mr. nice guy

closure is good

2009-05-03T22:25:00.002-04:00

hey, remember me? let's wrap this up, shall we? i'm obviously not doing this any more, so why pretend?

if you need me, i'll be at this (extremely rudimentary and very unfunny) wordpress site. drop me a line and i'll tell you a story about poop or something.

thanks for reading. be kind. be strong. go forth. prosper. life is amazing. are you going to eat that?

like the white dwarf, i am composed of degenerate matter

2009-02-26T18:42:00.004-05:00

this post is being posted because tonight i am going out for drinks with LOD, metrodad, mom101, croutonboy, mommypoppins, daddytypes, liz of coolmompicks and alphamom. therefore i need to at least halfway pretend that i am still a blogger. i need to justify my attendance. i need to man up.

therefore, here is a post:

yesterday, at naptime, my three year old called me into her room. she said "daddy! my hands smell funny when i do this." and then she stuck both fists into her undies and begins vigorously masturbating. then she stuck them under the nose and inhaled deeply. "see?!"

i didn't quite know what to say. i want her to maintain a positive body-image and a develop a healthy relationship with sex. but, "i love the way your vagina smells" would have sounded, well, creepy. and i can't afford any more therapy than she'll already need. so i shrugged and said "uh, do you want to wash your hands?" she said yes. and then she did. and then she napped. the end.

so then. i am, for now, officially still qualified to drink with these superstars. look for me at the bar: i'll be the shriveled white dwarf in a constellation of hypergiants. even better: drunk hypergiants.

regarding child health care in america

2009-02-11T17:50:00.002-05:00

this deep, penetrating news report (oof, that makes it sound like porn) on the precarious state of child healthcare in this country solidly reconfirms my own private stance on the matter. also, lollipops.

because i have nothing else to say right now

2009-02-03T18:08:00.002-05:00

you know that "25 random things about me" meme has been working it's way through the facebooks? i finally caved after being tagged about 12,000 times. here. now leave me alone:

1. i was a chubby child/teen. i still hate taking my shirt off in public. now my pants on the other hand ...

2. i have never owned a bicycle and consequently cannot really ride one without posing grave danger to myself and everyone within a 50 yard radius.

3. i think i have had 8 knee surgeries. i've literally lost count. most recently, about 2 years ago, i had a dead guy's medial meniscus transplanted into my left knee. i was hoping i'd finally be able to dunk. no such luck. mysteriously, i now speak perfect mandarin.

4. fuck! the baby just woke up from her nap. she wasn't asleep nearly long enough.

5. i studied in grenoble, france, for a year, where i met my first love. she was a french girl from the countryside. i was completely fluent by the end of the year. i have since lost about 85 percent of my french. fortunately, i am still fluent in the language of love.

6. i had a pierced ear for one day when i was 13. when my mom saw my retarded little skull-shaped stud she said "your dad's going to fucking kill you." i took it out that instant. i suspect he knows anyway.

7. i didn't go to prom. i ate a bag of shrooms at the afterparty instead and thought i could read ally sheedy's mind. then i jumped in the pool and almost drowned. when i woke up the next morning i had total amnesia -- couldn't remember who i was. that took a couple of terrifying hours to wear off. just say no, kids.

8. i am totally secure in the fact that i am not the primary breadwinner. i highly recommend everyone get a sugarmama.

9. i was in the thespian club in high school.

10. i was on the fencing team in high school.

11. miraculously, no one has ever beaten me up.

12. not that they haven't wanted to.

13. was once told by an intern that i had been voted the "second-blackest white guy in the office." i have no idea what that means. but i take comfort in it.

14. i make really good mixtapes.

15. not once did a mixtape ever get me laid.

16. i've been swimming in the playboy mansion grotto. twice!

17. i took a poppin' and lockin' class when i was 11.

18. i used to ball boy for the occasional tennis tournament. andre agassi once yelled at me in front of a packed center court when i didn't hand him a fresh ball soon enough. man, i hate andre agassi.

19. i wrote a screenplay with a friend when i was on extended paternity leave -- a comedy about ball boys. i thought it was really funny. nobody else did.

20. the first time i heard the music of the beatles was in the movie Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band starring the BeeGees and Peter Frampton, which i had on Betamax and watched incessantly. when i finally heard the Beatles' real Sgt. Pepper, i was galled that the songs were in the wrong order and didn't sound as good.

21. the first porno flick i ever saw was also on Betamax. it was called Broadcast Barbara.

22. the last porn i ever saw was on the internet, five minutes ago, between writing items 16 and 17 on this list.

23. actually, now the last porn i ever saw was after writing item 22.

24. i got caught shoplifting on a school field trip to six flags in seventh grade. that sucked.

25. i am a little concerned that the only job i am halfway qualified to do is rapidly disappearing from existence.

in loving memory

2009-01-29T10:01:00.005-05:00

ok so it's been a few days now, but i'd like to better illustrate for you the painful day that was friday. first of all, check out this motherfucking bush:

look at those thorns! check out those gnarled, dried-out jagged stems of death! now imagine one of those thorny, twisted sharp bastards sliding right into your eye as you're walking along at a steady homeward-bound clip! imagine it! do it! pain, i tell you. agony. searing hot fire-ouch.

it's had some time to heal, but check out my poor eye: see that speck to the right of my gorgeous hazel iris? that's the Wound. a millimeter to the left and i'd be typing this post on a braille keyboard!

i know what you're thinking: mr nice guy is a big pussy. just say it already!

here's my toe. not broken, as it turns out, but still purple:

damn, i need to hit a pedicurist.

so, there you have it. oh, and my other news? remember how the doctor said eat a low fat diet throughout the duration of my possible gallstone attack? "no more bratwurst" or whatever. yeah, well screw that. i went to a new wine bar in my neighborhood called Brookvin on saturday. i happen to know the head chef (he used to be the cook at Newsweek -- that's right, Newsweek has a cook.) more importantly, he's worked at Savoy and for some reason he likes me. on the day after my doctor's visit the wife and i decide to check out the new establishment. i almost decide not to go because my side aches and i feel a little woozy and walking there in the cold puts me in a real bitchy mood. but the second we sit down, my friend hooks us the fuck up with chicken liver, lardo, pancetta, homemade head cheese (!) ... and bratwurst! i ate every last fucking bite! and the wine flowed and the lord saw that it was good.

the next day, saturday, wouldn't you know it: no more pain in my side. little Charles de Gall had gone silent. i felt 100 percent better. maybe all the fat greased his journey right through my colon. who knows.

it pains me to say it, but i believe i lost Charles this weekend. we hardly knew him.

Charles de Gall

Jan. 13 2009 - Jan. 18 2009

Go in peace.

time lapse cuteness

2009-01-29T07:50:00.001-05:00

i wish my 7 month old would play this well for this long.

rabbit run

2009-01-28T10:34:00.002-05:00

critical beatdown

2009-01-26T09:52:00.008-05:00

the doctor tells me to take my shirt off and leaves the room for 15 minutes. there's no way to look cool sitting in a doctor's office with no shirt on for 15 minutes. i study the norman rockwell paintings of country doctors and their adorably cheeky young patients with an attention to detail i don't believe they've ever been subjected to by a shirtless man. i will tell you this: that norman sure did rock well.

doctor returns, takes my blood pressure. pokes my back.

"this hurt?"

"nope."
"this?"
"uh uh."
"how about this?"
"sorry to disappoint."

he tells me to lie down and begins jabbing at my abdomen.

"this hurt?"

"no."
"this?"
"nyet."

"thi -- ... uh. please come down off the ceiling."

"mommy."

he draws some blood, i pee in a cup and he tells me: "you don't fit the profile in the slightest, but all your symptoms suggest that you may have a gallstone." the typical gallstone sufferer profile, of course, is an overweight female in her 40s. (later, when i tell my brother this, he says "dude, i always knew you were a fat old woman.")

so the doc is going to run some tests and let me know what comes next (ultrasound? laproscopic surgery?) he did seem to think the stone was probably small and, given the location of the pain, in the process of passing all by itself. (this is where we pause and all praise jesus, allah, buddah and satan that i don't have a kidney stone.) he tells me to stick to a low fat diet. i tell him i had bratwurst for dinner the night before. he says "don't do that again." i'm like "ever?"

on my way home i am stewing and brewing. feeling sorry for myself. i am walking down my block and i begin to picture my little gallstone, floating along the bile duct. i well with pride a little bit. this is my special little guy -- i made him! behold the miracle of life! i decide to name him Charles. he is the son my wife never bore me. my own little Charles de Gall. i love him.

and then ZING! a branch from a giant rosebush reaches over a fence as i walk by and it jabs me square in the fucking eye! the whole world flashes red and then goes black. i almost fall down from the surprise and the pain -- my eye feels like it's the size of a baseball and it's streaming tears. FUCK! my right eye! i am five blocks from my house, stomping along in the early evening rush hour, one hand over my eye and cursing up a blue streak. "fucking goddamn fucking cocksucking bush! fuck! ow! fuck! my fucking eye! first fucking gallstones and now i'm going to lose a fucking eye. FUCK!" i turn around and shout at the front yard with the bush in it: "I'M GOING TO BURN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE DOWN!" i run up to the bush and start snapping off branches and stomping on them. people are crossing the street in order to avoid me.

my eye really hurts.

i get home, one hand over my eye and the other on my side. my rage has apparently ratcheted up the bile production. little Charles is kicking. it takes me a minute to get the key into the door because i have no depth perception. i scratch the paint around the lock with my key and spit profanities at the world. when i get in, i am relieved that the kids are out with the sitter and the house is empty. this allows me to throw things and drop atomic f-bombs throughout the living room and kitchen.

it takes a full hour, but eventually i am able to open my eye for more than 30 seconds at a time. gradually i realize that i am probably not going to have to walk around with an eyepatch and gallstones next week. this is a relief. that would have been too much to take. the kids come home ("daddy, why are you holding your eye?") and the bile in my system generally subsides. i realize that, erm, this too shall pass.

mrs nice guy gets home and puts the kids to bed while i drink a tall glass of doctor-discouraged beer. i start to feel better.

a little later, i'm walking to my room, glad the day is done and eager to crawl into bed. as i amble down the hall, i stub my toe so hard that i feel it in my groin. my testicles crawl up inside my body and, i guess, introduce themselves to Charles. my gallbladder tells them that there's no more room at the inn. my side aches. my eye begins tearing up again and i cover it with my hand as i hop towards my bed. the toe is throbbing and it feels like someone has jabbed a pen-knife into my gut. i'm doubled over and hobbling blindly. i have no depth perception and i almost miss the bed. the toe -- the second on my my left foot -- i notice has instantly turned an ungodly shade of purple.

i am pretty sure it's broken.

i collapse on the bed and i wait for 2009 to be over.

mrs nice guy looks up from her laptop and asks: "are you done yet?"

Take Time To Talk To Your Child About Whatever Crap They Like

2009-01-24T19:16:00.002-05:00

surprisingly solid parenting advice from the Onion!

Maybe you have a daughter who likes to draw unicorns or elves or some shit like that. Doesn't matter what it is. When she approaches you with her latest picture of a dolphin jumping over a rainbow or whatever, don't just slap that son of a bitch on the refrigerator with a magnet and pat her on the head. Actively tell your little girl you appreciate her unique talents as a developing young lady and, for good measure, tack on some bullshit about how much her little crayon chicken-scratches mean to you.

the baton has been passed

2009-01-23T16:48:00.004-05:00

heh. so not to be outdone by the man who has replaced/promised to undo everything done by their daddy, Jenna and Barbara Bush have written their own letter to Sasha and Malia:

As older girls, we were constantly inspired by the amazing people we met, politicians and great philosophers like Vaclav Havel. We dined with royalty, heads of states, authors, and activists. We even met the Queen of England and managed to see the Texas Longhorns after they won the National Championship. We traveled with our parents to foreign lands and were deeply moved by what we saw. Trips to Africa inspired and motivated us to begin working with HIV/AIDS and the rights of women and children all over the world ...

Oh yeah. And also? We got to party our fuckin' tits off!!!

Anyway, if y'all ever need any advice, like bodyshot recipes or presidential HPV remedies, you know who to call!

i'm still still not dead

2009-01-23T09:57:00.007-05:00

so on tuesday night i made the most mind-crushingly delicious greek lamb-eggplant pie -- so good it'd make you slap your mama and french kiss your dog. then, in the middle of the night, i developed a wee case of the bloat. i was like the rarebit fiend, tossing and turning through the night because of the pain in my abdomen. curse you, savory meat pie! it felt like someone inflated a balloon with acid right where my pancreas was supposed to be. i tried the child's pose. i tried the plough. nothing would dispel the pain.

in the morning the bloating was gone. but the pain, she remained. three days later there is a constant dull aching in my right abdomen. because i love scaring the hell out of myself, i decided to do some googling. i searched "pain abdomen right side." i searched "pressure bloating abdomen." i searched "anal sluts." i searched "stomach cramps."

here's what i learned: i either have appendicitis, hepatitis c, gas, gallstones, indigestion, colon cancer, crohn's disease, pancreatitis, tapeworm, ebola, PMS or malnutrition. basically, i'll be dead by my next birthday. (incidentally, i also learned that anal sluts are a spooky yet oddly alluring breed.)

i swigged some maalox the other day and while it did result in some deeply gratifying expulsions of gas from orifices i wasn't aware that i had, this nagging pressure/discomfort in my side remains. i was hoping to write a mildly amusing post earlier this week about soccer class, AA and dan zanes, but then I came down with a mild fever and chills on wednesday. so i went to bed at 7:45 wearing a thermal, a sweatshirt and a sweater.

i have doctor's appointment today. i am inclined to think -- given my history with intensely painful esophagus-melting acid reflux -- that it is some form of gas or something. (apparently i am a 33 year old man with the insides of an octogenarian hobo). in any event: i am deeply hopeful that it is not the Hep. that would be a tough one to explain to mrs nice guy.

i'll let you know how this all shakes out. meanwhile, just when you thought you were done reading pointless year-end lists, here's the Village Voice's increasingly irrelevant annual Pazz & Jop issue. i voted this year. for whatever it's worth here's my ballot -- my more-or-less favorite songs and albums of 2008 (on the day i was filling out the ballot).

what were your top songs and records of the year?

finally, here's a picture of a shockingly-phallic gallbladder filled with stones:

truck alphabet

2009-01-19T11:57:00.000-05:00

this is brilliant.

(i found it here and it reminds me of dutch's graffiti alphabet, which is also brilliant.)

classic, 2.0

2009-01-16T09:57:00.001-05:00

we bought our 3-year-old My Neighbor Totoro for christmas. i had never seen the 1988 Miyazaki masterpiece before, but i was familiar with a few others like Spirited Away (amazing) and Princess Mononoke (confusing but amazing).

anyway Totoro is incredible -- this is what movies are supposed to do. it conveys a sense of wonder without being cloying. it's mysterious and fun without being too scary or too pandering. it also got me thinking: is it a new children's classic?

Disney has a corner on the market of the old school children's classics: Fantasia, Dumbo, all those fucking princess movies. so for something i'm working on, i'm wondering: what are the new classics?

hit me with your noms, all age groups welcome. 3 and under; 4 to 9; 10 and up. Those are flexible if you find your picks naturally fall into slightly different groupings. The 10 and up group will likely include "grownup" movies that are appropriate for older kids.

all films should have come out since 1980. these can be obvious -- ET -- or more offbeat -- The Witches. indie and foreign movies are fine. mediocre, Home Alone-type blockbuster fare is not.

what are the classics in your house? and i promise to be funny next time.

"Dear Malia and Sasha,"

2009-01-14T15:52:00.002-05:00

the president-elect has written a letter to his daughters in the current issue of Parade magazine. as i read it, my own two girls are playing on the rug.

I want all our children to go to schools worthy of their potential-schools that challenge them, inspire them, and instill in them a sense of wonder about the world around them. I want them to have the chance to go to college-even if their parents aren't rich. And I want them to get good jobs: jobs that pay well and give them benefits like health care, jobs that let them spend time with their own kids and retire with dignity.

I want us to push the boundaries of discovery so that you'll live to see new technologies and inventions that improve our lives and make our planet cleaner and safer. And I want us to push our own human boundaries to reach beyond the divides of race and region, gender and religion that keep us from seeing the best in each other ...

These are the things I want for you: to grow up in a world with no limits on your dreams and no achievements beyond your reach, and to grow into compassionate, committed women who will help build that world. And I want every child to have the same chances to learn and dream and grow and thrive that you girls have. That's why I've taken our family on this great adventure.

only six days to go.

ask and ye shall recieve

2009-01-14T13:10:00.008-05:00

T was mean, though. he didn't take no U!

for some reason that highly excellent richard pryor clip totally reminds me of this thoroughly kid unfriendly song:

the more you know

2009-01-14T09:33:00.003-05:00

here

smell the knotted fist

2009-01-13T07:47:00.002-05:00

i've never really been a U2 fan, but i respect their frontman's extracurricular activities. he appears to be sincere in his desire to make the world a better place and he should be thoroughly commended for his remarkable efforts to do so. he certainly doesn't need to do anything for anyone -- he could just sit on his mountain of money and rub that cold hard cash all over his naked body. kudos, right?

when i heard that bono had been tapped to write an op-ed column for the new york times, i shrugged. to be sure, the irish are not particularly known for their lyricism and lord knows there are no great irish writers. be that as it may, this bono dude obviously has his opinions.

all joking aside, sir bono wrote an appreciation of bob dylan's singing in a recent issue of rolling stone. i was surprised and impressed by how wonderfully it was written. it wasn't just a good essay, it was startlingly good. i shook my head -- i for one would have no idea how to write an appreciation of dylan's singing. he's just too huge and his singing is just too loaded. but then bono nailed it with this perfect turn of phrase:

"There is certainly iron ore in there, and the bitter cold of Hibbing, Minnesota, blowing through that voice. It's like a knotted fist, and it allows Dylan to sing the most melancholy tunes and not succumb to sentimentality. What's interesting is that later, as he gets older, the fist opens up, to a vulnerability."

yes! his voice is an unsentimental knotted fist! that's perfect!

on sunday bono's debut (i think) column ran in the times. it is a lovely, boozy ode to frank sinatra, flowing with wit and a distinctly celtic lifelust. the scene is a simple if implausible one: bono is in a dublin pub on new year's eve and Ol' Blue Eyes' voice rises above the crowd on the stereo. the song is "My Way." bono writes:

"His ode to defiance is four decades old this year and everyone sings along for a lifetime of reasons. I am struck by the one quality his voice lacks: Sentimentality."

and then! he begins the next paragraph with this question: "Is this knotted fist of a voice a clue to the next year?"

oy. look i am not trying to play gotcha with the biggest rock star in the world. but i do have a couple of questions for you, el bono.

first of all: do you really think that sinatra's croony voice on "My Way" and Dylan's adenoidal midwestern twang are both "knotted fists" devoid of "sentimentality?" sinatra, at the time you describe him, was smoother than satin dipped in melted butter. dylan, at the time you describe him, was all rough edges with a molten core of fury. but apparently they are both punching you with their fisty voices and not the least bit sentimental about it.

second of all: you're a lovely writer. clearly you've got the chops. did you just get lazy?

or did you simply somehow develop a tic for describing people's voices as "unsentimental knotted fists." i can see you at the inauguration: "Obama's is a voice of hope, a knotted fist of unsentimental courage!" i can see you at the Oscars: "Mickey Rourke's unsentimental knotted fist of a fist was the Wrestler's true voice!" i can see you at the Grammys: "My knotted voice is the fist of unfathomable fame and unsentimental success. Raise a knotted fist jammed with cash and unsentimentally buy a (RED)ipod with all of my fist's songs on it."

third of all: did you think no one would notice?

heard any good jokes lately?

2009-01-12T09:25:00.005-05:00

[deep breath.]

hi. just a quick note to let you know that there's a new laid off dad up in this internets, peoples. and he (that would be me, for my slower/drunker readers) has got a few things to clear up.

first off: ok, yes, i know. i haven't updated lately. like at all. ever. but as you may or may not know: my bride and i had us a new daughter in june. meaning we've had a newborn on our hands. who has in the interim become a less-newborn. (also plus we haz insane three-year-old.) meaning we haven't been sleeping. and then there was an election that few of you may have taken note of. basically, i laid low. i had a heavy mind. LIKE ANY OF YOU CARE. jesus, why should you? in short: no blogging. and you know what? the earth somehow miraculously continued to rotate on its axis.

and then! then this other thing occurred. as it happens, i'm a journalist. and i was working at a fairly reputable organization -- one of the few that still peddles reputable journalism. i was reasonably happy there. but! late last year i was offered AN EVEN MORE BETTER JOB somewhere else. a, you might say, dream job. (not THE dream job, ok, but A dream job. for me anyway. a subtle distinction, but one that bears making.)

so i took the dream job.

and the dream job, surprise!, was pretty dreamy. sometimes it wasn't the dreamiest of dreamy, but there were moments of crazy-dreaminess in there. i was happy: it was october 2008 and i had a job to drool for and i was happy and did i mention i was happy? also i got to travel and talk to some ridiculously cool people (seriously, imagine the coolest living person you can think of in the music industry. got it? ok: well, i talked to at least one cooler person.) (probably.) and yet, i was too busy to do the simple things in life. like: eat, parent, blog.

so, whatever. fuck you. i loved the job, even though i didn't really get to see my kids any more. they went to bed before i got home from my so-called dream job. this made me sad. but still! i had a dreamy dream job of dreams!

and then, like brilliant people everywhere these days, i got laid off.

pink slip, motherfucker!

in my short time at the new job, i had accrued two full days of severance pay.

fired on the day before my vacation.

ain't that a bitch?

so, fuck it. i've got some free time on my hands now. right? i have a 3.5 year old daughter and a 0.5 year old daughter on my hands, right? i got me a (approximately) 22.5 year old wife on my hands. and i am at the ass end of a thoroughly unanticipated layoff. i have an unwanted job hunt on my hands. (freelance, holla!) so, all of this adds up to: blogtime and blogfodder, both of which are really fucking hard to wash off. seriously, be careful. this blog stains.

with that in mind, let's please all try to make this blog a better place, shall we? will you take my hand in yours? will you help me help you?

i'm not dead

2008-09-02T19:15:00.000-04:00

just very, very tired. so very tired.

jesus. what a shitty weekend

2008-08-10T23:58:00.000-04:00

good night, black moses.

isaac hayes WAS stax.

and you know what? i love the guy, but i always hated "shaft."

you don't understand

2008-08-09T13:21:00.001-04:00

I AIN'T SCARED OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS.

rest in peace, bernie mac.

a tip of the blog

2008-08-06T22:33:00.000-04:00

see, now this is how you do it -- all in one post black hockey jesus goes after the sacredest of blogging cows (for the record, i did not just call dooce a cow); he name-drops popular testicular bloggy allies; flatters his wife; makes you laugh, and attention whores his way through three squillion backflips. i've been doing this shit for four years -- him? four minutes. he's got it down pat. and you know what? fuck him.

also, i'll probably be compulsively reading him more often than posting here. much easier that way, right? i'm so very tired.

live from the trenches of my brain

2008-08-02T15:11:00.009-04:00

so, what's your fucking deal, mr nice guy? you go begging for comments. you get a shit-ton of love from your ~~insane~~ loyal readers. then you disappear again. seriously. what's your problem?

i know, i know. sorry. i have no excuse. actually that's not entirely true: i have excuses. i have two kids and a busy job. so blogging is sometimes sporadic.

cry me a fucking river, asshole. you think you're the only person who has a life around here?

hey, look. that's not --

no seriously. give us some news. tell us something. make it funny, too.

um. ok. mrs nice guy and i celebrated our six year anniversary last week! that was exciting (i actually accidentally typed "sux year anniversary" but spellcheck caught it. hahah -- Freud much?!) six years of marital bliss and blisters. we've actually been a bona fide couple for -- well, it'll be ten years in november. a decade! ten years with one woman, who happens to be the smartest and prettiest (almost typed "pettiest" oops!) woman on earth. and merciful. who else could put up with me? do you have any idea what 10 years looks like? if we had a baby the year we got together, she'd almost be 10 now!

wow, your powers of illustration are staggering.

look, i'm tired. beat. this new baby is toying with my sanity a little. she's ridiculously cute and totally growing on me. but she still hasn't smiled and i fear that she's brainwashed my wife (of six years -- did i mention that?). i'm officially the least interesting person in the house now. and this kid doesn't even smile. well, she doesn't smile for me. she apparently smiles for my wife. when i'm not looking. me? she makes me sweat my balls off dancing around like a retarded monkey and all i get in return is a smirk.

anyway, your anniversary.

oh, yeah. it was rad. we got a babysitter and went out to dinner! first outing alone since the newbie was born. it was lovely. went to a little french restaurant we've been meaning to try.

that's it? last year you surprise her with a weekend away; this year you take her to dinner? not even a movie? is your seven year itch coming 365 days early or something?

actually, since we've almost been together for 10 years, mrs nice guy points out that my seven year itch was due about three years ago. i missed my window of opportunity, she says. i'm such a loser i can't even properly scratch my own itches.

oh, really funny. so you're cheap AND a failed scumbag?

cheap? what? look -- ok, we're on a bit of a budget at the moment. know why? we had to have our roof repaired. whole roof. it needed to come off and be replaced. when the guys came to start taking it off, they were stunned by what they found. apparently the previous roof had been made of newspaper, rubber bands, broken dreams, crushed fairy wings and Jimmy Hoffa. here is an actual quote from one of our roofers: "it's like an abortion the way they did that roof. i keep waiting for one of my guys to fall through ... hahahaha." yeah, hahaha. really fucking funny -- you know what happened about two hours after he said that? one of his guys fell through. we're damn lucky he didn't come crashing through our ceiling. less lucky: the final bill was nearly double the estimate -- and these guys were totally not jerking us around. so. sorry if i've had other things on my mind.

"tear the roof off the sucka, tear the roof off the mothersucka! tear the roof off the sucka! "

right. only imagine that song being less about giving up "the funk" and more about giving up "your life savings." worse: we also need a new cornice. and window sills. and a paint job.

ouch.

yeah, no kidding. god i need some scotch. like, all the time.

so, you big baby. now at least you've gotten around to updating your blog. only it appears that you're having a dialogue with yourself.

tell me about it. hey it's not like i haven't been writing. want to read some of the stuff i've been doing for work lately?

not especially.

i figure i might as well start linking to it here. if you don't want to read it, you certainly don't have to. this was in the past week alone. so forgive me for not getting all publicly navel-gazey. bills to pay, etc.

James Brown is the funky embodiment of the first two laws of thermodynamics. or something.
roll over Dark Knight and tell Iron Man the news, here comes Italian Spiderman!
talking with Dr. Drew (yes that Dr. Drew) about the cigarette ban at addiction treatment centers in New York. i wanted to ask him about my erectile dysfunction, but the timing seemed awkward

you're a whore.

really? you think?

you're a whore and you're conducting a conversation with yourself on your pathetic daddy blog. a daddy blog, i'd like to add, on which you beg for comments and talk about your love of whisky, not liking your own baby and scratching your seven year itch.

what! no! i ... rather, it's just that ... i mean. ah, fuck it. you're right.

of course i'm right! now, pass me the bottle.

*sigh* here you go.

thanks. you're still talking to yourself, you know.

yeah, i know.

looking for sources

2008-08-02T13:14:00.001-04:00

hi gang -- i'm writing a light, humory piece for someone (will tell you who if you email me) about parents who love their own kids ... but hate everyone else's.

do you adore your perfect little angels even as your best friends' snotty, obnoxious rugrats drive you insane?

or maybe you love all children and simply couldn't imagine how anyone could hate them -- yours especially.

i welcome all thoughts, insights, funny stories. would prefer it if you lived in the general new york vicinity. please shoot me a note: slarkpope [at] gmail [dot] com.

playground stories

2008-07-27T15:06:00.002-04:00

sitting on a playground bench, holding my newborn, watching my three year old on the big-girl swings. she's swinging with this other girl, i'll call her Josie, because that's her name. Josie's mom and older brother Owen are sitting with us. we've all just met. the mom asks me: how old is the baby. we tell her: six weeks old today. we all nod. it sure goes by so fast. she's getting plump. it's a magical time.

mrs nice guy asks Owen: how old are you? he's five. nice kid. we ask him how he likes being a big brother. he says: "i'm a big brother, but i have a bigger brother too! he's older. he's 20."

"oh," i say, like an idiot. "that is a really big brother."

Owen's mom tells us that the big brother is her husband's son from an earlier marriage. we all nod. makes sense. she gets up to push Josie on the swing.

i ask Owen, "so do you get to see your brother a lot?"

"no. he's in California."

"oh, yeah. that's far away." poor kid. he's got this big half-brother and he's so far away. that must be hard, especially when you're saddled with a smelly little sister. i would imagine being a 5-year-old boy would be a lot more fun with a much-bigger brother around. "is he in college over there?"

"i don't know."

"oh," i say. i figure perhaps this kid doesn't know what college is. i'll try another tack: "maybe he's in school or something?"

"maybe."

"it's pretty neat to have such a big brother," i say, stupidly. what a fucking conversational wizard you are, mr nice guy. you should teach a night class at Brooklyn College: How to Have Awkward Small Talk with Five Year Olds You Don't Know. i figure I've pretty much exhausted this line of conversation and decide to let it go."

"he's in jail!" [at this point mrs nice guy makes a noise that sounds a little like this: GHNK! which i know intimately from many personal failings to be the sound of repressed laughter.]

"uh?" i respond, checking to make sure Owen's mommy is still out of earshot. "hmm." witness how my panther-like reflexes react to unexpected conversational pitfalls: "well, so i guess your sister is swinging pretty high --- "

"he took a car! and he went to jail!"

"GNGKHG! GN!!" [thanks, mrs nice guy, that sure is helpful.]

"ah. heh. well i guess you shouldn't. um. take cars?" good advice, mr nice guy. you have definitely scared this boy straight. here's your eagle scout badge, you fucking knob.

"my dad went out there to pay a lot of money so he could get out of jail!" fuck. please somebody make him stop.

"heh heh. you don't say?" i'm squeezing my brides hand and desperately attempting to derail this kid's train of thought. "ahem. hmm. wow it sure is hot today."

"KKNJ!"

"yeah, but he's still in california. MY TURN TO SWING."

and he bolted. happy. well-adjusted. unfazed.

damn.

kids are awesome.