Today's Baby, Tomorrow's Bandit

I think that with his smile, natural charisma, and slight racial ambiguity, there's a real chance my son will become his generation's Burt Reynolds.  I certainly hope so.  

PapaThank: You 2 Old 2 Drive, Old Dude!

With the exception of wine and my lovely, supportive, dear wife, most things get worse as they get older.  It's called ageing.  It's called life.  It's called "get over it and accept the nasty, nasty fate that awaits us all."  This is especially true of driving.  After a certain point, you just suck at it.  I'm not there, but the guy who almost hit me this morning is.  In fact, I think he's past it.  So to you, Mr. Gold Prius on 29th St., I say:

"Stop driving.  Please.  You're an old guy, and you don't have it like ya used to.  I'm sure that as a young man, all the ladies from the block thought you were a terrific dancer, and maybe on the weekends, you won a couple races at the track, back when they let amateurs come take a crack.  But now, you're just old.  Old, white headed, and barely able to see over the steering wheel.  THAT'S A PROBLEM.  It's also a problem that you have never heard of a bike lane.  I'm sure you thought it was something they built for you, being a proud member of "The Greatest Generation."   It ain't.  It's for me.  A young, vigorous, speed demon.  It's all for me, dude.  Me and my kind.  We may not be the "greatest," but were younger, and can probably take you in a fist fight."  

"I'm not down on you for being old.  My birthday is tomorrow, and I know what that means. And one day, my kids will tell me to get the hell of the street.  But for now, it's you for whom the bell tolls, and the bell is saying, 'Please stop driving, old dude.  Buying a Prius is a responsible choice, but not if you use it to crush innocent people.'"  

Take a cab.  You've earned it.  

The Grateful Bike

Pig Pen says, "Don't steal this bike right off of the street."

On my way to work, I came across this sweet bike.  Why is it so sweet?  Because it's blends two of my favorite things into one really favorite thing:  bikes and The Grateful Dead.  Also, it's doing a good job in the anti-theft dept., and that's also a favorite.

I started listening to the Dead in high school.  I wasn't alone.  Jerry had died in 1995, so people were talking about them, and most of my friends, at some point in the next couple years, would buy a copy of Skeletons from the Closet.  But when everyone else stopped at "greatest hits," I kept going.  And when a friend of my brother's - a guy with impeccable taste in music - lent me his copy of American Beauty, that was it.  I had found "my band."  The next couple years were spent wearing giant tie-dye shirts, sandals in all weather (easier to do in Hotlanta than here in the NY), and taping over my dad's old sermon tapes in favor of the Grateful Dead Radio Hour, which used air late Sunday nights on Z93.  The trick?  A little scotch tape over those square holes on top.

I'm a long way from high school now. The shirts are gone and the sandals come out a little less often. But the Dead remains.  And most mornings, if you ever pass me on the Q'boro bridge, trying to pedal over that beast without my heart exploding, there's a really good chance I'm listening to the Dead.  Maybe from Europe in the 70s, or post-diabetic coma Jerry in the late 80s, happy to be alive and playing like it.  Hell, it might even be something from the studio.  That's right, I even love the albums.  Now that's a fan for life.  

You Think BeiberFever Is As Bad as It Gets?

Sometimes, the right people have kids. Sometimes, the wrong ones do. I don't know these folks, so I'll let you decide.  

You Suck, Junie B. Jones

Consider this a warning, Junie B. Jones.  You don’t like to play by the rules.  The world is yours, and we’re just paying rent.  Doing your thing.  I get that.  But now, you and your crappy attitude done messed with the wrong dude, and I got you in my sights.  

I’m not sure how you did it.  Trying to do something nice for my kid, I picked up a couple of your books at the BarNoble. Buy two, get one free.  What a deal, right? A deal indeed.  A crap deal!  Because after I brought you home and read a few chaps of Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus, all the sudden, my princess is acting like a cranky-ass dragon.  A tiny, curly headed, biracial dragon.  What the hell, Junie B?!  

Do you think teaching kids to have a crap attitude is funny?  When your mom takes time off work to show you around your new kindergarten class, and all you can do is scream at the teacher about your dumb viking hat - is that funny?  Is that a good time in your world?  Or when you tell Mr. Woo that his bus stanks, just because your dumb pre-K self is too scared to ride it?  Is that nice?  Should we all act like that? The man comes all the way from China just to give his family a better life, and you tell him his office is “stupid” and “smelly”?  That’s a crap attitude, Junie B., and I hope your mother beats it out of you.  

So check this, Junie B.  Normally, I’m a nice guy, but you push even Ghandi hard enough, and he’s gonna swing that big walking stick at you.  Maybe even cut you up with his little John Lennon glasses.  For real.  So stop being such a Junie B-otch, and show my kid how a nice, respectful 6 year old behaves.  And maybe, I’ll let all this other booty chatter slide.  I need to be dealing with that punk-A Ramona Quimby anyway, so how about you cool it and I’ll move on to her instead.  

But keep it up, and you mine as well be Bubba Sparxx - it gonna get ugly!  I’m talking thrift store, Junie B.  You.  A plastic bag.  The thrift store.  No reciept, no paper trail. Test me if you really wanna know.  Please Believe It!

PapaSee: The Secret Garden

With Monsta 2.0 taking up all our time, my trips to the theatre have been greatly curtailed. That's my nice way of saying WIFE has shut it down.  So now, if I go, MONSTA goes, which has forced me to see a lot of kid stuff.  Last weekend, this took us to The Secret Garden in our neighborhood.  It's a beautiful production, and if you live in New York, it's worth the trip into Queens to see it.  But in the words of the great Lavarr Burton, "But don't take my word for it..."

The Secret Garden: A Review

Maurice Sendak, 1928 - 2012

Since this is a blog mostly about kids, it's worth noting that the great Maurice Sendak passed away at 83.  Reading daily to your children, it doesn't take long before you realize how many horrible kids books are out there.  I don't think this is because writing a book for children is all that difficult, though it can be.  The problem is, I think, that most adults think kids are dumb, and that they can't handle anything of substance.

Sendak clearly felt otherwise.  His work was weird, and strange, and never preachy.  In Wild Things, Max is nasty to his mom.  Most authors would follow this with a boring lesson about respect or some other crap.  Not Sendak.  In his world, Max is rewarded with an amazing trip, where he's given his own boat, and crowned "King of All the Wild Things."  But it comes with a price, and before long, he realizes that the only thing that truly matters is being to the one who loves him most.

I love reading his books to my kids.  It isn't a chore, or something I do because the public service announcement tells me it will make us all a better family.  I do it because Maurice Sendak wrote good books.  A life of good art, and of stoking the fire of a kid's imagination.  I'd say that's time well spent.