My first Trader Joe's receipt in six weeks. Wait, why are there nachos on my beautiful grocery memento? Cool Dad!

Over Christmas, we spent five weeks in Orlando (my hometown)
with friends and different extensions of the Cool Fam. When planning our trip, my first concern was food of course! What would I do without my beloved Trader Joe’s?

The six-week TJ’s Break turned out to be a good thing. Prices were so high for organic food in Florida that I began to eat less overall. I also ate a lot more organic bulk-bin dry beans, for better or for worse. Between that and the miles of wandering around Whole Foods not knowing where anything was, I got into better shape!

In all seriousness, if you find yourselves TJ-less, you can start with a list like this to see where to buy what. Luckily my weekly shopping list has become pretty simple after learning about GMOs, BPA in cans, produce with the highest pesticide levels, and gluten.

Publix

• Grass-fed beef
• Conventional bananas
• Conventional avocados
• Organic celery
• Organic carrots

Costco

• Organic frozen raspberries
• Organic frozen blueberries
• Organic frozen mixed vegetables
• Organic quinoa
• Organic 21-spice mixture (highly recommended)

They also had an interesting and expensive package of organic beef that showed a cow grazing on grass but the meat inside was not actually grass-fed. Boo. I am spoiled by TJ’s.

Whole Foods Market

• Organic frozen vegetables: Mediterranean mix, broccoli/carrot/cauliflower mix, chopped spinach
• Organic free range eggs
• Organic frozen chicken
• Organic whole plain yogurt (Seven Stars farm) without thickeners
• Various bulk bins for nuts, beans, quinoa, oats, and dried dates
• Canned (but bpa-free Native Forest) organic coconut milk
• Cheese from grass-fed cows!!! (only one brand available even here)
• Unsweetened dried coconut

Various farmers markets

• Random things like organic parsnips or kale

Overall, I was disappointed that many vendors did not offer pesticide-free items. If I lived in Orlando, I would try the Homegrown Co-op, where you can order local produce online and pick it up at the store.

In Part 2, I’ll talk about the places where the cool people hang out in Orlando. Clue: they aren’t taking pictures with Pluto and Minnie.

I guess Cool Newbie feels the same way, ’cause he’s determined to get buff and hold his own around the house. Check out the staple of his workout: extreme push-ups!

Cool Dad: Noah, try to go pee-pee before we leave.
Cool Boy: I don’t have to!
CD: You need to try. When we go somewhere, you need to try because we don’t want to be stuck in the (car/subway/bus) and then you have to go pee.
CB: I don’t have to!
CD: Noah, we go through this every time. Go try so we can leave! (Insert potential disciplinary action depending on how the day has gone.)
CB: Okay…
(CB drags himself to bathroom. Exits after a minute.)
CB (smiling): I went!!

Relieved, we can finally leave. It may be a game to him, though I’d prefer not to do the dance EVERY time. I guess it’s better than him doing another kind of dance on the bus.

If only I practiced what I preached. 

+ + +

The other day, I met a friend at City Bakery on West 18th Street in Manhattan. We indulged in their renowned hot chocolate, which was like drinking a melted Hershey’s bar. It was so rich that we had to get water to wash down the cocoa coating forming in our throats.

After an hour of talking about the finer points of music, we finished. I hesitated at the door but instead shook it off and marched out into the cold to catch the 45-minute subway ride home.

The commute was pleasant. The train had reached the part of the 6 line that was above ground, so the sun poured in through surprisingly clean windows. I looked up from my book, What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell, to see that I was alone in the car. This was a rare occurrence for the middle of the day, but it was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, so I figured that many of the usual riders were relaxing at home on their day off.

And then I realized that I had to go – not go anywhere in particular, but just go. I should’ve listened to my instinct at the door of City Bakery. I should’ve heeded my own fatherly warnings of not getting stuck in a subway, doing a dance. I stood up to mitigate the pressure and asserted myself that I would be home in another 10 minutes.

Of course, it’s never that easy when it comes to matters of the toilet (or lack of). The train stopped at the Elder Avenue station and opened its doors to let in a rush of cold air and no passengers. The doors shut, but we didn’t move. After a minute, a recorded voice announced that we were being held for “train traffic ahead of us.” I had a sinking feeling, which inconveniently landed on top of my bladder.

The train finally lurched ahead to my assurance but also to my agony. Motion was the last thing I needed, but it didn’t last for long. This time, the train stopped between stations and sat. I started weighing my options. I thought about getting off at the next stop and running to the closest Starbucks. Sadly, Google Maps reported that it was over 20 blocks away. I scanned the neighborhood for other places that might accomodate me, but I couldn’t be sure about them. There were markets and drugstores, which could very well have closed their restroom doors to the public.

+ + +

Ever since I saw a YouTube video of pranksters going number one on the subway, I’ve become attentive of where I sit. I look for any telltale signs: accumulations of liquid on the floor, suspect-looking dried “water spots” on the seat, the unmistakable smell.

I condemned those mass transit befoulers for their lack of decency and conscience. Now, I was considering joining their kind. The conditions for it were ripe:

1. My train car was empty, which is the primary factor when it comes to peeing on the subway. No witnesses, no snitches.

2. Next, I checked the adjacent cars. Both the ones in front of and behind mine were clear.

3. Scanning around the car, I didn’t see anything that looked like a security camera. There are security cameras in the stations, but I’d never heard of cameras on the trains themselves.

4. Continuing to check my surroundings, I found more encouragement: A Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup.

But it was on the small side. Why oh why couldn’t they have gotten the extra large Coolatta instead?! And don’t think that I didn’t notice the door next to the coffee cup. What was that stain?

+ + +

As all of this was running through my mind, the train moved again. Another station, then another delay. Things were getting painful, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it to all of the people, my fellow New Yorkers, who would eventually board this train.

So, I did whatever I could to distract myself. I cranked the dulcet harmonies of Eisley in my headphones. I closed my eyes and imagined happier places, like our cozy apartment with a freshly cleaned bathroom smelling of bleach, or a shaded forest with plenty of obstructed sight lines. I prayed. I was determined to not pee on the subway. And the train started again.

When we finally got to the stop closest to the Starbucks, I stayed on the train. I just didn’t want to move. Thankfully, we went through the last stops unimpeded. I got off at my stop and stumbled home as fast as I could while maintaining bladder integrity. Running would’ve been too much jostling, so I walked with my feet slightly apart more than usual, as if traversing one of those tire courses that football players high-step through.

The sidewalk seemed to stretch away from me, prolonging the walk. As I’m sure some heroic figure has said at some point in history: I didn’t come all this way just to wet my pants in front of my neighbors! By the grace of God, I made it home.

I hope you’ll learn from my harrowing experience. Listen to your body, even its most subtle hints. Make it a habit to try to go before every outing. And maybe carry an extra large Coolatta cup around with you, just in case.

Always having to get a word (like glurbschmidt) in regardless of topic, I’ve turned to our bevy of political-minded posts (one) and brought back this timely and timeless classic from December 2007. In it, Cool Boy (then Cool Baby) offered his pick for the 2008 GOP presidential nominee.

Futurama Cat Lady actually bears a resemblance to the lady I overheard.

Last month, I was blessed with a free ticket to see a Broadway show called Relatively Speaking. Cool Mum was out of town with the boys, so I went by my lonesome. Not only was the price right, but so was the seat: orchestra middle right, just 5 or 6 rows from the stage.

During an intermission, a woman leaned against the stage and surveyed the audience milling around. Then I heard her declare to a bystander, who may or may not have been with her party:

“Look at everyone, just texting, texting. Stupid world! Texting, texting.”

As she made her anti-technology rant, her cheeks seemed to flush almost as red as her fuchsia shawl. She was genuinely upset. I looked around and confirmed that about half of the audience was occupied with their phones. In the middle of checking Twitter myself, I was already thinking of how to report the situation in 140 characters.

But then I recalled a camp that my band played at a few years ago. I had already moved to NYC, so this was a sort of reunion. During lunch, a few of us were checking our phones, eager to divide our attention between the here and now and the elsewhere and now.

One of my bandmates called us out on it, and I’m glad that he did. It’s something that I often remember when I start wandering online instead of focusing on the present. I still need discipline in that area. Or it’s just that I’m making sure to get my money’s worth for my data plan. Yeah, that’s the ticket…

Do you text/tweet more than you should during social gatherings?

Why would I take the effort to reduce the potential enjoyment of this cup of delights? Because I wanted to make sure there would be enough chocolate cranberries for the next time I have a snack. And I’ll continue to follow this ritual (if too many cranberries tumble out) until the bag is empty. 

I don’t know when I picked up this habit, but I’m sure it started with breakfast cereal. I was disappointed by a number of marshmallowless bowls of Lucky Charms toward the bottom of the box, so I started making sure that the “highlights” of the cereal were evenly distributed. Recently, I’ve employed the tactic with bowls of Special K Red Berries, giving a few dehydrated strawberries a one- or two-day reprieve.

You could call it responsible snacking, deferring a percentage of immediate gratification to ensure future enjoyment. Or you could just call it weird.

Do you do this?

Before I plow ahead with another year of questionable ideas and immature jokes (chicken butt), I wanted to take a quick look at 2011 and see if I could come up with an overall personal theme (I’m not speaking for CM here) to the year. 

My initial thought was that ’11 was about rejection. Perhaps my new Uniqlo flannel shirts were sending me into a Seattle grunge type of self-loathing, but when I looked at two key plot lines through the year, it made sense.

1. The big one was my search for employment. I was laid off from my job on Thanksgiving 2010 due to financial hardships at the company. The fam spent an extended holiday in Florida, and I returned to NYC with a drive to find a job. After applications, phone interviews, and in-person interviews, I was still part of the unemployed masses.
2. Another arc, which wasn’t really rejection but still gave me the feeling of separation, was our recent move to the Bronx after two years on the Upper East Side. Our church and many of our friends were on the UES, and while I worked through my initial frustrations of being away from them, I felt alienated, like the life that I was living for the past two years was going on without me.

Saying that last year was all about rejection sounds cool and brooding, but it’s wrong. I feel good about life, and that’s because 2011 was a good year. Things didn’t all go my way, but that’s what happens when you go through a year of focus.

Here’s how my life began to come into focus in 2011:

1. As the job search went on, I picked up small projects, ranging from web design to writing. As I succeeded through those, I honed in on what my different talents are and how proficient I am with each of them. The experience continues to help me decide how to translate those talents into marketable skills.
2. I gained a love for our neighborhood. We got to know friends up here better and made new ones. We used our car, which we could in no way have brought to NYC while we lived in Manhattan, to explore the Northeast. And the (relative) affordability of the area means that we can sustain a life here, and we want to.
3. My time at home strengthened our family bond. I’m glad to have been around for Cool Newbie’s evolution from a baby to a toddler, seeing his little personality develop and being available to hug him all throughout the day.
4. The passing of our friend Sunday inspired me to learn from him and be an intentional and outspoken friend.
5. The year gave me a couple of fun creative goals to work towards and find the partners who will help make them happen. I can’t wait to get started.

So, enough about 2011. I just know that 2012 will be much better! You know why? Chicken thigh.

We’re pulling our traditional double duty in Florida right now, enjoying quality family time in the warm weather. Over the last few days, we doubled our caloric intake in case a freak blizzard snowed us under at home. Or maybe it was because there are 154 times as many Chick fil-As in the state of Florida (154) as there are in New York (1).

We essentially completed our shopping before Christmas Eve, which means, of course, on the 23rd. The Cool Bros made out quite well this year, “spoiled” you might say, though I prefer the term “materially blessed.” I could say the same for Cool Mum and me.

Here’s Cool Newbie rocking his favorite gift, a Disney toy electric guitar.

I wonder where he gets it from.

How was your Christmas?