A few months ago, I contributed an article to The Creative Revolutionary’s Handbook (now called Ocsplora), a blog started by my friend Nate. The article is called Finally Start Writing Your Screenplay, but as one commenter said

I’ve never had much interest in screenwriting (although I feel like I want to after reading this), but most of what you said applies to any kind of creative effort…

so hopefully the post will be an encouragement to anyone crafting a written work. Check it out and let me know of any ways that you get motivated to write.

Related posts:

1. How long do you spend on a blog post?
2. Claiming my high school destiny: I’m writing a book
3. When do you write?

It’s time that I kick my book-writing into high gear, which of course can only mean one thing: I spent the last few days redesigning the blog. Obviously, if you’re reading this on our site then you’ve noticed it already unless you have a very narrow field of vision. If you’re reading this in your RSS reader, then click on over to the site to check out the new digs.

One reason that I decided to go for a redesign is that our last theme (launched April 2009) made posting just a little more work than it needed to be. I had to find a little thumbnail for the front page and try to write a witty teaser for each post. It’s not that much work, but it was just enough to convince me not to post on my lazier days. It was a magazine format, but I just wanted a good ol’ blog back. Also, with the extra work required, I couldn’t post from my phone; with this new look, I can! (get ready for 4 straight posts on how crowded the subway is)

We’re still working out the kinks in our new face. If you encounter any issues, please let us know. I’ll continue to experiment with different parts of the site, but hopefully the new theme will get us back to doing what we do best: finding reasons to not post.

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2. Feedback! Please help make AWSC? better
3. Live blogging…. a blog post

COOL BABY NIGHT-NIGHT UPDATE

We’ve almost always had to be in the room for CB to fall asleep. We had a bedtime routine, and while the routine stayed the same, it started at a different time every night. And we never knew when he was going to fall asleep–sometimes it took 30 minutes, sometimes it took an hour and a half. It was especially frustrating on nights when we had plans (ok, i’ll admit–when LOST was on).

A couple of weeks ago, we were determined for a change. One night, I started the routine at 7:00. I briefed him on the night’s agenda ahead of time and at every step:

1. put on PJs
2. brush teeth
3. read 2 books
4. sing 3 songs
5. I go out so he can go to sleep

CB going to sleep in his room by himself?! That was the stuff of dreams. I was always amazed by our friends who put their kids to bed early and alone.

The night’s routine went well until the moment of truth. I broke the news that I would be leaving the room so that he could go to sleep. He resisted. I was sure that it was going to end badly. But then I was inspired by a glimmer of wisdom that could have only come from God.

I reasoned with CB that his best friends go to bed all by themselves. And so does the little boy in his favorite book. His mood shifted from despair to curiosity. I could see the gears turning by the look on his face:

(insert friend’s name) goes to bed all by himself? I guess I’d never thought about that…

And the battle was won. CB agreed that going to bed all by himself wasn’t something to be feared, but was something that the cool kids did. He wanted in. I guess that the neurotic desire to be like the cool crowd starts early. Maybe it’s genetic – poor guy never had a chance.

Since that night, the bedtime routine has been nearly automatic. No longer would I put him to bed only to realize that it was then time for me to go to bed.

This new freedom has been so sweet, and it wasn’t even hard fought. Now if we can just get him to take naps.

Related posts:

1. The rough patch for the boy’s bedtime
2. An open apology to my son
3. You’ve come a long way, baby. Now stop.

Doo doo doo, oh
Doo doo doo doo doo doo (oh)
Doo doo doo, oh

I know that those lyrics pretty much give away the whole post, but I’ll go ahead with it anyway.

It was only two years ago that we had a tiny Cool Baby who smiled toothless grins and made sweet-smelling poo (a benefit of nursing). Eventually, the baby started crawling, then walking, but he was still wobbly and generally wordless. Now, there’s no question that we have a boy on our hands, and I’m accepting that with a little reservation. It’s because I really love the baby part of Cool Baby. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve realized that there are areas in CB’s life where he has to leave babyhood behind.

CB is one of the last (if not the last) of his contemporaries to be potty-trained. I felt a little better when I heard about kids who weren’t potty-trained until they were four, but it’s time to get CB out of diapers. Soon, life will be too hectic to deal with soiled bottoms.

For all of CB’s life, we’ve helped him fall asleep. When he was young, the cry-it-out method didn’t work at night. He would cry for hours and not fall asleep. We always had to be in the room with him.

When we moved up here, we couldn’t choose whether we wanted to be in the room with him. Living in a one-room studio kinda makes those choices for you. Even when we moved into a place with innovations like a door separating the bedroom from living room, we still helped CB fall asleep. To be honest, I liked it. It was nice, quiet daddy-son time after I got home from work.

But now that life is even busier, and it’s difficult to spend an hour waiting for CB to fall asleep, we’ve finally moved toward him falling asleep on his own. And by God’s grace, it’s working.

And CB is just getting big. I could carry Li’l CB in my arms or in a baby carrier for a couple of hours if I needed to. Now, picking up CB is a game of Russian Roulette as I wonder which time will throw my back out.

I like cradling my son in my arms. I like feeding him oatmeal and wiping food from the corner of his mouth with the spoon. I like when he uses improper grammar like “I not girl, I boy!” or “Will you lay down me, Daddy?” It’s more endearing than “Will you lie down next to me, father?” or “Dad, I don’t want to cuddle with you! Weirdo.”

But to be honest, boyhood has its perks, too. Like when we play racecars on the floor. And when he runs and gives me a hug when I get home or even just step out of the bathroom. And when he calls me using Cool Mum’s phone and exclaims, “I miss you, Daddy! I want to be with you RIGHT NOW!”

Cool Baby is growing. He’s learning all sorts of good things and a few bad ones, too. He’s going to be a Cool Boy soon, and we thank God so much for the little man forming before our eyes. And I’ve decided to be OK with it because no matter what he does, somehow, someway, he’ll always be my baby.

Don’t expect me to see me in any cutoff button-down shirts anytime soon though.

Related posts:

1. How we won the battle of bedtime
2. More from the sickbed
3. What in the world would I do without baby carriers?

Polina and Nikki are the queens of fashion photography in Indianapolis, so Cool Mum and I quizzed them on their line of work because the only thing we are more clueless about than parenting is fashion. We loved hearing stories as micro as working out details for a shoot and as grand as effecting cultural change in Indianapolis.

Since we moved up here, fashion has occupied more space in my consciousness. Not that it ever occupied much. (What do you mean Hypercolor shirts went out of style? You press the shirts, AND THEY CHANGE COLOR! These are shirts of the future, if anything.)

I even went on an online clothes shopping binge towards the end of last year. Winter was coming, and I didn’t want to alternate the same two sweaters that I did during our first winter here. Thanks to Slickdeals, I picked up better-fitting jeans, Merino wool sweaters, two corduroy blazers, a wool pea coat, and a crate of slightly irregular purple Z. Cavariccis (no i didn’t).

Despite my shopping spree, I still feel fashionably inadequate; my clothes just aren’t cool enough. It doesn’t help that a lot of friends here work in fashion and design and always look swank. And it especially doesn’t help that after dinner with Polina and Nikki, Cool Mum asked me if I think that my hairstyle is outdated. Apparently, she does because this is not a typical after-dinner cleanup question.

Even when I have decent clothes, my fashion sense is bankrupt. I could be the all-time champion of Project Run-away. One day I went to work sporting a nicer shirt (that happened to be striped) and my cool new pinstripe dress pants. CM pointed out (after work, of course) that I shouldn’t wear striped tops and bottoms together. I checked online, and one commenter on a forum called the combination “horrific.” That makes me long for the days when CM called my clothes choices “not bad.”

How’s your fashion sense: Fetching or retching?

Related posts:

1. Meet some Truly Cool Parents – Ben and Polina

I have rarely read for recreation. I read the Lord of the Rings series and a few books like it because, despite my looks, I am a big nerd. People usually mistake me for a small nerd, me being 5′5 and all.

I picked up some good deals at a used bookstore and Amazon. Since Christmas, I’ve read

• Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman
• The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King
• American Gods by Neil Gaiman
• The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
• The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
• Stardust by Neil Gaiman

I spend at least an hour on the subway round-trip everyday; I have plenty of reading time. After looking for the strong points within each storyteller, I’ve felt refreshed when it comes to my own writing. Now I just need to put down some of these page-turners and start writing!

What kind of books or which authors do you like to read?

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1. Claiming my high school destiny: I’m writing a book
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3. When do you write?

If we knew what was good for us, we would stay away from IKEA. Our first big trip to the yellow and blue monster was a disaster. I’ll never forget that fateful trip though I quickly forgave Cool Mum. Despite that bad memory, we find ourselves returning to the Swedish palace. We can’t resist the affordable furniture and, most importantly, the affordable food. Almond cake… oh, the almond cake.

With the recent move into an apartment with roommates, we had to get more creative with our furnishing. For some reason, I didn’t notice that our bedroom didn’t have a closet. We have the coat closet to store our clothes, but it isn’t enough room for the three of us. And with roommates now, storing our underwear in the kitchen cabinets is a good way to have them accidentally broiled in the oven.

So, my friend John and I headed to IKEA to acquire two affordable dressers.

When planning a trip to IKEA, it is best to estimate how long you think it will take and then add two hours. And be prepared to come home from your shopping trip only to realize that you forgot to purchase anything but meatballs and lingonberry soda. Unfortunately, I ignored this wisdom.

We went by public transportation, which meant taking the subway to the free water taxi across the East River to Brooklyn. We thought that we could carry the dresser boxes back to Manhattan and then take a cab back to the new apartment, henceforth known as the Cool Duplex (since it has two floors).

We got to the store and of course headed straight to the cafeteria for affordable lunch. We then did affordable shopping.

At the end of our winding shopping trip, things got complicated. We picked up the boxes for our two dressers and discovered that they were ytterst tung! (Swedish for freakin’ heavy!) I wussed out due to back problems, so we weren’t carrying these boxes to the cash register, much less to Manhattan.

We decided that we needed a vehicle to get the stuff back to the Cool Duplex. There were no cars nearby to rent, and a taxi would have been $70. We called Cool Mum and John’s wife (who were hanging out), and they said to take the taxi. Common Sense suggested, “Yes, let’s pay a little more to get the job done and learn our lesson for next time.” But Frugal Sense won out by screaming, “No! Take the ferry back to Manhattan empty-handed, rent a Zipcar (an hourly rental car), drive to Brooklyn, buy your stuff, drive back to Manhattan to the Cool Duplex, drop the stuff off, and return the Zipcar. It will save you $30!”

We left IKEA having bought meatballs, soda, and a $5 plastic stepstool for Cool Baby. We got to John’s apartment, and I reserved a Zipcar for 2 hours (4–6pm), which would cost about $35. We were to pick up the car from a garage around the corner from the Cool Duplex. My plan was perfect.

We picked up the Zipcar, raced down to Brooklyn, and hit traffic. We eventually made it to the store, parked, and ran inside to find our cart of items in the same place we left it. We assembled our haul, raced to the cashiers, and hit traffic. We finally made our purchase, picked up cinnamon buns to appease the women, loaded the car, and hit traffic.

And this where God takes over. Stuck on the highway, it becomes clear that we’re not going to return the car in time. That’s OK though because you can call Zipcar to extend your reservation by 30 minutes and avoid the $50 late fee. John calls. It’s 5:45. He’s on the phone and then ruins my day: someone else has reserved our car for 6:00 pm. He talks to a rep, and there’s no way getting around it. I’m going to be charged the $50 late fee. So, after all of the extra time, travel, and stress to save $30 with the Zipcar instead of a taxi, I’m going to spend even more money and make someone else late for their plans. I wanted to melt down.

But instead, I let go. I told myself that we should have listened to the ladies, and it was a dumb mistake, and it would cost me money, but God has blessed me with a lot more than $50. Then something very cool happened. At 5:57, John made a call. After a minute, he exclaimed, “I just extended the reservation!” He explained that he felt God tell him to call Zipcar again because the person who reserved the car canceled their reservation. At first, John doubted, but went ahead and called because there was nothing to lose. We exulted and high-fived all the way home.

Maybe we should have listened to the girls, but I’m happy with the cool God story we got instead, along with the cinnamon buns.

We’ll probably be back to IKEA this weekend. We hope for a less dramatic time. We’ll let you know.

Related posts:

1. IKEA: Threatening marriages all around the world
2. Are strangers more concerned with Cool Baby’s welfare than we are?

photo: photoeverywhere

This is the story of an island.

It was almost an accident that they ended up on The Island, but it was no accident. It was the machinations of an intricate plan with ancient roots.

Each of them were lacking direction of a sort, tossed about by the waves. Stripped of the comforts of home, wandering the jungle, they were scared, misplaced, doubtful, but alive with hope.

This is because The Island is special. It transforms and it hones. It offers mysteries and histories deeper than the waters that surround it. Somehow, on The Island, they found their way.

But some of them left. And some were left behind. Turmoil ensued. Maybe they were never supposed to leave. But maybe they were.

This week, we begin the next chapter in the story about The Island. And the story will go to lengths more extreme than we could have ever fantasized.

But the story is real.

The Island is Manhattan. Cool Mum and Cool Baby left weeks ago, but now they come back. Our future will be chaotic. Questions loom like skyscrapers and statues; answers may lie in their shadows.

Our story is landing somewhere, but we don’t know where. Our hope is secure, though sometimes we can’t help but feel lost. But we’re ready for the next chapter. Cool Mum is pregnant.

Related posts:

1. The rest of our NYC story: How we got from there to here, Part 2
2. The rest of our NYC story: How we got from there to here, Part 1
3. Next Monday: meet your BBFF!

“All I ask of you is one thing: please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism — it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.”

On the exterior, I am kind, soft-spoken, and a little funny. But under that thin layer lives a very cynical soul. If I took away that cynicism, I’m not sure if I would recognize myself.

The cynicism serves its purpose. It protects me. It makes me feel better about myself by pushing others down. It contributes marginally to my sense of humor. However, as is the case with so many things in this world, what makes me feel good is actually a cancer. Like The Bachelor (two hours every week? really?).

I want to be kind — truly kind. I want to be happy for the successes of others and applaud their efforts without planting devious motives in their heart. At first, I think that the opposite of cynicism is naïveté. I’m wrong though; it’s love. And whatever quality I think is enhanced by cynicism, like my humor, can be enhanced more by love and the positivity and creativity that come with it.

No related posts.

Cool Mum was on that beloved, controversy-free late night program The Tonight Show with Jay Leno a few years back. During a band trip to California, she met up with a good friend and they attended a taping. The two young ladies made it to the platform where Jay did his monologue, so she was front and center when Jay high-fived the crowd at the start of the show.

My best chance of being on TV is moving back to Florida and raising a shirtless ruckus when the COPS film crew is at the local precinct. I also wholeheartedly believe that ‘Shirtless Ruckus’ is a stunning name for a band.

Have you ever been on TV?

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