaching them were a 20-something mom and a grandfather, both of whom, much to my delight, were very friendly. When we first got there Av put her pail and shovel down and started playing with her ball. The little girl came over and I told her it was OK to play with the bucket and nervously watched, silently praying that Av didn't run over and kick her ass. What transpired was nothing short of amazing. Not only did Av not fire a handful of rocks in to the girl's face, she actually sat down and started nicely playing with her. Av even let her play with her cool 1994 Nikelodeon ball, which is remarkable because she usually clutches that thing like it is a child of her own. (The origin of this ball is a mystery, by the way. It is literally copyright 1994. It is neon green and purple and has that old school Nikelodeon logo. Weird.) She and the girl worked out a fantastic arrangement where Av threw the ball and the girl went and got it and brought it back to her. Later, the boy came and stole the shovel from her and she didn't even care. Av even stopped throwing rocks when I told her not to. Nice.

The best part was that I am starting to get over my fear of moms and children, too. I managed to sustain an intelligent, non-awkward conversation with the little girl's mom, without saying anything weird, stumbling over my words or drifting off mid sentence and forgetting what I was saying. That did wonders for my confidence and soon enough the three of us, the grandfather now hanging around, started comparing notes on the children. It was at this point that I realized that the other two kids had all of the same bad habits as Av and give their parents just as much grief. If anything, Av was the most well-behaved of the three.

I still don't think I am doing the best job of being a teacher, but the supervisor roll is going better than I had originally expected, which has made me feel at least a little bit better about the past nine months. Av will still probably end up in therapy some day and I am sure I have made more mistakes than I even know about, but, hey, that is why it is a trial by fire. Ugh, I'm sorry. I hate when everything is rolled in to a nice package like that. I prefer my mind to be like a spilled Scrabble board.

Episode 88: A quick turn around

I wasn't planning on posting today as I don't really have anything of worth to add to the Internet, but given today's events at the park I feel as though a short amendment to some of the opinions I have expressed here is in order.

Despite the misery of yesterday's playground incidents Av and I returned to Forest River this morning, albeit a bit more guarded and weary of those around us. Lucky for us, though, it seems my rant about bitchy park moms must have hit the desk of someone at Karma Inc. (you like what I did there? Clever, right?), because everyone we met today was super nice and no one told me how to parent. In an almost identical situation as yesterday, three moms at the park with about five kids, Av made several fake playground friends and got to play with a few moms/ nannies (tough to tell sometimes) which she usually likes more than actually playing with kids. I didn't even have to swear at anyone or threaten any 2-year-olds. A much better day.

As we said goodbye (or 'Buoy buoy' as Av pronounces it) to some of our new friends I started to think about how different today's interactions were and something occurred to me that I had not previously thought of. The moodiness of moms who I interact with is directly related to their age. I'll explain.

All three miserable, bitchy women yesterday were middle aged, stuck up corporate moms who probably only had kids because their biological clocks told them to, or maybe because it was the trendy thing to do in the neighborhood. They were probably so annoyed by the fact that they had to actually spend time with their kids instead of leaving them with a nanny that they took out all of their aggression on us. In contrast, today's moms were all young. None older than me it seemed, and instead of sitting on their asses and policing their kids they were actually chasing them around the playground and playing with them, which is what I do with Av. In other words, they actually appeared to like being around their children. So, I take back some of the blanket statements I have said in this blog about hating other moms, and amend them to read 'hating older moms.'

I also saw a 300 pound Russian man covered in body hair wearing what appeared to be a Speedo (but could also have been a really, really small pair of shorts) with a t-shirt tied around his head sunning himself on the beach. Gross.

Since I ripped you off on today's post, here is a gift.

Brian Fellows Safari Planet Part 1 - Funny bloopers R us

Episode 87: I will rain vengeance upon this playground!

I have used this blog as a forum to discuss my dislike for snooty park moms on plenty of occasions in the past, but up until today we have never actually had any sort of confrontations with them. Usually it is just their demeanor and attitude that bothers me, but they keep to themselves and we keep to ourselves and it is fine. Not today. Today, in the span of an hour, there were three separate incidents with moms, the last of which ended with me telling a woman that her son was a 'little shit.' I am still fuming over these, actually. I can almost see the smoke coming off of the computer keys. Here is the scoop.

We hit Forest River a little bit early today as a result of Av deciding that she needed to wake up around 5:45 this morning. This is not good for many reasons, but primarily because when she wakes up that early she is super, super tired just a few hours later. It also sucks because that means that she gets to spend a few hours with Monica before she goes to work, which always results in a hysterical fit when she realizes that her mommy has slid out the back door.

Anyway, we got to the park and headed over to the duck pond like we always do. The ducks are separated from the parking lot by a chain-link fence which the baby likes to walk up to and lean on. She looks through the slots and points and the ducks and laughs. It is a great time had by all. The duck habitat features trees and a few plants that have grown through the fence, but not much else. It is essentially an over grown back yard pond with a fence around it. Not pretty but it serves its purpose. As the baby is looking at the ducks I hear a woman yelling to me from her car.

"Sir, sir, SIR!"

"Yes?"

"You really shouldn't be letting your daughter play near that fence, there is poison ivy all over the place over there."

Now, I am not a horticulturalist, but I know what poison ivy looks like. I also know that the only vegetation that is anywhere near that particular area of fence is grass and low-hanging tree branches. Not to mention, where we were standing is completely clear of any plant life, which is why we stand there, so we can see the ducks. In addition, 'You shouldn't be' was not the proper way to start that sentence. Perhaps 'just a warning' or 'be caureful' would have been a bit more polite not 'You shouldn't be' like you are my fourth grade teacher. My first reaction was to tell this lady to F-off and mind her own business, but I am trying to watch my mouth around Av so I just responded with a sarcastic "Yeah, I'm watching her. Thanks."

The lady kind of gave me a half-smile / half- judgmental eye roll and left in her car, leaving me muttering all of the vulgar things I wanted to hurl at her under my breath. If only that were the last confrontation that I had today.

Once we left the duck area we walked over to the playground. There were three moms there with about five kids. Two of them were sitting together at the picnic tables while the third, who did not know them, was near the swings with her daughter and her dog. As is always the case with Av, the dog got her very excited. She kind of did that shy, walk around in a circle thing until she crept within about four feet of the dog, which was tied to the swing and laying on the ground. She took another step toward him and I said "No, no. that doggy is asleep, we don't want to wake him up, he could get scared and bite you."

It was at this time that the lady, who was right next to us, turned and said with a little bit of an attitude. "Yeah, if you could keep her over there away from the dog I would appreciate it. I get nervous when he is around kids."

Ok. Av and I encounter dogs every day at the park and we are very respectful of their space. We understand that many dogs are not good with children. That is fine. In fact, I will not let Av touch a dog unless the owner says it is alright. When we see people walking their dogs around the park I let her look at them but I don't let her get close. Babies are annoying to dogs, I get it.

In this case, however, the woman brought her dog to a playground. If you are 'nervous' about how it reacts around kids, leave it at home. Don't tie it to a swing set five feet away from a bunch of kids who you know want to come look at it. This is actually the second time in as many trips to the park that there has been a dog we weren't allowed to touch. On Friday a woman with about five kids had some grouchy looking bull dog with her that she kept having to tell people to stay away from. The difference? That lady said the dog is normally fine with kids but it was being grumpy that day. She took it and tied it to a picnic table away from the kids. That is fine. I get that. This stupid bitch today not only admitted that her dog is never good around kids, she left him tied to the swing set at a playground next to about six KIDS. What the hell do you expect, lady? So, for the next 10 minutes or so until the lady and her kid left I had to try and keep Av from running over to pet the dog which, of course, led to a lot of crying. Thanks, lady. You are heartless. Why don't you just bring a giant transparent box of candy and put it in the middle of a school yard and then stand next to it and yell at any kid who wants some.

As if the poison ivy police and idiot dog lady weren't bad enough I then had to deal with the two stuck up moms on the picnic table. Between the two women there were three kids, all of them little boys between the ages of 2-5. They were very rambunctious and very misbehaved. The oldest one, Harry, was firing rocks all over the playground. The youngest one, Charlie, was chasing Harry and pushing him off any sort of equipment that he climbed on, causing Harry to throw rocks at him. The mom did literally nothing except say, calmly, "No throwing rocks, boys." They obviously didn't listen which sparked such effective discipline as calling them over to her and tossing around the idle 'we're going to leave if you don't stop' threat, which was clearly not true since they didn't stop and they didn't have to leave.

I did my best to try and keep Av away from them, but she is curious, so she kind of trailed them around, veering off to do her own thing here and there. At one point I overheard the following conversation, which eventually sparked the conflict that I referred to earlier.

Lady 1: "Harry, don't jump off that, you'll get hurt."

Lady 2: "I'm so glad you said it like that. I hate when I hear moms say 'You'll break your neck.' I feel like that just facilitates that they will break their neck someday."

Lady 1: " I agree. It is like you are asking them to break their neck."

At this point Charlie has climbed to the top of the steepest slide in the playground, His mother tells him not to go down because it was dangerous and then proceeds to explain to the other woman that her friend had a son who fell off of a slide and 'damn near broke his neck.'
"Was he trying to climb up it?" the other woman asked. "No, he was just sliding down and he went about three feet and slipped over the side."

Two things. 1. Any kid who is using a slide the right way and manages to flip over the side half way down is clearly retarded and should not be allowed to slide without A. a helmet and B. parental supervision. 2. If you are that concerned about slide safety, maybe you should stand up, waddle over to the slide and see if your son maybe wants some help.

It is important to note that while all of this was happening Av and I were climbing the steps to go down this exact slide. This is our favorite slide. Her's because it is steep and fast, mine because it is the only one wide enough for my fat ass to fit on. So, without a thought, we climbed up to the now vacant slide, I put her on my lap and down we went. Av's joyful laughter was immediately interrupted by the fat mom on the picnic table.

"Excuse me, but I just told my son that he couldn't use that. Would you mind?"

"Mind what? I am an adult and I was holding my daughter, what is the problem?"

"Well, now he is going to want to go down it. I mean, I just told him he couldn't."

Again avoiding confrontation, but now very clearly agitated considering I have just had my third mom conflict in under an hour, I simply yet very sarcastically said "Ok, Mom, we're sorry" and walked Av over to the other side of the playground where the piano is. The piano is Av's favorite and she was laughing as she played it when Charlie came over and pushed her out of the way, yelling 'No!' in the process. I looked at him and I said "You are not very well behaved for someone whose mother is so strict in policing the playground" (obviously intended for her ears and not his). She kind of gave a look over, but didn't say anything. For Av's part, she looked like she was about to knock him out, and I would have let her. Instead, she just kind of walked in front of him and started using the piano again. This is when Harry came over, that would be Charlie's big brother, mind you, not his mother, and told him that his mother wanted to talk to him. While Charlie got yet another useless 'talk' about 'playing nice' Av moved over to another area. Charlie left where his mom was after his 'talk,' walked about three feet and immediately pushed Av again, this time knocking her over. She again didn't care, got up and kept playing, but it was at this point where I completely lost it. I looked up, saw that the mom was not paying any attention to him and said "You know what? It would be nice if you would watch your little shit son because he just knocker her on her ass again." (So much for not swearing).

"Excuse me, watch your language! What did he do? CHARLIE!"

"Apparently your little talk didn't work because he just came back over here and pushed her."

This is when I picked Av up and brought her over to the swing. About three minutes later the moms were packed up and Charlie came walking over with a poorly pronounced, and hastily delivered 'sorry.' "It's OK Charlie," I said. "Thank you for apologizing."

I hit the mom with a death stare as she left but she wouldn't even look at me. It is going to be a long summer if this is how it is going to go. A word of advice for other parents and people with dogs. Mind your own business and watch your own kids, and if you have a dog that doesn't like kids, don't bring it to a playground. I may have told some fat yuppie mom off today, but that isn't half as bad as what that bitch would have gotten if Monica was with the baby instead. That is a promise.

Episode 86: Rectangle clams, green cowboy boots and Punch Drunk Pauly

Following a lovely and relaxing Memorial Day weekend, Mother Nature promptly decided to kick off summer with two days of rain and smog for everyone to enjoy, meaning that adorable park scenes like the one above had to be put on hold until the skies finally cleared Thursday morning. It also means that the past two days have been primarily spent in the house and at various retail stores trying to break Av from all of the bad habits and spoiled behavior she picks up on over the weekend at her grandparent's house.

In a situation that I imagine is the same for every parent, a grandparent's weekend means that the beginning of the following week is filled with yelling, fit throwing and overall general freshness. It also means that she thinks she is too cool to take a nap, hence why I haven't been to active with the blog this week. Even now, as I sit on the couch watching Chuck Norris and Wesley Snipes try to sell me a Total Gym (on mute, of course), I can hear faint whimpering resonating from the crib, meaning that she is completely exhausted but still fighting the urge to sleep.

While the weekend itself was pretty fun and low-key, the activities that the baby took part in are largely generic, leaving little material to share here. What I will say is that she is really starting to pick up on the whole speaking thing, and has increased her sound mimicking quite a bit.
I guess this means that I should probably stop calling people 'douchebags' while I drive.

Her defiance has also started to really take off. Seriously, it is like she is a 3-year-old trapped in a 1-year-old's body. Actually, she pretty much has the body of a 3-year-old, too. We were at the playground one day and a random, unwelcome conversation with some mom uncovered that the baby she was playing next to (I say next to because babies rarely actually play with each other, I'm finding out) was the exact same age as Av- like down to the week. I was shocked to find that out because Av towered over her. I mean towered. Like a good three inches taller, as well as wider, thicker and much, much more coordinated. I thought at first that maybe the other baby was retarded or dwarfed or something, but it turns out that Av is just a bruit.

In any event, she has really started to push some buttons lately- and she knows exactly what buttons to push, too, because along with being huge, she is also way to smart for her own good. For example, she knows that she is not allowed to put things in her mouth so when she wants to test you she will grab something and hold it in front of her lips until you notice, then slowly move her hand toward her mouth until you yell at her. One particularly disgusting instance took place last week at the beach.

Aside from those intended for tourism and mass public use, New England beaches tend to be very rocky, weedy and generally disgusting. In Salem, where high tide will cover most beaches all the way up to the ocean wall, this is a particularly prominent trait. Some days the beach near our house can be completely invisible, covered entirely by water, while others the tide is so low that there is about 200 yards of rock and sand before you get to the shore line. One day last week, with temperatures hovering around 90, Av and I decided to go exploring during low tide and walk down to the water's edge. We picked up some shells (which she usually just tosses back in to the water) and splashed around for a bit until we saw what is probably the single most disgusting thing I have ever witnessed in nature.

We were both standing barefoot in about two inches of water when out of the sand next to us burrowed some sort of clam-like creature that I had never seen before. It was rectangular, about five inches long and one end was perforated, like a clam shell, so whatever was inside could eventually weasel out. As it poked out of the sand a lobster-tail- like arm propelled its motion by poking out the top and bottom of the shell. It eventually shot out of the sand, spraying water out of the top, and flopped on to the beach. I have tried desperately to figure out what this thing is. I have asked people who know sea creatures, I have Googled everything from 'rectangle clams' to 'burrowed sea creatures' and found nothing. Here is an artist's rendering of what I saw.
Speculation is that it is some sort of deformed clam, or perhaps a smaller, more rectangular version of the geoduck, a clam like creature native to the gulf area, also known as nature's penis.


Whatever the case, the thing was f-ing nasty and I felt uncomfortable standing next to it as it wiggled across the shore, so we moved along. Further down the beach we found a bunch of the mystery creatures that hat hatched, leaving the empty shells on the beach. Av and I picked a few of them up looking for clues and at one point the baby, as she always does, tried to eat one of them. I did the usual 'no mouth' thing, to which she did not respond, and then resorted to slapping her hand until she stopped. In an act of anger, frustration and defiance she yelled at me, threw the shell and preceded to look right at me, put her hand in front of her face and slowly lick all of the wet, gross beach sand from the palm of her hand. Nasty. It was like the infant equivalent of getting the finger. I couldn't even get mad because, well, she ate a bunch of sand. That had to suck.

*UPDATE* My cousin, who grew up in the great state of Rhode Island, has checked in and identified the mystery creature as a Razor Clam (officially known as an Ensis). Absolutely disgusting. Thanks, Pat.

The Suburban Ghetto

Since the guy across the street got nailed for armed robbery a few weeks back things haven't been quite so exciting in the ghetto recently, despite the fact that summer has started. Sure, the college kids and Spanish people are extremely loud very early in the morning and late in to the night, but there has been a minimal amount of police activity to report.

What I can report is that the loud, crazy, unemployed lady that lives downstairs now has an opportunity with the warm weather to put her insanity on public display. For example, yesterday I came home to find her on the porch, braiding her daughter's hair and singing to herself as the little girl was forced to read aloud some book from school.

'How's it going?" I said. To which I was greeted with only a wink. Later that day I was sitting on the couch trying to stay awake while I read my HR text book when I heard some singing outside the window. I stole a look through the blinds to find Crazy sitting on the sidewalk, alone, presumably waiting for her poor sap of a boyfriend to come home, just singing. Loud. Eventually the boyfriend, Steve, arrived to an 'I haven't seen you in 6-months' style hug and an 'Oh my God, I missed you.' Sweet? Maybe, but I know for a fact that it hadn't been more than three or four hours since he had left the house.

I should probably tell you that throughout all of this, and pretty much throughout every day so far this summer, Crazy has been clad in a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and green cowboy boots with a red bandanna tied around her right ankle. Cool look.

Finally, a new character has emerged in the 'hood this summer- a middle-aged ex-boxer who I have affectionately named 'Punch Drunk Pauly.' I don't know what his name is or where he lives, but I always see him walking down the street with his Sony Walk Man talking to himself and shadow boxing. He is clearly, like most boxers over 40, just kind of wasted from being punched in the head too many times. He has this loud, almost Neanderthal-like voice and he makes absolutely no sense when he talks. Clearly a sweet, probably harmless guy, he appears to just be staying in shape because he doesn't have much else to do. I see him walking everywhere, just about every day, and he always yells a very friendly, but primitive 'Hi there!' to the baby. The best was the day that I heard him walking by yelling something about 'where did my hero go?' at the top of his lungs. It took me a minute or two, but I finally figured out that he was listening to the Foo Fighter's Song 'Hero' on his Walk Man. Punch Drunk Pauly has officially become my new favorite neighbor.

Beat LA (again)