People in the Sun

On Self-Examination

2010-10-29T17:32:00.000-04:00

I'm losing it. It's not that I'm less confused, but that I don't feel I have the time to be confused. Like it's a luxury. I still like writing and blogging, but dealing with my own self seems out of place right now.

Here, you can always count on Saul Bellow (from the short story, "Something to Remember Me By"):

. . . self-examination, once so fascinating to me, has become tiresome.

I now have a blog about fatherhood , and who knows, maybe I have more of them blogs lying around somewhere, but I feel like I'm losing my steam here. Like this one is becoming the dumping ground for things that don't fit elsewhere.

I mean, it's not exactly like that. This is still my own private space, my own literary journal. But maybe I need...

I've seen these posts before. Look at people's blogrolls and you'll find dozens of blogs that end with "I need a break," before the spam vultures take over.

I hate this, but I also don't want to write halfheartedly. What was once the only thing keeping me sane is now, well, a task. Maybe I'll be back. Maybe I'll start again. Maybe not. I can't tell right now.

Thanks to everyone who has grown with me and celebrated with me and laughed with me and laughed at me.

If I Don't Play, No One Gets to Play!

2010-10-20T02:07:00.000-04:00

Now that he's older, raising him is not just about making sure he gets through the day. It's not just about feeding him and making sure he naps. It's also about making sure he grows up to be a good kid. It's about finding the balance, which I think my mom always tried to find, between these two contradictory statements: One, be good. Two, don't take shit from no one.

I love this video. Before we got in to see a soccer match between Manchester City and Inter Milan, a group of older kids got some cones and started playing in the parking lot. They were nice to the little guy who really didn't know what he was doing and had no place there. They let him kick the ball a few times, and they didn't complain when he ran up and down and got in their way, but they didn't come there to babysit. They were there to play soccer.

And I have to say I was a little bit proud to see him being a bully without even knowing it--basically acting the old bully line: If I Don't Play, No One Gets to Play!

I Understand the Haters

2010-10-07T02:05:00.000-04:00

There are websites devoted to people who hate parents (found via Sex and the Single Dad).Well, there's everything on the Internet. It's like that parallel universe theory. If the universe is infinite, then there's bound to be another planet just like this one, only a little bit different. Like, rainbows smell bad different. I'm trying to say that everything is on the Internet--including a site devoted to people who call parents breeders. It doesn't mean the Internet is full of haters, just that it's infinite and that infinite things contain all the beauty of the world and all its ugliness.

Thing is, it could have been me. I could have been the one complaining I had to work on Halloween because my co-workers' two-year-old kids wanted them around for trick-or-treat. I could have been the one saying fertility drugs should be banned. Maybe I would have been the one calling an online discussion between mothers a Moofest.

It's all there. And it could have been me.

I understand people who choose not to become parents. There are many good reasons not to be parents. Maybe you had bad parents and you're afraid of making the same mistakes. Maybe you heard "a child changes everything," and you want no change. I understand.

And I know it could have been me.

You go to a restaurant with a couple with babies. In the car, all they talk about is the kids. At the restaurant, the kids do all the talking, because it's exciting to be in a restaurant. And then the parents go to get a soda refill, and you give their kids a chip. When they come back, they say, "You gave him a chip??? Now he won't eat anything else!!!"

So I understand. You get older, and everyone you know is making babies. And you can see them losing their identities to their new glorified Parent identities, and just when you think they're about to regain some of what it was they had lost in the delivery room, they go and make another baby!!!

So I understand. Because it could have been me. I didn't want to become my parents, and I didn't want my life to change, so why make babies?

And yet, of course I was going to have babies. They're fun. And they allow you to relive your own childhood. And they cuddle. And they learn and they teach.

I understand the haters. I wish they didn't hate, but I understand them. I wish they didn't care about what I choose to do with my life, but that means I shouldn't care what they choose to do on the Internet. The Internet is infinite, which means I can avoid the ugly parts.

Oh, and there's a punchline. Earlier tonight, a friend (with no kids) and I went with my kids to Chipotle. We sat down with the food, and I went to get drinks. By the time I came back, my friend had already given Liam a chip, which meant Liam would eat nothing but chips. And as soon as I told my friend that Liam now wouldn't eat anything else, I realized I should have kept it to myself. Parents are annoying, I know. But look, he's reading my favorite book!

Madeline's Name

2010-09-25T00:56:00.000-04:00

A couple of months ago, a high-school friend asked me (on Facebook) what was Madeline's Hebrew name. In his defense, maybe he was joking. You don't know with some people. Still, it's common for Jewish people to have a Hebrew name, and even though I don't believe in that whole God and His Talking Snake thing, it was on my mind when I was thinking about a name.

When the name Madeline came up for the first time, I wasn't sure. It wasn't just a non-Jewish name--it was a New Testament name. The only way it could work was if I found an example of a non-observant Jewish Madeline who was also a cool, strong woman. Then I found this video, and Madeline got her name.

Mish-Mashing

2010-09-15T00:00:00.000-04:00

I think I'm losing the Hebrew battle. He used to talk to me in Hebrew and to everyone else in English, but right now it's pretty much all English. Not sure what to do about it, though. The only thing I can think of is somehow finding another Israeli around here. I actually thought about putting an ad on Craigslist, looking for Liberal Atheist parents of a two-year-old Hebrew speaker. In Baltimore. Anyone?

Not enough people watched Drag Me to Hell to appreciate the brilliance of my previous post. Which means I might have to forgo my 2012 post. And I had such great insight about the President in the movie, who just like our current President, is African-American, loves his family, and will kill anyone who stands in his way.

As much as I hate the New Yorkers who protested the "Ground Zero Mosque," I have to appreciate them for choosing Carl Paladino as the GOP Governor candidate, because at least they have an apocalyptic sense of humor. Congratulations, CP!

So now that I'm slowly realizing Facebook is not JUST about creating enemies, I find more people I knew in high school. But my hand shakes every time I hover around the Add as Friend button. Because then what? She'll tell me my kids are cute, I'll tell her she looks happy. And? Am I missing something? Is it worth it? Because I have a feeling that it makes more sense to lose touch with your friends just after high school than reconnecting twenty years later to find out your high school self should have been a little more picky. I don't know. Or should I press the damn button and ask questions later?

A "Drag Me to Hell" Spoiler Alert

2010-09-06T16:07:00.001-04:00

So this poor woman makes one mistake. And it's not even her fault, poor thing. A Gypsy woman asks for an extension on her loan, and our woman says No. Because of many reasons. Like, she wants a promotion to feel she's good enough for her boyfriend, and that Gypsy is really gross, putting her yellow rotten false teeth on the desk, and really, a bank is not a charity, you know?

So our woman says No, and before you know it, the Gypsy whispers some Gypsy shit and the demons are out to get the girl and drag her to hell, I guess. So they chase her around and beat her up, and they really make her look stupid in front of her boyfriend's mother, which is the worst!

"I think I need to go home now."

"Yes... I think that will be for the best."

Can you imagine a future in-law saying that?!

So anyway, this poor woman has a Gypsy curse on her hands, and her relationship is in trouble, and now the Gypsy's daughter is calling her Fat, like, where did that come from? So she goes home and starts to cry, and she sits on her couch and eats ice cream.

And here's my problem.

If you're being cursed by a Gypsy, offended by her daughter, and banished from your future in-laws', are you really going to opt for Turkey Hill?

An Evening in Glennbeckistan

2010-08-30T16:23:00.001-04:00

I watched the entire Glenn Beck "Restore Honor" thing. It was beautiful! I cried and I cried and I cried.

A couple of months ago I was actually in Glennbeckistan. A friend's uncle was having a party for him, and we were invited. It took me a second to realize what was going on. Like any good Twilight Zone episode, there has to be build-up to the madness.

It started with a library/sun room. I was chasing the boy around and ended up there. A bunch of books on a table. First one was from Mark Levin.

Like many other good people, Levin wrote in 2009 a best seller about the Obama Presidency. These guys are basically entrepreneurs. They saw an opening (fear of a black President) and used it (wrote a book about Obama the Marxist radical who wants to eat the Constitution). This is America at its best, Baby. Don't blame them, right? They just write what the people want to read!

So this one was autographed, "Keep fighting," or something like that. Then I looked below this book and found the same one, only this time without the autograph. Which means these people bought the book, and then bought another copy when they saw the guy was signing.

There were other books. Glenn Beck, Bernard Goldberg... All written in 2009, the 48th year of Obama's masterplan to destroy America.

In the living room, in front of the couch, there was a little stand with a tiny book on top. This arrangement reminded me of my grandfather's tall swivel ashtray, by the way. Man, these things were cool. Were you alive when smoking was cool?

I think I can talk about politics with people I disagree with. I talk to my parents about politics and we don't really argue. It makes me sad to think a human being with a beating heart can think like them, but at least I can talk to them about it; understand where they come from and all.

So for a second I thought about striking a conversation. I wasn't going to call them racist teabaggers or anything like that. I do stupid shit like that on the Internet, but in real life I can be semi-civil. I just really wished I knew how these people thought.

How come people who are so afraid of Obama destroying the Constitution, people who keep a copy of the Constitution on a stand in the living room, are so trigger-happy when it comes to abolishing the 14th Amendment because they fear immigration? How can they stand at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial one day and call for secession the next? How can anyone not see Beck and Palin for the frauds they are?

I would have been civil, really. We would have had a discussion. I don't think people should fear the P-word. Politics is divisive, that's true, but politics also represents our values and world views, so if we can't talk about the way we see the world, what should we talk about?

But it wasn't the place or the time. I was a guest, and a B-List one at that, and my assigned role was to thank the people who said my kids were cute, remark that the cake was amazing, and bite my tongue when it came to everything else. The cake was amazing.

I'm the Cutest Man in the World

2010-08-14T13:30:00.000-04:00

(OK, maybe my boy is the cutest boy in the world.)

The Days of Nothing

2010-08-08T12:47:00.000-04:00

Getting my girl to eat her cereal is beautiful. There's nothing more relaxing and exhilarating at the same time than watching this tiny creature searching for the spoon. Nothing more rewarding than seeing her happy and full.

We just got a new TV. I'm going to try to connect the computer to the TV and then cancel cable.

We just got a new Prius. So we have two black Priuses. Priusi. What's worse, being a couple with two black Priuses or being a couple with one black Prius and one blue Prius?

And the boy is doing well. Potty trained and all. And he's really funny. We gave the maternity clothes to Goodwill because there was no way she was going to go through THAT again (and when I say THAT, I mean sex with her husband). But now that we see the first child wasn't a fluke, it's hard not to think we should have twelve more kids.

And still, I do sometimes miss the days of having nothing.

Swatting the Small Stuff

2010-07-31T15:13:00.000-04:00

So we're at Bethany Beach, and everyone's in the water, leaving me with my beautiful girl. It's a beautiful day, and I finally get to relax, and I'm thinking This is It! But then a fly lands on my foot and bites me.

I didn't even know flies did that. Apparently anything is possible in Delaware.

So I start complaining to myself, and I'm thinking maybe I should go back to the room, and why am I on the beach, getting beaten by flies when I should be in the water? Why do I always have to be the one getting attacked by killer flies? Why? I should have stayed home, really!

And I know, even while all this happens, that not everyone would have reacted in the same way.

I'm aware of my half-empty-glass problem, but there's not much I can do about it.

On the way back home, I'm driving over the Bay Bridge. Everyone is asleep in the car. I'm thinking back at a week of Grotto's gelato, swimming pools, sand castles, beer, and sun, and I take a quick look at my beautiful sleeping family, and I know that in the future this week will be The Good Ol' Days. I know that I have no reason to complain. I have no right to complain. About anything.

TMI: My Vanilla Sky Post

2010-07-18T17:12:00.000-04:00

Chris from Stay At Home Dad in Lansing has just written a post about this blog. Go read it here.

In his review of People in the Sun, Chris fearlessly digs into the archives to find a man who's just started blogging after losing his job. That man becomes more politically aware, he starts a new job, he remembers events from his past, and he tries to make sense of the world. Mostly in a harmless way. Nothing in that man's writings could suggest that a few years later, that man would find himself thinking, "This is too good to be true," while staring at poop.

I've called this my Vanilla Sky week.

See, I was killing myself here. Although I said I would never again chase those damn milestones, and although I knew my mother-in-law was right when she said she didn't know anyone who walked down the aisle and wasn't potty-trained, I let it get to me.

We would spend hours in the bathroom every day. I was telling him stories, and blowing bubbles, and explaining the way the body digested food, and nothing... So I put the diapers back on, and a minute later I'd have to change them.

"No no... I'm not angry... I just don't understand why you can't... Never mind..."

And with those awful new Pampers diapers, and with the added cost of buying infant diapers, and with the intuitive feeling that he WAS ready, I pushed it.

And the more I pushed it, the more frustrated I'd become.

"Again, I'm not angry. It's not about me being angry or not angry. It's about you not saying 'No' when I ask you to sit there for a minute to see if you can do it! Why are you saying 'No' all the time?"

I knew I was doing it wrong. I knew I was getting angry with him for no reason. I knew I was pushing it. Pushing the un-pushable. But I couldn't stop myself.

Then last week, when I was at my lowest, it happened. He just went upstairs, and a minute later I heard him say, "Look! Look! Look!" And it's been like that for a week now.

And I know it's too good to be true. I know the evil scientists are playing with my brain. I know that in real life I'm lying in a gutter somewhere, mumbling, "What's so hard about sitting down and letting your body to its thing?" And I'm probably pooping my pants just to prove a point.

But I'll take the Vanilla Sky reality. I'm going to play along and pretend it's real. I'm going to pretend that my boy takes his underwear off by himself, goes to the bathroom, and then when he's all done, throws some toilet paper in the bowl. I've got nothing to lose.

This is What It's Like to Be a Stay At Home Dad

2010-07-11T02:24:00.000-04:00

This is what it's like to stay at home with a hungry baby, a restless toddler, and two dogs. It's a long video, mostly involving some guy making really annoying noises to calm his daughter down while her milk is being defrosted in the sink. I meant really funny noises.

Deconstructing Nick Jr.

2010-07-04T00:50:00.000-04:00

It's all really fun and all, but sometimes a man needs a break. Thankfully, this moose gives me some time to clear my head. If you asked me two, three years ago, if I'd let a moose babysit my boy with cartoons, I would have said No Way. A boy needs life experiences! A boy needs reality! A boy needs to socialize! Fair enough. I do what I do, and when I can't do anymore, I let the moose take over for a while.

So I turn the TV on, press 1-3-1, cuddle with my girl, and let the boy watch his favorite shows.

And I shouldn't feel too bad, because, honestly, Wonder Pets is the best show on TV. Seriously. I mean, I can't watch it anymore, but it's awesome. It's got this beaver or a Guinea Pig or whatever, and this duckling, and this gay turtle, and they save animals in trouble while singing songs. And the duckling is really cool. Here she is.

I'm not joking. It's that good. If you don't have children, find one to babysit so you'll have an excuse to watch this thing.

Speaking of gay animals, here's Toot and Puddle.

One of them is really adventurous, and the other one likes to stay home and tend to the garden. If you know what I mean. I can never tell which one is which, though. They also have this aristocrat neighbor who looks like Uncle Monty from Withnail and I.

Anyway, that show sucks, but at least it's not evil. Here's evil:

Now, you can't really tell how evil this show is by looking at this picture. All you have here are a villain with a lot of make up and a fucked up chin, an Icelandic superhero who jumps a lot, and a tiny 19-year-old hot chick. No, the real evil comes from the other characters. Like this lollipop-sucking monster.

Can you imagine waking up from a ten-minute nap to see this guy? The only part of his face ever moving is his mouth when he licks his damn lollipop. And the rest of them are no better.

Oh, Max and Ruby are orphans. Their grandma is their legal guardian, but she's hardly there, and when she does get home, she's drunk.

Here's another great show with a singing tampon.

I'm not being sarcastic. You have to be insane not to love Yo Gabba Gabba. Ironically, watching the show can make you insane.

And finally, competing with Lazy Town for the title of Most Evil Show in History is this soul-destroyer, where a douche bag (who ruined your high school experience by always being over-confident because too many people told him he's "got what it takes") gets to ruin your adult lives as well. This time, he's also rapping.

God, I hate his face.

Relativism

2010-06-22T02:13:00.000-04:00

I can't lie. I missed you. I know not everyone likes you. But I don't care.

Speaking of changing the subject, you know how you're stuck in standing traffic, and all of a sudden this car comes in from the merge lane that THEY KNEW was going to end soon, and you drive a little closer to the car in front of you to make sure the car doesn't get between you two, because your mama didn't raise no fool?

And you know how you sometimes find yourself in a merge lane, and you try to get into a fast lane but car after car ignores you, and what the fuck is wrong with people, can't they see a car is trying to merge in? Why is everyone such a dick?

Or in other words, people are always right.

That's how I feel about the ~~soccer~~ ~~football~~ okay, soccer world cup. I didn't watch it last time. Actually, last time I watched a world cup game was 1998. Since then, I've had lots of fun with those idiots who spent hours watching these dumb games. I mean, it's one thing to be a little Fascist and root for your country, but why would anyone watch Chile vs. Switzerland? You're that desperate for entertainment that you'll spend two hours watching a bunch of dudes play with each other?

But of course I'm having a great time so far. And not only that. I get angry when I hear people complain about other people who talk about the games. And I can turn a blind eye to the fact that most games are shown on ESPN rather than on a network, but what kind of a country is that when a world cup game is relegated to ESPN2 because of golf? GOLF!

Maybe it's because I get to watch a game during breakfast and another one while I relax during naptime. Or maybe it's because it's just addictive, and once you watch a game you can't stop. Or maybe it's because--and I know you Американские капиталисты don't necessarily agree--it's fun to watch these things. It's exciting, goddammit. And I know some asshole is going to say soccer is dumb, and that I must be desperate for entertainment if I spend hours watching Chile play against Switzerland. I mean, they don't even have working toilets in Chile. Or maybe that's Peru? But you know what I say to these people? I don't care! You don't like it? Don't watch it. No one gives a fuck what you think. Change a goddamn channel.

And the fact that Republicans hate soccer is maybe the best reason to watch.

The Terrible Twos and Me

2010-06-15T21:41:00.000-04:00

The Terrible Twos are great. Highly recommended, actually.

I mean, sure, he says No all the time, and Mine, and he hits me, and when I tell him not to him me he hits himself, and he cries and screams and complains and God, how many Tums can I eat before it's unhealthy?

But it's also about him hugging me for no reason. Or saying, "Love you." Or any other random and surprising thing he does.

Like, you know how proud parents put up online things their kids are saying, because, you know, they say the darnest things and all? Here's my entry: "Buddy make kaka on the floor? Buddy tooshtoosh? Buddy douche? Fuck Buddy."

And it's also about him driving me insane all day until the only thing I can do to stop the pain is bang my head on the wall until I see the tunnel. But then, just when I'm at the point of rethinking every single choice I've made in my life because no one deserves what I'm going through, he surprises me with one word, reenacted in this video, taken a couple of minutes later:

And so with all the daily battles, I'm actually looking forward for the little girl to experience her own Terrible Twos. I'll take it all. She can scream and cry and say No and Mine, and she can throw her bib on the floor and stomp her feet and make me bang my head on the wall every single day. It's all worth it.

And meanwhile, I can wait. I can cherish the quiet moments. I can enjoy watching her discover the world bit by bit. I can look into her eyes and try to read her future. I can wait for her to tell me she loves me (and a few years later, to tell me she hates me, I guess). I'll be here, waiting with my camera.

Flotilla

2010-06-05T14:47:00.000-04:00

I don't even know where to start.

Israel is now divided. Some people think Israel did the right thing. We got them, and we'll get them next time with a tougher, quicker response. There won't be so many injured people next time, if you know what I mean.

Others think this has been a disaster because the incompetent Bibi has led the soldiers into what has turned up to be a trap. Most of the people I know in Israel are probably in this group.

Horrified by the idea that protecting yourself from soldiers attacking you in international water could somehow be called a trap, a relatively small group of people is offended by these two opinions. Knowing this group of people exists has stopped me from canceling my Israeli passport this week. It has stopped me from speaking only English to my son. It has stopped me from feeling ashamed.

I'm not doing anyone a favor. I know I know.

But I used to be proud of my country. They had immigrated to a desert to create Utopia. It was a social economic philosophic spiritual Utopia. Israel's enemies, the Israeli Declaration of Independence says, were welcome to join Israel in shaping the future of the Middle East as the most prosperous land on Earth. The day those words were spoken in 1948, Israel's neighbors attacked. There was no doubt that we were the good guys.

Are we still the good guys? Leftists outside Israel have always seen Israel as the aggressor, but in Israel things were different, and it's simplistic to say it was because we had lived in a bubble of self-delusion. As a kid, I saw pieces of flesh and blood stuck to a tree in the main street of Tel Aviv, a day after a suicide bomber detonated his bomb in a busy intersection. A short time after that, the city put a monument near the crosswalk. There were so many suicide bombers after I left the country, that the government stopped putting up monuments. It just didn't make sense anymore. No matter how bad the situation was in Gaza, as long as the Palestinians were blowing up kids, we were the good guys.

Then things changed. Yes, the leaders of Hezbollah were religious nuts who didn't give a damn about their people's lives and about the lives of Lebanese or Palestinians, but the war in Lebanon proved Israel was no better. Israelis were not the good guys when they went into Gaza to release a kidnapped soldier and to stop the rockets. A lot of innocent people died, the rockets didn't stop, and the soldier is still in captivity. Hezbollah weren't the good guys and Hamas weren't the good guys. But neither was Israel.

How did the good guys end up killing aid workers?

Or as most Israelis refer to them: "aid workers." Hey, whatever soothes your conscience.

Who was this Turkish group organizing the trip? It really doesn't matter. Their provocative statements are used as an excuse by Israel: "Yes, we shot everything that moved, but look--they really REALLY hated us!" Israel is going to have to kill a lot more people if it wants to get rid of everyone who hates it.

An American citizen was shot in the face and in the back of his head. Five times at close range. They call it a Confirmed-Kill in the Israeli military. Not officially, though.

When asked if the fact that an American citizen was killed by the Israelis changed the President's reaction to the attack, Robert Gibbs said, "I don't want to go there." Why would he want to go there? Some Americans are worth more than others. This guy was a Turkish-American. That's pretty low on the Who-Gives-A-Damn Pole.

Unfriended three people on Facebook today. Couldn't deal with their ignorant hateful shit anymore.

One of them was actually going to a protest in front of the Turkish Embassy in Tel Aviv. Because it was the victims' fault. As usual.

During the Gaza offensive, Israeli troops fired indiscriminately into innocent people's houses while chasing alleged rocket launchers. What! It was their fault they died. Their houses were so close together!

All Arabs are the same to Bibi voters. Sure, some of them wear suits, some of them are doctors or politicians or architects or aid workers, but an Arab is an Arab. Why did the Israeli military shoot into random houses in Gaza? Because there's no such thing as an innocent Palestinian. Not everyone on the boat attacked them, but is there really a difference between an Arab aid worker and an Arab Hamas member?

That's how Bibi voters think. Ask them. They're not ashamed of these opinions.

Either I'm being a dumb optimist or I simply can't face the facts, but even as I can't see Israel as the good guys, I still can't think of this abstract Could-Have-Been-Utopian symbol as the bad guy. It's complicated, just as Israel itself is complicated. Bibi is an evil incompetent Napoleon who deserves to be placed in a town square, so that everyone in the Middle East would line up and spit on his face. But I still have faith.

There are still people who search for peace there. There are still people who look at the Flotilla attack and not think it was simply a strategic blunder, but a moral stain. These people are the reason I speak Hebrew to my boy. These people are the reason I'm still an Israeli. These people are the reason I feel anything when I read news coming from Israel, even if it is mostly despair.

This Week, I've Been Mostly Doing Laundry

2010-05-28T18:36:00.000-04:00

I'm still at my old job as a Stay At Home Father, but now I got a promotion: taking care of two kids. All I can say is: People who take care of one baby shouldn't complain about anything. It's like Disneyland, only fun. Now, I'm not a mathematician, but I know how to count my fingers. How is it possible that when we had one kid I did a few loads of laundry one day a week, and now with two kids I do a few loads every day?

But look at them. Oy oy oy, shayna punim!

And it's not too bad, at least as long as Gargamel is chasing those blue monsters.

A friend of mine sent me this video of Bobby McFerrin doing a philosophical voice experiment thingy. Which just goes to show that a small percentage of emailed crap is actually worth checking out.

World Science Festival 2009: Bobby McFerrin Demonstrates the Power of the Pentatonic Scale from World Science Festival on Vimeo.

I can't get enraged about the stuff too much. Can't even get sad about poor Gary Coleman. Sorry.

I wrote a blog review. I do it sometimes. My review included an essay about Australia, which is somewhere in the south, I guess. I did it before, and got to be mean to the people who pollute the web with giveaways, but this one was a very pleasant surprise. Go there and discover a new blog by a woman who treats truth with respect.

Look at this one (click for full size. It's worth it). These two guys left the Civil War Medicine Museum in Frederick, MD.

And finally, my mom and my sister came to visit from Israel. After they left, I tried to explain that they flew back to their house, on an airplane, and that we'll visit them in a few months. Liam asked if his grandma has gone back to Skype.

In Which I Keep My Hatred For the Truly Hate-Worthy

2010-05-16T14:41:00.000-04:00

And then I thought, I don't hate the guy because he's a Republican. I don't hate him at all. I do dislike him, though, because he pretends to know his place in the world.

When I say this blog is about "me being confused and all," I don't mean that in a bad way, see? Being confused is a natural way of life for me; the only thing that makes any sense.

I've always been attracted to the confused, those who thought the world was confusing enough to laugh at and laugh with. I didn't dislike the guy because he was a Republican, but because he pretended to know what he was talking about. He pretended to know what it was all about. He pretended to know what "it" was.

I'm not a perfect judge of character. Sometimes people I trust disappoint me, and sometimes people I dismiss amaze me, but there's one thing I do know for sure. People who feel like they know what's going on around them and portray themselves as comfortable, bore me at best. At worst, they make me dislike them at first sight.

I'm not saying Hate. Know-it-alls aren't evil. Just pretending shit makes sense doesn't make you evil. It just makes you boring.

But Bishop Thomas J. Olmsted is evil.

In 2006, he refused to allow an Autistic kid to have Communion, because he couldn't swallow the host.

And now he has excommunicated a nun who recommended an abortion for an 11-week pregnant woman who was expected to die without the abortion. He also excommunicated the patient, because he was on a roll.

And of course it happened in Arizona, a place where teaching African-American studies is now considered anti-American.

(Sorry, Sebastien, but Arizona sucks.)

Two Days in Dover, Delaware

2010-05-07T00:24:00.000-04:00

So we've just come back from Dover, Delaware, which is exactly like civilization, only less.

Imagine a church. Nothing fancy. Just a building with a cross. Now imagine a short drive from there you find a liquor store. Now imagine a car dealership next door. And finally, a moving company. Now imagine this pattern repeating itself over and over again along the most depressing road on the planet.

I'm exaggerating. This is only the most depressing place in America. Actually, it doesn't even look like America, because they must have taken all the American flags once the evil Commie Muslim usurper has taken over. Now they're just praying, getting drunk, and buying a car in the hope of getting the hell out of Dover.

Don't get me wrong. No one asked me to squeal like a pig, but that's just because people seemed too depressed.

We stayed at the Dover Downs, which also has slots. And apparently a bunch of small people beat up horses there every once in a while. I did push my way up to the 4th floor, past the breathalyzing great grandmas who've been sitting by the 1c machines since 1c was almost enough to buy you a ticket out of Dover, to find the Blackjack machines. Here's how it goes:

You sit with a few other people, just like you would at a regular blackjack table, only instead of a busty dealer giving you the cards, you have a video of a busty dealer giving you cards. For some reason, it felt even creepier to stare at her cleavage. Every once in a while, the virtual dealer pretends to see someone she knows. And she's always smiling, no matter how good or bad you do. The virtual dealers come and go, and when a cute one comes up, the other guys sitting with me say things like, "Yea, that's more like it!"

Hey guys, take a look at the view from our hotel window! Yep, it's the rooftop of the lobby!

When someone at the hotel saw I was there with a two-year-old and a month-old, she was nice enough to suggest a fun activity: go up and down the corridor!

And I tell you what. Baltimore always gets a bad rap. There's crime and heroin and racism and gentrification and parking is a drag and downtown traffic is messy and the harbor is dirty and sometimes life is not too easy around here, but coming back to Baltimore, you feel like you're finally in a place that makes sense.

And look, straight from Dover, DE, also known as the Hungary of the East Coast, to an open air concert in the park in Baltimore.

Ahhhhhh... Home...

Previously On Lost

2010-04-29T15:34:00.002-04:00

Next week, Honey is getting back to work. Here's a picture of me being psyched about taking care of the two children and the two dogs!

Anyway, no big deal. At least at night I'll get to watch a new episode of Lost.

Man... these losers have been with me for a long time.

A lot has changed in my life since Jack opened his eyes and found himself on the island. Remember that first episode? A guy got sucked into the engine of the plane, and there was a big explosion, and a monster killed a pilot or something. Or did that happen later? And then Whatshisname ran on the beach, shouting, "Others, others!" And then Desmond pressed a button and said, "Brother." Jack and Desmond cried a lot. Who's in the coffin? Maybe this guy?

And then they went off the island and back on the island, and now Sawyer is crying, and I'm thinking maybe I've wasted my time here because this new show, Heroes, looks like fun!

But then Heroes was bullshit, so whatever. We're back on the island. By the time these lost douchenozzles figure out the big masterplan, I can make two babies, is what I'm saying.

But that's not what I wanted to write about.

Or maybe that was it?

I think I wanted to write a touching post about the changes in my life, but then I talked to Kim on Skype and saw myself on the webcam, and looking at this beard, I can't write anything serious, because you know, look at this shit!

A Tax Day Patriot Pushing the Limits of the First Amendment. For Freedom.

2010-04-18T01:42:00.003-04:00

So we were supposed to meet friends in the Air and Space Museum in DC on Thursday, but late on Wednesday I realized it was Tax Day, which meant--

TEA PARTY!

It looked promising. It was Tax Day, after all, which is Obama's favorite day, because he gets to take our money and give it to terrorists. And this billboard greeted us when we got to DC:

But expecting to see the Mall packed with Tea Party Patriots holding Obama-in-a-Hitler-Mustache signs, I was disappointed to find this scene:

Was my boy the only Patriot in town? Was my boy the only one who stood up for the CONSTITUTION? We walked around a little more, and found a few Yellow-Flags wandering around, confused and defeated.

A friend of mine actually asked one of them where the rally was, and he said, "It's everywhere! That's the thing about it!"

See, it's not just that they're confused about their message and about their goals. They have no idea what's going on.

Eventually, we found the party by following the Fox News trucks. And it was GLORIOUS!

And that was it. Before we left, at 3:30pm, we found out the real Hate-Party didn't start until 5:30pm, but considering this was an event coordinated and sponsored by the biggest lobbying firms and news station in America, on a beautiful day, and a very symbolic one at that, this had to be a let-down. Have they given up on America? The President is practically a Nazi, and you can't even come to DC with a photoshopped sign that proves it?

Even watching a woman standing on a street-corner with a "Virginity Rocks" shirt didn't help.

But one image from the Tax Day Tea Party will stay with me for the rest of my life. See, these fools were following the lead of the cynical manipulators who have somehow convinced them that less tax was more tax, that expanding health care and regulating Wall Street was an affront to Freedom, and that a couple would fake a newspaper birth announcement in the hope that their newborn would some day become President. And these fools were easy to manipulate because their President's skin color was darker than theirs.

But only one man in DC really had the courage to stand up for America. While the Yellow-Flags Teabaggers were only hinting at what they really believed in, this man was brave enough to push the limits of the First Amendment as far as America could take it. On behalf of a grateful nation, I salute you, Speedo-Man.

The Transformation

2010-04-10T23:07:00.003-04:00

For some reason, if you Google "Who's Cute," this post comes up first. Which means that if you write Who's Cute on your address bar, it automatically takes you to this post. Not sure how that happened, and it's probably very temporary anyway, but at least it's made me reread that post. A crazy post to reread, by the way.

Written days after my boy was born, it has all the fears of a new father. All the emotion.

"And although the other day I experienced an incredible moment when he suddenly opened his eyes and stared at me intently like he knew (but will soon forget) his entire future, and although in this short moment I saw love and understanding and forgiveness for all of my future mistakes, that moment was soon over and he went back to doing what he's supposed to do--eat, poop, and sleep."

And I'm not being cynical about it, don't get me wrong. But things are different this time around. It's not necessarily bad, though. While a first child is a validation of our love and of our commitment and of us looking at each other and thinking that if a child gets the best of both of us, he might just turn out to be kind of cute, with the second child, it's not about us anymore.

And while the picture above shows the man who's turned into a father, the pictures below show a different transformation, as the couple moves back and realize we have turned into a family.

Madeline

2010-03-28T15:42:00.005-04:00

And it's not gonna be easy. A two-year-old, a newborn, and two old dogs. Man... And you know, there's always that initial "What were we thinking" when you're confronted with the realization that life has changed. I would have been upset about it all if she hadn't been so cute. So small. Man, I can't wait for her to smile for the first time. I don't remember when babies start to smile. I don't remember anything.

Liam has been staying at Granny's until tomorrow. He saw his sister in the hospital and ran for the door. It's a new adventure for all of us.

A Story Of Hope

2010-03-17T02:10:00.000-04:00

So it's a nice day, and we're walking around the neighborhood, me and the boy, and suddenly he stops, points at an American flag on a store window, and says, "Obama." And I'm thinking, Man, ain't that something.

I mean, someone, at some point--maybe it was me, I don't remember--watched TV with the boy, and when Obama was giving a speech in front of a flag, that person said, "Obama," and now the boy thinks the flag is an Obama. But beyond that, this story is a reminder of--

And I know we're all disappointed about SOMETHING, and we all would have done much better jobs as Presidents, but there's something about a two-year-old boy pointing at an American flag and saying, "Obama," that brings back the hope we had felt before the election and the change we still long for.

The End.

But not really.

Because a minute later, we're crossing the road. Walking toward us are a black kid and his mom. My boy stops, points at the black kid, and says, "Obama."

Getting Ready

2010-03-10T01:51:00.000-05:00

Things are about to change.

We wanted Liam to have a sibling, because we couldn't imagine our lives without our own brothers and sisters. For me, at least, my sister--even when we were fighting and she was throwing plates and knives at me--was the only one I could really trust. I wouldn't say it was always an Us vs. Them in our family, but most of the time, she was the only one who's made any sense to me.

And it's still like that. Even more now, when she's not trying to kill me.

So I believe that in the long run it will be great for him to have a little sister. But, you know. Things are going to change. Everything is going to change. It's scary and exciting for me and for Honey, but for him... I mean, he's just getting to the stage where things start making sense. We were driving today, and he was pointing at stuff, saying Sign, Car, Tree... The world is becoming a place he expects to know now. It makes him happy to expect things to be a certain way and then to be proven right. And everything is going to change.

So we drove downtown. We walked around the harbor for a couple of hours. We looked at the ducks, and we chased birds, and we sat on a bench and shared a greasy cup of fries, and he suddenly got up and started spinning because someone was playing the saxophone. It was a beautiful day.

I'm just going to have to learn to let go.

It's all good.

A Story With a Punchline

2010-02-26T14:10:00.000-05:00

So the Water Damage Inspector comes in to check if after two days of crazy giant fans everywhere our walls and ceiling are dry enough to start the restoration work. He comes there with another woman, a new employee who is supposed to follow him around to learn. As soon as they get upstairs, Liam hands her this book.

She recognizes the Hebrew and asks me if we've ever taken Liam to Israel. I tell her that yes, because his grandparents live there.

"Whereabouts?"

"Tel-Aviv."

"Oh... Is that... Is that the capital?"

"No. Jerusalem is the capital, but--"

"Of course it is. Certainly."

"No, it is. But Tel-Aviv is the biggest city."

"But wait, where's the US embassy?"

"All the embassies are in Tel-Aviv, for political reasons. But the capital is--"

"Of course, of course. The capital is Jerusalem, of course."

"No no," I say. "I'm not making a political statement. Jerusalem is the capital, and--"

"Of course it's the capital. Just because there's some mosque there it's not going to be the capital?"

But that's not the story I was going to tell. This one is the story with the punchline:

Before they leave, while the women shows Liam pictures of her dogs on her cellphone, the guy comes up to me.

"So, I finished inspecting everything. You can call the insurance company and tell them that they can send someone to start the restoration, because all the walls and the ceilings are dry now, apart from the tiles on the third floor bathroom, but that's just because of the semen."

About a minute goes by. I'm just looking at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You have semen between the tiles."

"Oh. I do? Oh, yes yes."

(cement)

In Which I Link to Another Post on Another Blog

2010-02-22T00:09:00.000-05:00

At first, I wanted to write about my amazing new computer. This guy (or close enough):

Then, I thought I'd write something topical about the Olympics. Especially about the cute curling women.

I also thought maybe I should write about the doubles-luge, which is basically just like a singles-luge, only you put another tight-wearing dude lying down on top of the first guy. Maybe it's more difficult because it's harder to concentrate flying around while you're wearing tights and another dude is lying on top of you.

Then the CPAC happened, and I thought it would be fun to mention how they booed the guy who thanked the organizers for inviting GOPride to sponsor the event, and how they booed the guy who condemned the organizers for inviting GOPride, and how they booed the results of their own poll vote because Ron Paul won, and if we've learned anything from the violent Town Hall meetings, it's that Republicans think that the louder they boo, the more valid their points become.

And I thought that maybe I should write about how I still have so much to do here before What's-Her-Name comes, and how overwhelming it's getting now that we're getting into the "Any day" period. And thank God for these things, So Say We All:

But all of these posts will have to wait, or even disappear. Maybe they will be lost in time, like tears in the rain, for example. Because linking to this post is more important. Because although it doesn't prove there is a God or a bunch of Gods, it does prove that sometimes good things happen to good people.

I have an idea for a new Adam Sandler movie!

2010-02-11T23:34:00.000-05:00

What happened was that Locke thought there was some kind of great REASON for him to be there, so he turned the wheel after he saw Jack's dad, and then Baltimore started traveling through time, because Locke is from around here, and finally we stabilized in the Ice Age.

Those thunder-snows, man! A thunder-storm, but with snow instead of rain. And it's really called a thunder-snow!

So I slept downstairs because Buddy was scared, and when I woke up--

Or was it the next day? I just don't remember. The days get mixed up in my head after this insanity. So one day we woke up and saw a leak in the bathroom upstairs. The sun was melting the snow on the roof, but it wasn't strong enough to melt the ice in the pipes, so water started getting into the walls and down the ceiling all the way to the kitchen downstairs, where we still have two large trash cans to collect water leaking from the ceiling.

So there was that.

A neighbor actually suggested I throw salt from the upstairs bathroom window onto the gutters on the roof, so I tried to do that but most of the salt fell straight on my face and inside my hair, and the pigeons were looking at me like I was crazy, because why is this guy standing there with his body out of the window, throwing salt on his head? It just didn't make sense!

And there were the five hours of shoveling a few days ago and another four today. I'm getting really good at that, I have to say. You know how you're about to dig your car out and there's so much snow that you don't even know where to start so you just stand there with your shovel and cry? Well, that probably won't even happen to me next time, because now I know exactly what I'm doing. This shit should be an Olympic sport. Or maybe it should be an Olympic sport in an Adam Sandler movie? They accidentally discover him while he digs his car out in five minutes. He doesn't play by the rules, but he has a heart of gold, and eventually the US shoveling team wins the gold medal.

I'm so tired...

The baby is no longer a baby. He's moved to his Big Boy Bed, which also means that by the time I've written this post he's already visited me 3 times. When he was in the crib and he woke up, he would either cry or try to go back to sleep. Now he just starts walking around the house.

And every once in a while, he says, "Go Saints!"

Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against you if you like Football, but you know, I'm just not from around here. Imagine you move to India and they tell you about this game named after a common bug, where people dress up in white and use a rectangle bat to get the ball to hit this tiny piece of wood, and you say, "Hey, that sound like fun," but they tell you, "NO! THAT'S NOT FUN! THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD, YOU FOOL!" So I like Football, but not living here as a kid, I just can't see the big deal. It's not you, it's me. Unless you love watching the Superbowl commercials, in which case, it is you.

In which I write a post to avoid having a nervous breakdown

2010-01-30T22:39:00.000-05:00

What day was State of the Union? I wanted to watch it live, but it started just before the baby was going to sleep, so instead of me watching it by myself while Honey put the baby down, she suggested we DVR it and watch it together. Rock'n'roll, Baby, whatever turns you on.

But apparently it wasn't a romantic date. An hour later, when we actually started watching, she was a little tired. When Obama said what he said about the Supreme Court, and Alito, who decided to go without his glasses to look cool, shook his head and said, "Simply not true," I said, "Honey, did you see what Alito just did?" And she said, "Yes." But then I realized her eyes were closed, and probably had been closed for a while.

I had a friend in school, who always took his glasses off to impress the girls. He sometimes even had a cigarette in his mouth. But he had Asthma, and he couldn't see without his glasses, so that look didn't really work for him.

Anyway, did you see that Baltimore thing, with Obama vs. 140 Douchebags? Motherfucker is gooood. These people spend their days calling him a Kenyan terrorist Communist Muslin abortion loving pervert, but when he comes over, they push each other to get his autograph.

A few weeks ago, last time it snowed, our crazy neighbor started shoveling the entire block at 6am. I woke up and just stood by the window, watching her, thinking about the most offensive thing I could tell her. Honey said I needed to relax.

Today's snow storm has just ended, which means the neighbor is down there now. It's 10pm, and she's just started shoveling the block. Again, I stood by the window, and Honey told me I needed to relax.

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" I asked.

"You need to relax."

"Look at her... It has to be a perfect square. She can't just shovel a path. It has to be perfect. Look at that. It's like it didn't snow today. And... Oh my God, she's moving to the next house... She's crazy!"

"You need to relax. You can't just stand there and watch her all night."

"OK. What if I told you there was a crazy person doing crazy things outside? Wouldn't you come to the window and watch him?"

"Yes, but she's been shoveling our snow for seven years now."

So now I'm downstairs, waiting for the neighbor to finish shoveling the block. I've been banished.

It was my birthday this week. 37-years-old. I don't know what else to say. I love round numbers, so 37 is just stupid.

Now the dogs are barking. Maybe it's because there's a crazy woman with a shovel outside. Fucking cunt. Sorry.

Things have been pretty good here. It's not easy right now, but we'll make it. And it's worth it. If she has Honey's face and my brain, that girl is going to be beautiful. Not that clever, but beautiful.

By the way, I wrote another review on Ask And Ye Shall Receive. It will probably be out there on Monday. Have fun reading it and tell me what you think.

It's been half an hour. I think I'm supposed to go upstairs now.

In Which Our Hero Gets Into a Fight

2010-01-20T15:19:00.000-05:00

So there's the Daddy Group thingy I go to once or twice a week. It's winter, so now instead of going to parks, we meet indoors. Last week we met at this guy's house. Of course, I've already established here that I'm a douche, so the first thing I do when I enter is tell him his Ravens sign is all wrong. I've never been to his house, I hardly know the guy, and that's what I do. It's just... I had to say something...

See, the sign had the big Ravens logo, and underneath it said (with the capitalized words painted purple), "Count ON Losing This Saturday." Which doesn't spell COLTS. It spells CONLTS.

But he laughs, and I think maybe he didn't understand what I said, which is probably for the best.

A bunch of us are sitting there. Some of the kids play with each other, others play by themselves. He's giving out coffee and bagels. He has a lot of toys. The whole thing is pretty pleasant.

Then, while everyone starts eating the bagels, one of the host's 4-year-old twins blocks my way to the kitchen. With his leg. Now, I have a few options.

1. I can ask the host to ask his son to move his leg.
2. I can walk around the boy.
3. I can ask him to move his leg.
4. I can move his leg.
5. I can grab his leg, kick the table with it, and say, "Why are you kicking the table? Are you crazy? What's wrong with you? Stop kicking the table!"

Yep.

So now that kid, his twin brother, and another girl are chasing me around the house. They stand in front of me to block my way. Then I turn around and they start climbing over me. Now I'm looking back and see these two blond identical twins hanging on to me, and I'm no longer in their father's house--I'm in a horror movie. These kids will start eating me soon, and they will not stop until I pray for the sweet release of death.

But I get over that, and while they're still on top of me, holding on to my clothes, I sit down on the couch, with the host's kids as cushions.

And I'm thinking to myself, "I've made the right choice. Kids like to play, and I like to play with kids, and sure, it was a bit rough, and for a moment, a bit scary, but in the end, it's all about having FUN!"

But my thoughts are interrupted by the twins' tearful screams. Apparently I went too far.

Wednesday the 13th

2010-01-14T13:52:00.000-05:00

So the day started bad, with the cable box not working. I call Comcast and press all the option buttons, and finally a guy comes on and says, "So you unplugged it and plugged it again and it still doesn't work?"

"Oh, I didn't do that..."

So I unplug it and plug it again and it's alive. But I'm still angry because I was ready for him to say he'll send someone over in a week to fix it, so I say, "What happened there?" And he says, "Probably it wasn't plugged in all the way." And now I'm really angry because IT WAS PLUGGED IN, DAMNIT, so I say, "Well, I'll call again next time it happens!" And he agrees I should do that.

That's just an introduction to what comes later in the afternoon.

The network-router-thingy comes in the mail. I unwrap it, put the CD in, and get an Error 301 message. So I call Cisco and this evil Tech Support woman answers the phone. I think she's going to tell me she'll mail me a new CD or a new router or have someone come over and see what the problem is, but instead she walks me through the entire complicated installation. And I'm not ready for that, because the boy has just had his lunch and he's throwing stuff around and singing, and shouting, "Look! Look! Look!" because obviously I've never seen a Lego tower before, and at one point I turn around and there's a Swifter stick inside my shirt. And the woman is this stereotypical SNL Computer Guy, telling me every few seconds, "Obviously we have a problem here because you don't seem to understand what I'm saying. Do you know the difference between Wired and Wireless?" And she's so mean, and I have Lego towers on my lap and a broom sticking out my back, but I get it to work.

One last thing to do: put the network USB adapter in the back. I bend down under the table, stick the adapter in, and am about to get up, when I realize Liam turned the computer off. Pressing buttons is so much fun in the Science Center, after all. So I turn it back on and get an error message. My Config/System file has been corrupted. So I lie on the floor and wait for Death.

That's how Honey finds me when she gets home from work. Lying on the floor with the spark of life gone from my eyes, and a Lego tower on my chest.

She takes the baby upstairs, giving me the energy to fight on. I call Gateway. We can solve it, but it'll be $60. Well, I guess that's a small price to pay to save all the documents and the baby pictures. Thirty minutes on hold, listening to slap-bass improvisation solos, which I guess are supposed to calm me down, and a Gateway Tech Support Professional is ready to save my computer.

First, he tries to start the computer in Safe Mode.

Doesn't work.

Second, he tells me to insert my original CD. We're going to format the hard drive.

"Wait. Wait! Does that mean deleting everything?" Yes. That's what it means. And there's nothing else we can try? No. File is corrupted. It's all gone.

So I tell him I'll call him back, and I use my cellphone internet to search for "Config System Corrupt," and I find this page, and ten minutes later this is what I see on my computer:

I've never been so happy to see this guy.

Hey, Look at this blog I found

2010-01-11T22:57:00.002-05:00

Rachel took a picture a day in 2000. Now she's taking a picture a day in 2010.

And it's not simply a "Wow! We look older!" What she gets here is a view of growing up and maturing as a person. But more than that, she also gets a view of the changing world in the last 10 years. Maybe I'm seeing too much here, but I'm allowed, because I'm the beholder.

I wonder, for example, if I'm the only one who sees the 2000/2010 photos in light of 9/11. I wonder if she also thinks there's a different feel to the country. Maybe. Or maybe it's in my head. I have always been cynical of the idea that the world changed on 9/11, but maybe subconsciously I do feel this way?

Maybe I just like it because I lived in New York in 2000 (well, Brooklyn), and looking at the blog, I feel like I'm looking at my own transformation.

Here's one example from her blog. The top picture was taken in January 4th, 2010. The bottom one is from January 4th, 2000.

(Found this via Kottke.)

Once Upon a Time

2010-01-03T23:29:00.000-05:00

A young man, about 16 or 17 years old, was lying at the edge of a cliff, looking at the clouds. The young man felt alive. The world was in him and around him. A tiny little speck of happiness, he was nothing and he was everything.

A few years later, the man left his country and found a place where he could evolve and learn. And the more he learned, the more he realized how much more there was to know. He set himself humbly before the world and opened the door to the knowledge and the beauty around him.

Then, after a while, that man then became pretty proud of himself, to be honest.

Because now, he was smart, and he was beautiful, and he knew what kind of people he wanted by his side and what kind of people were wasting his time. He was edgy, and he was rebellious, and he believed in himself.

And the more he believed in himself, the less he thought of others.

And you know what? That's really something you can get used to.

That twenty-something guy would have looked at me chasing my kid around Chuck E. Cheese yesterday with pity, or more likely, with condescension. I would have been one of them. You know them, right? They are the people who chase their kids around, holding their cameras in one hand and the snot rags in the other. They're the ones who think their kids are special. They're the ones who go to Chuck E. Cheese with no sense of irony, as if they could recognize irony if it rained on their wedding day.

But that younger person would have seen it differently. He would have realized that the beauty he found at the edge of the cliff was everywhere, actually. The vision of clouds moving slowly on a warm day was as beautiful as the sound of a child going down a slide. The same mix of living the moment and floating on top of the clouds could also be felt by a father standing a few feet behind his boy, watching his hesitant few steps on his way to interact with other kids. And that humble thirst for knowledge was what being a father was all about.

On our way back home, I panicked for a second. Was that it for me? When I thought to myself that I wanted to go back there as soon as next weekend, was it officially the death of my soul? Funny enough, it was actually the other way around.

The Missing Piece

2009-12-26T10:45:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine in Israel is working on a series of short films that show a person dealing with a missing piece from his past. It could be about something that was being said or something that wasn't said. It could be a missing "I love you" or a missing kiss, or it could be a missing punch in the face.

At the end of the blog post about the project, he asks readers to tell him about their own missing pieces.

I have been trying to find mine ever since I heard about the project a few years ago, but I can't find it. Either I'm lying to myself or I'm living the perfect life. There's no person from my past who needs to hear what I have to say. There's no one to apologize to or kiss or hit. Maybe I'm just shallow. How is it possible that I don't have a missing piece?

Here's one of the shorts, "Haircut."

A Short Post About Reading Blogs and Virtual Hyenas and My First '10s Prediction

2009-12-19T13:52:00.000-05:00

At first, I was so desperate for a good reading, that when I found Blogger, I used to click on that "Next Blog" button some still have on top. Then I found Blog Explosion, where I met Ricardo, and Sebastien, and Tom, and many others. I also met Jerry from Fat Cat Politics, who was the first one to add me to his blogroll. Spammers still leave comments on his blog, two years after his death.

I found more blogs through other people's links. Some people visited here and for some reason stuck around. I met some people through the other blog, where I collect fathers. And now I've done my second review for Ask and Ye Shall Receive. It will be up next week. I'm having fun with that one.

I'm stretching myself too thin, is what I'm saying. (Was that a cliché? Man, I'm so out of the loop, I don't know what's a cliché anymore! Is "Out of the Loop" a cliché?) After all, it's not like I have time to do any of that. I get a few hours at night when everyone is asleep and I type quietly and with constant fear that What's-His-Name wakes up and starts to cry, which means I can't even read or write properly because I'm not focused, which in turn produces run-on sentences.

It also means I haven't been spending enough time reading other people's blogs. And I'm not saying that as an apology; that would be presumptuous. I wish I were able to spend all day reading my favorite blogs, is what I'm saying.

That's it about that. The snow is coming. Maybe there's a metaphor there, but who cares. And anyway, the '10s are going to be the decade of Realism, and everything before that will be lost in time, like tears in the rain, for example.

Speaking of Bottom-Loading Water Coolers,

2009-12-10T19:53:00.000-05:00

I better write something uplifting here, with lots of pictures, so that the people who visit me for the first time after reading this review won't be overwhelmed by my previous post.

Things are better back in the Holy Land, which makes things here easier. It enables us to feel sorry for ourselves for having a cold. The baby having a cold is a different story. It's not easy to listen to my boy cough at night. I put the heat on 70 and I give him Tylenol, but that's really all I can do. I feel helpless.

But he's happy. He jumps around and says funny things in two languages. Let me find a cute picture...

We celebrated his second birthday on Sunday. As usual, the city had a parade.

That's Mayor Dixon. She might be kicked out soon because of Gift-Card-Gate. She was found Guilty a few days before Liam's parade. She is appealing, saying it's nothing more than politically motivated witch hunt. The Baltimore Sun says there's no such thing as a small theft. I guess they're both right, but she's more right.

Hey, here's What'sisname!

So I stood outside for a while and took pictures, but then,

Because it was too cold.

More people came inside.

And anyway, we had more important things to do inside:

But it was too late, and now we're all sick, which is fine. Whatever.

Speaking of random: I wrote an angry email to IKEA and now, as a result, they're sending me a $50 gift certificate. But I hate being the guy who emails Customer Service to complain about shit. It takes a certain type of person to do that, and it's a little disappointing to find out I'm THAT guy. It's not like I did it as part as an overall quest for world-justice.

First, they came for the people with real wooden furniture, and I didn't stop them, because I had IKEA shit. Then, they came for me, and there was no one left to stop them...

Well, that should be enough for now. Fifteen more weeks, Bitches!

Dealing With Shit

2009-12-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes shit is too much, you know? The quadruple bypass surgery shit.

My dad needs to re-learn to live. He can't let the shit get to him anymore. When he leaves the hospital, he needs to commit himself to living right, to setting his priorities, to take it easy. And he has no idea how to do that. Sixty-five years of anger and stress and PTSD is a lot to get over, but maybe this shit he's going through is so traumatic that it just might work.

Even though I have to deal with the guilt of not being able to visit him in the hospital, I'm the real beneficiary of this whole heart-attack and surgery shit.

I know the kind of food he eats, the number of hours he sleeps at night, I know his anger and his stress. And I know I'm a lot like him. I imagine him lying in the hospital, a big man like him with his chest cut open, and I know I don't want to get there. I know I can't stress over things beyond my control, and I know I have to set my priorities and let go of the rest, and I know I have to find time to relax. And I have to sleep, and exercise, and eat well, and be content, because when I'm sixty-five I want to go on a goddamn cruise and get Isaac to pour me a fucking Martini.

My priorities right now are simple. I have a pregnant wife who needs me to bring her laundry up, and a little kid who needs me to put the Elmo video and sit with him and watch this shit again and again and again. Piece of cake.

(By the way, you know I just pretend watching vintage Elmo is a chore. I know there are haters among you, but Elmo is a fellow Baltimorean, and I respect him for that.)

On the Health Care Debate in the Senate and Facebook and New Moon and Sam Brownback's Mom

2009-11-21T16:26:00.001-05:00

It's Saturday, and Honey took the baby on an adventure (grandparents), and I'm all alone. So many great things I've been waiting to do. So yea... I'm watching C-Span on the computer. Every once in a while I even yell, "YOU LIE," now that it's the Republicans' turn to speak. I don't want to generalize here, but Republicans have great hair! Maybe when the GOP becomes completely irrelevant, they can become extras on The Love Boat remake.

This guy, John Cornyn from Texas, just said health care reform would create Gulags. I love Republicans. Such drama queens.

Earlier, Sam Brownback said the abortion provisions in the Senate Bill don't meet the moral criteria. So I used my other-other-other Twitter account to say, "Brownback, your mama doesn't meet the moral criteria." See? Sometimes 140 characters are more than enough.

I started a Facebook page for the other-other blog. Come and say Hi.

I wish Facebook didn't use words like Friends and Fans. These are big words. For you to join my Facebook page, you have to become Fans. That's silly. Couldn't they just use "Members"?

So I'm writing these words even though I know you're not there. You're either standing in line to get an autographed Going Rogue, or in line for New Moon.

I talked to this writer-guy on Thursday, and I asked him for his informed opinion: Am I allowed to make fun of Twilight fans even though I haven't read the books and while enjoying True Blood? He said Twilight was a horribly written romance novel with vampires. In other words, YES!

In which the sex of the Game Changer is revealed

2009-11-11T00:04:00.005-05:00

But before that,

We lived in Silver Spring when the sniper was shooting people in gas stations. I remember putting gas in the car and looking around, wondering if the next one was going to be me or the guy pretending not to hunch down next to me. It reminded me of that movie, Little Murders (look it up, you know? Okay. Here's the trailer). But there was nothing funny about it. And as traumatic as it was, I can't feel good about the guy dying today. I can't feel too bad about it either.

Months of practice have finally paid off today: Baby told his mother he loved her.

I'm trying to take it easy. Trying to find reasons to be stressful, then kill them dead. Things have to change.

I shaved my beard. I do it every once in a while. I like to play games when I do that. First I turned it into a goatee. Then I kept on shaving and made it a douchy goatee (the shorter, straighter version), then I made it into a big bushy mustache. And then--am I alone there?--I turned it into a Hitler. Come on! Everyone Hitlerizes themselves when they shave, no?

Game Changer is a girl. Here's a secret: I was hoping it would be.

I've been meaning to tell you

2009-11-02T00:33:00.000-05:00

that I started a blog recently. Well, it's been more than a year.

Here's the story:

I wanted to register a domain name, thinking I'd just start a niche blog and put some content, then see where I went from there. Maybe sell it. And even though it wasn't going to be a real blog like this one, I wanted to be able to update it every once in a while, so it had to be about something I knew a little about. I was a new father, so I thought I'd write about being a father.

And if it wasn't going to be a real blog, then of course I didn't write about it here, because What's the point?

So I started a blog with a silly name, where I talked about other fathers who blog, and about the things we all have in common, and about the meaning of fatherhood, at least the way I saw it, and about being a Stay-At-Home-Dad in a society that does me a favor and "accepts" me, and before I knew it, it wasn't a fake blog anymore. As much as I tried, I couldn't be cynical about it.

And I was slowly being added to parents' blogrolls, then asked to write a few guest posts in a Baltimore Sun parenting blog, then mentioned briefly on NPR...

And then I thought, Is People in the Sun the fake blog? But it's not, because I let myself go here. I even allow myself to say bad words here, like VAGINA.

Some of you may have actually been there. Well, some of you have been there. My Statcounter told me you were there. And some of you even left comments there, which made me feel weird because I felt I was cheating you with my dual-personality.

And then I felt it was too late to mention it here. And the longer I waited, the worst I felt. It's like coming over to your wife and telling her you've had Herpes for a year and you didn't want to tell her because you didn't want her to know you cheated on her with a crack whore a year ago. See why people come here? It's the metaphors.

So here it is. My own Daddy Blog. Come over and say Hi, and I hope you stay around. I will keep this blog, of course, and my other super-secret blogs, as long as I have something to say. And you know the drill: when I don't have anything to say, you can always count on cute baby pictures.

A Blogger and a Father

I'm not afraid of CUTE

2009-10-22T22:12:00.005-04:00

On the one hand, What's the point of putting up a picture of my baby hugging another kid? See, I wanted to make this blog about... well, everything I say may sounds presumptuous... But even when writing about myself, I never intended this blog to be about me. Makes sense?

When writing about my army days, I wanted to talk about the way soldiers don't really know what they're doing; about the way none of us do, even when we're given a large responsibility over life and death.

When I talked about my dogs, I wanted to show Pit Bulls in a positive light, because these dogs are not just pretty faces. These dogs will stick by you and give their lives if you just ask, no matter what, which is part of their tragic story.

When I talked about my time in London, what I really talked about was the way people move around the world only to discover that mirrors look the same everywhere.

When I talked about Honey, I tried to convey a sense of priorities I believe in, where love is the most important thing we'll experience in our lives. As for what happens after that--

When I talked about religion, I tried to connect with all other Atheists who struggle because they know How but will never now Why.

When I talked about politics, I wanted to show this word matters, and that we can't ignore politics simply because it's so convenient to do so. I wanted to talk about people who die for nothing in Iraq and in Palestine and in Israel. And I wanted to talk about people who live for nothing elsewhere.

When I talked about looking for a job and then about working in a jail, I wanted to talk about--

Well, I wanted to talk about myself, but also about them, and about you. This whole blog was meant to be about us, you know what I mean?

But then I go to the Science Museum with my friend from the Stay-At-Home-Dads group, the sexiest group in town, by the way, and our kids start hugging in each other, and there's no fucking way this stays out of the blog.

So, like I said, on the one hand, What's the point of putting up these pictures?

But on the other hand, some of you may have been here with me for a long time. You were here when I made the announcement. You were here when I couldn't wait. You were here when he was born. And you even stayed around when he got cuter. And now you're here, waiting with me for the Game Changer. And even though the posts that involve a cute baby doing cute stuff seem to say nothing about the human condition and about the tragedy/comedy of humanity, there's still something there.

There's no point to this post. A point would mean there's a greater truth to be found beyond these photos. But at least today, there is none. It's just a few photos, taken in a Science Museum, of two little kids, hugging.

Caillou Makeover, Halo 3, and Teh Gay.

2009-10-15T00:40:00.000-04:00

After those last two posts, one where I made a big announcement and one that talked about pools of blood, I think I'm allowed to relax here. It's Wednesday, after all.

If you go to this site, you can do a makeover! Here's Caillou:

Here's Caillou with a Kate Gosselin.

And a Katie Holmes.

Rihanna.

Anyway.

Here's a video I found. This guy called his Halo 3 character Jesus Died LOL, which is a proof that he's a retard Jew faggot (RJF for short?):

And another thing! Facebook quizzes. I understand if you're at work and you're waiting for the printer to finish getting your annual CGID/4B-B report out, so you spend a couple of minutes answering some questions on a Facebook quiz, but other than that, there's no excuse.

It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. It takes all kinds. Sometimes I forget that.

Honestly, I didn't even know there was a gay rights march. Whoever was supposed to tell me is fired. But here's a year-old photo of a man and a baby in a Baltimore gay rights protest, just so you know I'm indoctrinating my innocent baby into this absurd idea that everyone should be able to get married:

You know what? As long as I'm stealing Kim's photos without permission, here's another one she took that day. This picture is better because it doesn't include some random bald fuck:

And another thing!

Naa. That's enough for now. There will be more meaningful posts later, maybe they will include the thoughts of a man coming to terms with the Game Changer coming his way.

It's all good.

My Jada Pinkett Smith Story

2009-10-10T00:22:00.000-04:00

So this happened on Tuesday. It was getting late, and things around here were winding down. Honey was about to put the baby to sleep, then go upstairs. I was getting ready to go online and tell people they're stupid and racist. But Buddy was crying downstairs, so I went to check on him.

It's not that rare that this crazy dog cries. He's very attached to his toy, and if anyone else accidentally touches it and makes it squeak, Buddy will grab it, lay it down on his cushion, and cry for hours. But I went to check, just to make sure.

There was a puddle of blood on the kitchen floor.

Buddy had gone outside to pee more than usual, I remembered, and he actually puked a little an hour earlier, which also wasn't a big deal (considering his age and the fact that the baby pretty much shares his meals with him). But he never peed blood before.

In the car, on the way to the vet, I sang songs about a dog named Buddy who was a very good boy. I told him that I expected him to live for at least 3 to 4 more years. Then I corrected myself and said, "Let's make it two. I just... I want Liam to remember you..." And I cried and I cried...

So the vet quickly examines him, takes a sample of the blood he left on the floor in her office, and then she has a talk with me. I'm sitting down.

If it happened to a female dog, it would most likely have been a urinary tract infection. But it was very rare for males. Still, it was a possibility. But it could be a kidney stone. Or cancer. They were going to do x-rays and blood work and many other tests and rule out stuff and they would let me know what was going on as soon as possible.

So I was pacing and pacing in the waiting room, and then I was calm enough to start watching "Hawthorne," a medical drama series on TNT, starring Jada Pinkett Smith. Did you know hospital workers work very long hours? They mentioned that there. And there's romance between the doctors and the nurses, and power plays. It was painful. It had every medical drama cliché we've seen on every medical drama series, only with worse acting. I peeked into the treatment area. Nothing.

Then "Saving Grace" started. It's a police drama starring Holly Hunter. There was a body in the freezer, but it was just a prank! Cops work very long hours, and they fall in love with each other, and they often take their work home with them! But to diffuse the tension, they pull pranks on each other too. The vet came outside only to thank me for being patient. No news yet.

Then another "Hawthorne." This was actually a repeat of the one they showed an hour earlier. But I watched it again anyway. How can the doctor not know she's in love with him? Why do people play games like that? Where the fuck was my dog?

And then the vet came back and told me that the bad things had been ruled out, and that even though a urinary tract infection was rare for males, his old age means that's likely what it was.

And was I overcome with joy? See, that's the kind of person I am: I hear these great news and all I can think is, "I can't believe you made me watch this shit. Twice!"

Year 3 of People in the Sun

2009-10-01T15:44:00.000-04:00

Le Ballon Bleu

2009-09-17T18:49:00.000-04:00

Man, did you see that thing with the guy who yelled and stuff, and then the other guy did it, and then the other guy, he's like, "What a Jackass," and she's like, "Oh yea? How do you like this tennis ball up your ass?" and that little sissy runs over and tells on her! What a douche!

And poor Bill! Someone's like totally going for his throat and shit. Speaking of Andy, he'll always be Frank Sobotka to me.

Did you see The Flaming Lips on Colbert?

What's that you said? 14 young hookers? Just claim them as dependents!

A guy up the road killed a burglar with a samurai sword. I don't want to sound cold, but how do you say awesome in Japanese?

The show "Community" starts today. It's starring my boyfriend.

In other news, my baby had his first taste of Blue Bunny "Champ" ice cream, which means everything from now on will be a disappointment.

And finally, here's a short video from Hampden Fest (hint: this video is a metaphor for life! I just haven't decided in what way yet):

Happy New Year, Jews!

An open letter to people who pulled their kids away from school to save them from indoctrination, to people who think the President is a Communist, a Socialist, or a Nazi, and to those who stand up in Town Hall meetings and yell about health care reform:

2009-09-09T01:53:00.001-04:00

It's just shades of brown. Get over it.

Howard Kurtz is our Perv Monster of the Week

2009-09-06T18:53:00.000-04:00

Look at what I found on Teh Twitter.

This is CNN's Howard Kurtz's Twitter page. He follows 81 people (click the image to get a better look), which is a relatively low number, considering the millions of accounts there. So who are the 81 people the ombudsman of the news media follows? My first guess would be Pulitzer winning journalists. Maybe a few anchors? Maybe even a few independent or online media people, like writers for The Huffington Post. And maybe, just to round things up, a few celebrities with strong political opinions, like Alec Baldwin or the dead Ron Silver.

But Howard Kurtz is a perv monster, so on the top left of the few people whose tweets he follows is Megan Fox. Which guarantees the prestigious PMOW Award goes to Mr. Kurtz. Congratulations!

Twelve

2009-08-26T02:29:00.000-04:00

Mercy Now @ Yahoo! Video

No presents this year. Everything is good, don't get me wrong, but life is a bit hectic right now. The baby is not really a baby anymore, which makes life a little harder (and more rewarding). And Honey's work is very demanding (and rewarding). And who needs stupid presents, anyway?

You know, I've been saying "I love you" every day for 12 years now. And just like I knew 12 years ago that This Was It, I still know that no matter what, I will follow her always and anywhere. And I will continue to tell her those three words as long as I live and a thousand years after I'm gone.

We've been through a lot in 12 years. We made a human. He turned out--you know, I wanted to put something funny here, like he turned out alright or he turned out to be pretty cute, but truth is he turned out amazing.

And it's all you, Honey.

Well, both of us.

And it's silly to put that sad song up there, but Love means listening when your Honey tells you she loves a song, and embedding that song on your blog, no matter if the song talks about a romantic date or about the contemporary emotional vacuum in a world dominated by fear.

But just in case the song is a little too depressing, here's a cute picture of a boy sitting on a chair.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. I love you. We both do.

Bandwagons

2009-08-20T01:37:00.008-04:00

So a while ago I started a blog, partly because I saw other people doing it and I didn't want to become the guy who said, "You and your meshuga internetz," and, "In my day..."

There's been a lot of foolishness, don't get me wrong. Some of it I fell for, and some I knew would fall. I was able to look back at some silly start-ups and say, "Did you really think this was a good idea?"

Like this thing were you follow people and you write posts of 140 characters or less. I mean, what kind of random shit is that?

And Rick Sanchez from CNN liked it, which proved it was silly. And then Jon Stewart made fun of it, which was everything I needed to know.

So anyway, I'm thinking of signing up.

And the same for that other thing were I get to become friends with people I avoid in normal life, and then de-friend them when they write something offensive (because doing that would make me feel good about myself).

Because how else would I be the first to know what Sarah Palin thinks about without the filter of the Gotcha Media? How else would I easily add my name to the Boycott Whole Foods list?

I mean, I already climbed the bandwagon when I started this blog, so joining these other things simply means I'm staying on the wagon. Or something like that. My metaphors confuse me. Like tears in the rain.

So tell me, internets, do I sign up as me me, or as People in the Sun? Or should I have two accounts on each? What a pain... Really, my life is already complicated enough without these things.

And also, as long as I got the nerds' attention, we finally finished Battlestar Galactica, and I don't want Honey to think I'm ignorant. So just in case, what happened to Starbuck in the end?

A post about daddy groups, negativity, and Kaká

2009-08-13T01:09:00.001-04:00

I've been quiet about that, but I've joined a daddy-group thingy, which makes my baby happy and postpones my nervous breakdown. Here's my happy baby and a cute girl on a trampoline:

My dad took me to one single soccer game when I was a kid. Maybe because we were poor? Or maybe because he didn't get the hint of me creating multiple folders of Maccabi-Tel-Aviv-related photos and articles? Anyway, it was a friendly between Israel and Wales. I know--it does sound like a bad joke with no punchline. But maybe this could be it: The score at the end was 0-0.

And look at my baby in a suite watching Real Madrid vs. DC United. Kids today...

So we were at the lake, and it was almost relaxing. But, you know... Some people say one thing and from that moment on everything they say and do is proof that they're my motherfucking enemies. A cousin said he was a Republican. That's all it takes. Which explains the anger I felt whenever he did anything atrocious like turn the AC up or refer to his son as Buddy, or rent a boat. Those Republicans with their fucking boats, eh? Fascists!

Which proves one thing: the only relaxing vacation I'll ever get to have is the one I take from my own silly little overworked and underpreforming brain.

Thought of the Week

2009-07-31T15:51:00.000-04:00

I'm leaving for a week. We all are. Like, twenty of us. Or ten. There's a rented house by the lake. Like that movie with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bollocks. But with better acting.

Before I go, I'll leave you with a thought that's been bugging me for a while now. I'll make it short, because I've noticed people react better to short-and-to-the-point posts, rather than to the ones where I question stuff and not come up with an answer because it's POST MODERN, like Obama's Beer Summit, or Sarah Palin.

Do you think that for men, the feeling of emptiness after sex is some kind of Empty Nest Syndrome?

See you in a week!

The Roommate Who Got Away

2009-07-23T22:26:00.008-04:00

The first time I saw him, he was sitting on a speaker, screaming and clapping like it was the most amazing show in history. I met him a couple of days later when we were both assigned to work as security guards at the same school. I told him I saw him in the show, and he said, "Yea... I didn't really like them."

He was dismissive of authority. He wasn't against it--just considered it irrelevant.

We used to sit and play music by the side of the highway.

He wrote some music on his four-track. Then one day he smashed it against the wall because he didn't like what he heard.

One day it was just me and him sitting in his room, when all of a sudden he got up, looking excited and happy. He was standing like that for a moment and then he said, "What did I want to do?" Then he added, "Oh yea. Nothing," and sat back down, laughing.

One day, out of nowhere, it seemed, he wrote a letter and addressed it to all of us. He made us read it in front of him. We weren't giving him enough attention. Weren't concerned enough about his mental health.

Then he moved back to Israel. Did some random stuff like teach scuba diving. Then he moved to Switzerland and lived for years in an apartment which he left only to go to the grocery store.

I got to talk to him once a couple of years ago. He was into computer games. I told him about the blog. Maybe he visited. maybe he didn't. Maybe he's reading this line right now.

He recently told a friend he was seriously getting into religion. He wasn't following all the rules, though. Not yet. For now he was just growing a beard.

He also told her he was moving politically to the right.

And maybe this whole post is about me. Maybe it's again about the loss all immigrants inevitably feel. When I find out I had lost control of the fate of past friendships and that I'm irrelevant to the people who had been so close to me, then I know I'm moving further away from Home.

The Great Wall of China

2009-07-12T23:23:00.004-04:00

I've changed the template, because, you know. Please let me know what you think. Is it a disaster? I'm trying, y'all.

In other news, a few years ago, Jill tagged me with a meme thingy. I thought I'd do it now, but I couldn't find it. Sorry... Here's a flower instead. (Jill, I expect you to say, "How did you know Jesus-Yellow was my favorite color?")

But I did make a note of Ricardo's 3-months-old meme, so I'll do that one.

It's basically 10 honest facts meme, which I guess would be a break from the norm. For example, the highly-paid model whose pictures I use in this blog will get a week off while I finally reveal my true identity:

This picture was taken in a light bulb store. Man, it was so hot there--I just had to unbutton my shirt and shave my chest. Wait, what the hell is wrong with my right thumb?

Anyway, here are the facts:

1. I'm not doing as much as I can. As much as I should. About a lot of things.

2. I'm shaking with the fear that the little guy will wake up from his nap and start crying. I mean, I love him, and when he wakes up I'll make him an omelet and potatoes, and he'll throw his leftovers on the floor so the dogs can have some, and it'll be funny because he knows he's not supposed to do that, but how can I stop him when he's being so cute and kind like that? But please, sleep for another 30 minutes...

3. And just when I'm thinking about that, Buddy starts to cry downstairs. He can't be hungry. Drives me crazy. We were at the vet yesterday, and I felt so much love for him because he's this giant scary monster of a dog who's now old and scared of everything, and he wishes he could have the dog next door as a friend, but he also knows he can't control himself around other dogs. So he's this sad old dog (that has had a good life, I think, don't get me wrong), and he counts on me, and he'll give his life for me or for Honey or for his favorite human, the one who feeds him most, but sometimes I think about that day 10 years ago, and I know I didn't have a clue what I was getting myself into. I wouldn't do it differently now, though. He was my friend. I couldn't let my roommate take him to a shelter where he would die. But when he or his sister wake the baby up I want to bang my head on the floor so hard it'll pop up in the middle of The Great Wall of China.

4. Speaking of good boys, the baby just woke up. But he's not crying. He's saying, "Two," which is the most fun number to say. See you later.

5. Man, I have such a headache.

6. But even if we just concentrate on the hard part, like "Since when don't you like pasta? You love pasta!" or even worse stuff, like making my head explode, I can't imagine going back to work for some shitty place like fucking Comcast fucking Customer Service. I'm being too hard on them. You get free cable and internet if you work there!

7. I speak to the baby in Hebrew because I want him to speak Hebrew. But why is it so important to me? I can't find a good reason anymore.

8. I'm no Marilyn Manson, but honestly, sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I can't imagine how Honey can even kiss me good night. What does she see that I don't? I mean, I can be presentable. I can shave the upper-cheek hair. But most of the time I think I'm a little hard on the eyes. If you ask me.

9. It's just me and the baby for a few days now, and I'm thinking We'll go to the pool, and we'll go to the zoo, and we'll walk all around the neighborhood, and we'll go on car rides, and we'll eat Rita's ice cream, and we'll play all the time, and it'll be so much fun, but then his grandma calls and asks if I want her to help by having him stay with her for a day, and I tell her I'll let her know later tonight. Although, really, it was a borderline-rhetorical question. I could use a breather.

10. As long as we're honest, I have some guilty pleasures, like this blog. Go on. It's okay to look.

And as usual, I'll be happy if anyone pretends I've tagged him or her, but I'm not going to tag anyone because I've been burned before, man.

Sookie!

2009-07-08T02:07:00.000-04:00

I don't have the clear mind to write a real post. Meanwhile, here's what's been happening on the TV.

There's been some real news in the world, like an escalating war in Afghanistan, and Biden admitting the government is just throwing money away, and hundreds dead in China for who-knows-what (something about--well, it's a very offensive term for white people who pretend to be black people, something like that), and a military coup next door, and the woman who could have been President gave a speech about basketball. But according to the news channels, nothing came close to the news that Michael Jackson was still dead.

Seriously, all news channels giving us the entire live broadcast of the memorial with hours of post-memorial commentary. And God help me, I turn to Fox News out of desperation, and they have a story about parents of a soldier who died in Iraq the same day Michael Jackson died, and the parents are upset that no one even talks about dead soldiers anymore.

And I have to admit Fox News has finally got something right. (even though Fox News is guilty of pushing this country into this war in the first place, but that's kinda beside the point).

And Caillou. What the fuck is up with him? Why is he bald? Is he sick? Shit drives me crazy. Oh, it's actually the first question on caillou.com FAQ page. I guess I'm not alone after all.

And going back to Michael Jackson. MSNBC, every time you talk about him you're going to bring out this tool? His name is Toure. There's supposed to be a little whatchamacallit line above the E, but who gives a fuck. Toure, you missed a button. And who died and left you with no last name, wanker?

Going back to Sprout Channel, how great are the Pajanimals?

Speaking of True Blood, I got someone here who Googled "Is Alexander Skarsgard gay?" For the record, I don't know.

And then I turn to one of them Nickelodeon channels, and I start watching this hideous cartoon about monsters or something, and I'm thinking about the way childrens' TV nowadays is destroying the minds of a generation, and how in my day things were different, but then I realize it's the funniest thing I've ever seen. I couldn't find it on the TV schedule now, but there are TV episodes here.

And here's one of the original web videos:

This post should have been about my torture device

2009-06-26T16:52:00.007-04:00

I wanted to write about my torture device.

This is actually an antique from the Middle-Ages, originally used to remind people who forgot they were Jewish that they were indeed the children of Abraham.

You climb a little step. It's pretty comfortable. A nice handle on each side. Very stable. Look, it's a little cup-holder thingy. And look at all these buttons!

So this post was supposed to be about the torture device I have upstairs, the one that makes my face look like a ripe tomato, makes me cry inside, scares me... The torture device I hate because it reminds me on a nearly-daily basis how I have let myself go.

I mean, there are people who exercise, and there are cool people like me. There are people who put themselves through shit, and there are people who know life's too short. There are "You-can-do-it!" self-delusional yuppie douchebags, and there are those who know life was never meant to be a struggle.

So why do I do it? I don't know. Because it's there. And because the doctor told me I had to do it if I wanted to see my son grow up.

And on Father's Day I sent the boy and his mother away to grandma, and I climbed my torture device, and I pressed some buttons. And I finally reached 5 miles, which was my Father's Day gift to myself.

So I wanted to write about all that, but instead, here's a video for Honey:

I need a vacation from my vacation

2009-06-16T15:12:00.011-04:00

Here's the short, inoffensive version. Because. And because I feel better. And because who cares, anyway. And because what's the point? I'll just say one thing: Sometimes I look at myself and see too much fucking average, and it makes me feel stupid and redundant. But then I go back there to the constant stress of aggressive drivers and endless war and constant fear and family guilt and family quarrels, and I look at myself and feel a little proud that I've made it through as a half-functioning human being. I'm not doing that bad after all.

Now on with our story.

David Simon was on our plane to England. And I saw John Waters in Eddy's Supermarket a couple of months ago. Which means I've now seen all of Baltimore's real celebrities.

We went to the London Zoo. Liam, having a good time?

We had a drink in the Dublin Castle, where twelve years earlier we met.

We saw some of the old roommates. It was great. They changed and they haven't changed.

People in England like to make fun of Americans because Americans voted for an idiot who took them to war. English people voted for a smart man who took them to the same war, so I don't know which one's better. And now they voted the Nazis in. And that whole What's-His-Face political scandal is pretty unbelievable. Like this MP who went to church for a memorial service and donated 5 Pounds to the church, and then got reimbursed. It's a funny little Twilight Zone of a place, where they drive on the wrong side and drink tea with milk and everyone reads The Sun and turns to page 3 to see the daily boobies. And the new Heathrow Terminal 5 can kiss my bum.

On the bus from the plane to the terminal (because progress means you take a bus to the gate), there's a sign that says the bus was "Voted best bus of 2007," which makes me feel a little cheated, because it's not 2007 anymore.

Then we flew to Israel.

In Israel, we went to this park with my parents. Daddy, having a good time?

Went shopping a couple of times.

My friends live near Pinnes Street.

Israel: Pressure, stress, stomach viruses, jellyfish stings.

But also sunsets.

And just look at this waterfall. Could have been nice if this country had some water, though. You know, for the waterfalls. Maybe after they invade Iran, now that the Mossad has rigged their elections.

And cable cars.

And pasta.

And great-grandmas.

Here's me going down the mountain. It was a profound experience.

It's not really me, you know.

Saw Jack Black on our way back in Terminal 5. I really should prepare one-liners just in case I meet celebrities.

It's fucking good to be home, I'll tell you that.

(Oh, and here's a picture of the family. As usual, Cadet Mahoney has agreed to stand in for Honey).

(and it's not an optical illusion. My sister does have three arms).

See you in two weeks

2009-05-26T22:39:00.002-04:00

Again, it's time to follow in the footsteps of Jesus and head on East. There will be stories when I come back. And pictures of cute babies. And that's about it. But it will be fun, so don't abandon me.

Meanwhile, head on to Puntabulous and see my speaking role in The Starship Puntabulous.

And you still have some time to vote for the Wishful Writer in Murphy-Goode, PICK ME!

And see what you can do to help Jeff get his business off the ground in Thank you! I'll TAKE that help.

And click that "Random Post" tab above the header (or here). It will take you places.

Speaking of the Star Trek movie, if you go back in time after your civilization is destroyed, do you spend all your time getting revenge for something that hasn't happened yet, or do you try to prevent it from happening? Or are all the explosions and sound effects supposed to stop me from asking silly questions?

And finally, here's a video of a cute baby talking on his cell.

A Short Post About Human Nature

2009-05-17T01:34:00.000-04:00

It was a nice day, so we took a walk around the block.

Look at the big bus! Cover your ears! It's an ambulance! How cute you are when you say Hi to everyone you see... Maybe I should do the same?

Where are you? Oh.

He was standing a few feet behind me, looking at the ground, then walking slowly in a circle. I walked back and saw the caterpillar.

Look how many legs he's got! He's cute, right?

It was slowly moving toward him, then it arched its back and turned the other way. We followed it. My little kid interested in nature. How cute!

We continued following it.

If you look closely, you'll see this is the head. It's hard to tell which side is the head, right? It's a funny creature. It's called a C-A-T-E-R-P-I-L-L-A-R. Look how all the legs are moving together! Wait!!!

Why the fuck did you do that for?

So a Jew goes to a strip club

2009-05-07T13:31:00.001-04:00

It's funny. And it's fun. But it's not sexy.

Baltimore strippers are completely nude. Good for us. So this woman goes up on the table, takes her bikini off, and starts dancing, which is already a bit silly. Maybe I just didn't have time to find her attractive, or maybe I'm already too drunk by this point, but here's a completely naked woman dancing in front of me, and nothing.

And I'm not alone there. The guys in the table next to ours completely ignore their dancer because they're watching the boxing match. They have a vagina in front of their faces but they're watching the guys hit each other.

At this point I'm becoming very philosophical.

Because I have a dancing vagina in front of my face, but here comes the fully clothed waitress and I'm thinking, "When she bends over to serve the drinks, maybe if I lower my body enough I'll be able to see her panties!"

And it's a bit pervy, but considering I have a dancing vagina in front of my face, it's not too bad.

So the waitress leaves, and the boxing match ends on the second round, and I have to confront the dancing vagina again. I buy a beer and get $14 change in dollar bills, which I assume I need to hand over to the dancing vagina. But I don't, because it's all just so weird. It's not even primal or "true nature of Man" or whatever. It's just what it is: you're holding a dollar bill in your mouth and she picks it up with her boobies, and, what, that's a turn on? So I don't do that.

Maybe if I weren't drunk, and maybe if my Honey wasn't home with the baby, or maybe if this woman took her time taking her bikini off instead of...

And what's with all the shaving? You're not a mannequin. You're not a 5-year-old girl. You're a woman. I'm not saying Sherwood Forest, but give me something.

I like sexy. I've got nothing against sexy. And I'm not uncomfortable or anything.

But it's just so silly. A bunch of dudes staring at a vagina.

On an Investigation into the Politics of Torture

2009-04-30T12:56:00.000-04:00

When people analyze Obama's first 100 days, talking about how well he is fulfilling his campaign promises, they mention concrete issues. He said he would set a timetable to leave Iraq. He said he would close Guantanamo. He seems to be keeping his promises, people say.

But what about the new America he has promised?

I grew up with an idealistic view of America. This was the land that gave us Raiders of the Lost Ark. This was Disneyland and Bonanza. This was Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, and all that.

But then I grew up some more, and America was also the country that invaded Vietnam, bombed Cambodia, and sent mercenaries to train death squads in Latin America. Cold War America was about being the lesser of two evils, the politics of the ends justifying the means.

People had a few alternatives. They could ignore what was being done. They could try to justify it and quiet their own conscience in the process. Or they could face it and say, "This is my country. This is my government. This will not be done in my name."

Obama ran as a new leader for a new nation. This was going to be a country that faced its dark side and collectively exorcised it.

Obama is doing a lot. I know. He is closing Guantanamo. He is saying America will not torture anymore.

He's also telling us to move on.

But as long as this country fails yet again to face its past horrors, there will be those who justify the horrors, and down the line, people who repeat them.

This country has failed to determine the necessity of the atomic bombs in World War II. This country treats Kissinger like a lovable elder statesman. And as for Bush, everything will soon be forgotten.

Obama has promised us a new America, a truly participatory Democracy. But instead, he is telling us to move along. The government is in control. We will not torture ever again, he says. Or at least not until the next administration comes along.

Earth Day

2009-04-21T15:45:00.010-04:00

Remember I used to write meaningful stuff here? A lot of existential shit about what it meant to be a man or a human or an immigrant or a cool guy or a hunk (I wear many hats) in this big world.

But then I made a baby and now he's walking around, being cute, and the edge is gone.

How can I keep my readers? People used to come here to think! People used to come here with the chance of self-discovery. If I looked at something in a peculiar way and managed to convey those feelings in a way that made sense to others--in a way that made them rethink common sense! Well, is there anything better than that?

And now it's all about the baby.

This blog is now officially cute.

And you'll leave me soon...

Unless--

Unless I post a picture of a butt!

I swear, I didn't even know it was there.

The Flaming Lips!

Quick, before mommy gets back, tell them you're sad because mommy left you, and daddy is all alone.

Nerdzzzz!

Gaius Baltar?

A Beautiful Day In My Neighborhood

2009-04-13T01:07:00.009-04:00

Let me try to explain what my neighborhood is like.

This street in the picture below becomes at some point a Scenic Route. It's historical and it reaches Pennsylvania. But where I live, scenic means a lot of guys standing around with their shirts off. More than likely, they have neck tattoos.

If you go down a couple of blocks, you get to the 7-11.

In that corner, on these bricks, usually you'll find a guy sitting. Sometimes, when cars stop at the light, the drivers open the window, and the guy gives them stuff. I added him, just so you'll have a better idea.

And here's a Google Map image of a restaurant. (I added the BYE).

But probably the best way to describe the neighborhood is to mention the Royal Farms, which is basically for people who find 7-11 too upscale. Now... if only there was a Google Map picture of a legless man sitting next to a trashcan. And in front of him there would be a man or a woman slumped on a bench, smoking a cigarette, of course. A cane resting on the knee could be a nice touch. Oh look!

But is it a man or a woman?

Well H-E-L-L-O there!

I saw this website where you can quickly find houses for sale in the area, so of course I went there and looked at my next door neighbors' house.

Very nice. Let's go inside.

Oohh. Tasteful! Let's continue to the kitchen.

Look, a cat! Cozy! Let's go in the back.

Very nice. I'm almost convinced. Let's just look at one more picture of the house from the backyard.

Beautiful. How much do you want? Oh. Sorry. Wait.

What's with the douchebag on the right? What's his problem?

(I swear, I don't just stand around like that. I'm not that creepy. Really. I was outside with the dogs, I think. And I must have been looking at them. Or maybe I am a creepy douche).

La Fleur!

2009-04-04T01:03:00.015-04:00

Sometimes my baby is so angry. It's ridiculous. Look at this picture. He's like a teenager.

Earlier today I actually took a well-deserved break from this guy and went to get a root canal.

I know I'm not the only one who falls asleep on the chair. It's like, the more shit they put in my mouth, the more sleepy I get. And all of a sudden I'm in a magical world, with trees and waterfalls. And look, it's a friendly tiger (is there any other kind?)

And then I woke up and there was frickin' smoke coming out of my mouth. And I wanted to ask if it was normal but I couldn't because obviously I had the entire enchanted forest in my mouth, which was now a volcano in Alaska. So I went back to sleep.

----------------------------------------------------

Now here are my adventures in TV Escapism:

Hooray for Lost.

And My Boys is back!

I think Diego's mom is cute, but it could be just the pain killers speaking.

And here's a little something for my Honey:

Okay okay. Here's a little something for Honey:

My Dodgeball Story

2009-03-27T22:48:00.006-04:00

My time in the Temp Gulag ended when a friend got me a job as a security guard in Jewish schools.

First of all, here's something I learned about principals: I don't have any. See, I started working at a non-religious school and got to know some of those who worked at the religious ones. They were told to wear the skullcap out of respect or whatever. And I looked down at them and said, "I will never do that. I don't have a problem with anyone wearing that if he's religious, but no one is going to make me put this thing on my head if I'm not a believer!"

But then we got rotated and I was told to put a cap on and I did because, you know, what's the big deal?

Here's a funny story about how this whole private security in Jewish schools started in London. It used to be parents and people from Jewish organizations who volunteered to work the gate. Some of them even had walkie-talkies. But then these two Israeli dudes came to the guy in charge of security for the Jewish community, and told him they would provide him with Israeli ex-soldiers to work the security in the schools.

And even though they tried to hype it up as much as possible, the guy didn't buy it. Why should they spend a fortune on something they could get for free from parents?

So they planted a few suspicious packages along school fences and tried again, this time telling the guy only Israelis had the sense to recognize danger. For example, let's walk along the fence and see if we find anything suspicious the parent may have missed earlier. And that's how two crooks got to be in charge of the security of all the Jewish schools in London.

But the real story is coming.

I was seating in my little hut, armed with an alarm button that was supposed to be connected to the nearest police station but we all knew had no batteries, listening to GLR and drinking tea, thinking about nothing. The school principal tapped on my window and signaled for me to come out.

I put the alarm button in my pocket, because I was programmed to do that, and I followed the principal, who told me the school was having a student vs. staff dodgeball game, and if I could play for the staff team it would be great. Other than Good Morning, that was the only time she talked to me that year. I actually mumbled something about Who's gonna work the security if I'm playing dodgeball? So she called the janitor, a 65-year-old cockney. He went back to his room, picked up his mug, rolling paper, and tobacco, then took the alarm button from me, and slowly walked to the hut, mumbling angry words only he could understand.

I was ready to have some fun!

It started as fun. I got a few kids out. Caught a few risky throws. And then I looked back and realized teachers behind me were dropping. And the next time I dared to look, I was the only one playing for the staff. And in front of me, only one boy.

He was the king of the school. All the girls were in love with him. All the boys looked up to him. Everything came easy to him. And the worse thing about it--it was justified. He was just this really nice twelve-year-old kid, you know? And he was even the best dodgeball player in the school!

Apart from me.

I don't know if I looked at him and saw my own school's popular kid, laughing because no one would dance with me. I don't know. I don't know if it was revenge, primal instinct, or accident. I don't know if in a parallel universe I saw that ball coming my way and made a different choice.

But Hell, motherfucker wasn't going to take me down.

My Worst Job Ever

2009-03-20T21:39:00.005-04:00

I was new in West London (imagine London. Now imagine the opposite of London. That's West London), and I needed a job to pay for my unbelievably tiny room. I saw this ad for a temp place, so I called, and the next sunrise I was standing outside the agency, smoking a cigarette, waiting for the van. Now, that's how temp work goes: You get picked up and then you get dropped off at the door of some random building, and you hope for the best.

But before I get to the worst job ever, here's the runner up: Marks & Spencer warehouse.

You get a 30 minute lunch break. Now, they give you a card to slide when you take a break, but the machine is near your work area while the cafeteria is a five minute walk, so really, you only get 20 minutes. This means that the full timers, the middle-aged Indian women, didn't even bother making the track. They just signed out and sat there with their home-made sandwiches.

But the way they cheat you of ten minutes was not the worst part about that job.

My job was to take the plastic off clothes. I was just going from hanger to hanger, pulling the plastic off. Then I got an electric shock, which was weird, but I continued. Then I got another shock. And another.

So I walked to this group of women and I told them about it, and they laughed. "Yes. You get shocks." And I was stunned. They had been working there for maybe twenty years, and they were getting electric shocks all the time, and they were okay with it?

"If you put one foot on the metal at the bottom it's not that bad," one of them said, feeling a little sorry for the source of entertainment for the day, the newbie who still cared about a little jolt here and there.

And you know what? These women--that's their lives. They get electric shocks for 8-12 hours a day, five or six days a week. And when they get a break they don't even bother. And I don't feel sorry for them because who am I to feel sorry for anyone, but there's just so much fucked up shit in the world. You know?

I didn't mean to go there. I wanted to write about my worst job ever.

The van dropped me off at the door, and this dude welcomed me with a smile and showed me the machine. You see? You take this piece of paper and you put it in the machine, and the machine laminates it and it falls straight into that box. It's self-explanatory, really. Just another thing. When a box is full, you put it in the corner there and grab an empty box and put it in front of the machine. First tea break is at ten-thirty. See you then.

And I did that all day. I took a piece of paper, fed it to the machine, then took another paper and fed it to the machine. And another one. And another one. And about half an hour later, when the box was filled with laminated paper, I put it in the corner, and I was really happy to do that because it was a change of scenery.

My Rite Aid Story

2009-03-12T23:47:00.004-04:00

Last week I went to Rite Aid with my chick-magnet to drop off a prescription. I sat him on the counter and waited for the pharmacist to look up. When she did, she actually jumped off her chair with the biggest smile I've ever seen.

"Oh my God, that's the cutest baby! Look at these big blue eyes! Oh my God, you came here and brought the sunshine with you! Hey! Look at this cute baby! Have you ever seen a baby this cute?"

And I'm thinking, "That's right! And I'm his daddy," because I kinda claim some of his stardust.

And then she starts looking at my prescription, but she can't take it anymore! So she lays the paper on the counter and runs back inside, coming back a minute later with this Rite Aid teddy bear.

And I'm thinking, "That's right!" because obviously when the ladies look at us together they think I'm also cute. And although my hair is not very sunshine-y (more like a full moon), they subconsciously take it as a truism that I'm cute because I have a cute baby. Obviously.

So two days later I go back to Rite Aid to drop off another prescription, and the same pharmacist is sitting there, and in my head I say something smart and cute, like, "Don't I get a bear too?" But before I have a chance to say anything, she lifts her head and says, "Yes?!"

So I stutter a bit, "I… I have a prescription?"

And she looks at me like I just ran over her puppy, and she says, "Been here before?"

Facing the Sun

2009-03-06T21:53:00.005-05:00

I wanted to write a short post about my visit to Rite Aid because it was funny. Not Funny-Ha-Ha, more like Funny-Ain't-That-Somethin'.

And I had it all planned out, with the punchline and everything, but then today was nice so I ended up writing this post about facing the sun.

I don't know who told him that. Someone, at some point, must have told my dad that you can't take pictures in front of the sun. Nope. Never. Pretty much the 11th Commandment.

(And I know I'm going to hear from him sometime this weekend, and he's gonna say, "But it's a fact. Everyone knows you can't take pictures in front of the sun. No one needs to tell me that. It ruins the picture!")

In all of my childhood photos (and my sister's), give or take five accidental candid masterpieces, we're standing still with our arms by our sides and with forced smiles and narrow eyes, because it wasn't enough for my dad to avoid standing in front of the sun, he had to stand between us and the sun to get a proper exposure or whatever. And we tried to resist every once in a while. We tried to move around a bit. But God gave us eleven commandments, and it wasn't for us to question them.

And this pointless story is just an excuse to post these pictures I took today of my baby.

Day at the Museum

2009-02-27T01:28:00.006-05:00

I thought it would be a good idea to take the baby to the Baltimore Museum of Art. It made sense, kinda. In my head, we were walking together, I point at statues and explain the history and the social conditions that created the background to this or that piece of art, and even though he doesn't understand, he gets the general idea that art is something to be revered by mere mortals.

But as much as I tried to keep a straight face through it all, and as much as I love Asian art, for example (and not sure why), I just couldn't play the game. So much of the museum is basically a Hard Rock Cafe of dead rich Baltimoreans, only instead of Keith Richards' guitar you have some dead merchant's desk.

And there's art too, don't get me wrong. All the big ones. Like what's her name who painted flowers that looked like vaginas, and Matisse and Picasso and all them Euros. But I've seen it all before... And the African art and the Native American art... Really? How old do I have to be to be able to stop pretending I'm in awe of a mask?

Listen, I don't mean to be controversial or anything... Hey look, a gay teapot!

Liam, Baby, what do you think?

Mr. Freeman's Interview Thingy

2009-02-20T02:32:00.006-05:00

Here's the story. I got the interview thingy from SJ, and about six weeks later I answered his questions and offered to interview others. A Free Man answered the call of duty and then restarted a different interview thingy that was initially on Citizen's blog, where every commenter interviews the next commenter.

I know. It sounds really confusing, which explains two things:

1. Mr. Freeman did two posts about the interview thingy. This is the first one, and it includes my questions to him, and this is the other, the more official one, I guess. Go there if you want to participate. It'll be fun.

2. When I commented on his post I didn't realize I was going to be interviewed. When people start explaining stuff I think about clouds and puppies. I think Timothy Dalton was good as Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, but he sucked as James Bond. My baby is cute, but if he turns off the computer again I'm sending him to the basement with a black and white TV and some Baby Ruth. We went out today but it was windy. Our neighbors are moving. Hooray!

But then Heather emailed me eight questions and added some really nice words and I'm completely humbled and take it all back. She dug deep into this obscure corner of the virtual world and found more of Me than I thought was in here. You know what I mean?

But before I answer her questions, let me link to the answers I got from others:

Freeman

Frosty (she will be Penny Margolis on Life on Mars on 2/25!)

Ginny

Kristen

Aimee

SJ

Lola

And there should be two or three more coming, I hope. I'll update this post if I see more.

Now, the interview:

1. I noticed that the abbreviation of your screen name creates either the word PIS, PITS, or PS and as I try not to insult people before I know them which version do you prefer?

One day I started a blog, not really knowing what I was doing, and then suddenly I had an online identity. It's still strange. I probably should have established my name at the beginning. But I didn't, so now I get Peeps, People, PIS (from Freeman), and mostly PITS. A few days ago I got Eric. Not sure why.

2. I also have pleasant memories of Prospect Park; when you adopted your two Pit Bulls did you have any misgivings due to their bad reputation? Do you concern yourself with reputations?

When I moved in with the dogs I didn't know anything about Pit Bulls. All I knew was that all dogs were evil and they all conspired to eat me. All dogs had bad reputation. And nothing angered me more than a dog owner letting his dog jump on me, watching me pee my pants, and saying, "Don't worry, he's just playing." Yep. I was that guy. And then we moved in with the dogs (our roommate was actually given the dogs by the guy who found them in the park), and I was okay as long as he was around all the time to make sure they didn't attack me. And then one day he asked me to do him a favor and take them for a walk.

By the time I found out about people's fear of Pit Bulls, it didn't matter to me because now they were my friends.

I'm careful around them. Especially with the baby. They both will give their lives for me, for Honey, and for the baby, but they were fighting dogs, and they'll always be a little unpredictable. What can you do.

3. You are the stay at home parent of a lovely young boy how do you do this? How are you able to do it? What is your opinion of working fathers? Do you sometimes find yourself telling them, “I didn’t have a child to let someone else parent him?”

I think that if you, man or woman, leave a place that pushes you and challenges you because you want to stay home you might end up resenting your baby. Maybe blaming him later in life for your own choices. But I had a job, not a career, and it didn't pay much. It was pretty much a no-brainer.

But it's much harder than I thought it would be, and I'm mentally exhausted most of the day. But then Honey comes home and automatically I'm back to normal. Okay, it takes a couple of minutes.

4. How were you able to navigate the difficult world of international military, odd jobs, bass playing, and Brooklyn dog ownership? The paperwork alone seems impossible.

You just do what you do, you know? I've always tried to go with the flow. I know it's a cliche, but I can't find a better way to describe my life. And it wasn't always a good thing. After all, it ended with me in the military for three years. But it also sent me to my Honey. There are times when you have to wake up and take control of your life, but I think people are too obsessed with that. When things are bad, change your circumstances. Otherwise, when someone tells you, "Come to England. I'll teach you to play bass and we'll play in a band together," you buy tickets to England.

5. You like the band Mogway and were in a band in Europe how do you reconcile those experiences with this American life? What do you want us (American, non-band members) to know or notice? What parts do we get right?

When Honey came to visit me in London, sometime during our two years long-distance relationship, she took me to see Jets to Brazil. And I couldn't believe what I was seeing. People from the warm-up band were sitting onstage, the crowd was happily chatting with the band... It was blasphemy. When you play in a band in London, and it doesn't matter if you're on at 5pm in front of the barman and his wife in the Bull N' Gate, you're still a Rock God. You live your life waiting for the NME to acknowledge your greatness. And here was this band that seemed more into the music.

So I'm generalizing here, but that's what you do right here. You can be in a band in this country and not be a dick.

6. You were born in Israel and in the military there and now you are a dad in Baltimore what is the best part of that journey?

Like I said earlier, I think the best part is taking chances and watching good things happen. We had doubts about everything. How long can people keep a long-distance relationship? As long as they need. Because what's more important than love?

Then the roommate moved out with the dogs and a few weeks later told us he was going to put them in a shelter. So we thought about it. But what are we going to do with two big dogs? It's a big responsibility. There was no way we were taking the dogs! But we did, because they needed us.

And then, how can we have a baby? Can we afford it? What will he eat? Well, we have credit cards. And I learned to cook.

7. I am also in an international marriage with children and we struggle with keeping our “foreign” identity and keeping the kids language skills up; how are you doing?

I talk to the baby in Hebrew, but I'm also not much of a talker. My mom is French but I speak very little French. I don't know... Hopefully he'll continue to talk to his Israeli family on Skype. Or we'll send him to classes, although I don't think anyone can learn a language in a classroom. And as for Israeli identity... When the people in Israel find their identity I'll have something to teach him. That was a joke. But not really.

8. Desert Island Top Five?

Honey
Baby
Buddy
Ginger
Nutella

I will not write a Valentine's post

2009-02-14T22:11:00.007-05:00

I've been sniffing around some of my favorite blogs and all I could find were these Valentine's posts. Shit drives me crazy, just so you know.

But not me. I will write about anything but.

And no pink hearts neither.

I've got better things to do.

For example, I can write a post about that night you talked in your sleep. You said, "Happy Birthday."

So I said, "Happy Birthday to you too, Honey."

And you said, "Happy son of a bitch."

Or I could talk about the night we watched "Once Upon a Time in China," and how you punched me in the shoulder while we were both asleep. I sat up and said, "Aww!"

And you said, still sleeping, "Kung Fu Master!"

Or I could put up a couple of pictures of this thing we did together:

So I could do all these things, but I won't.

I will not say how proud I am of the work you do, because that would be sappy and out of character for me.

And I will not talk about how much I believe in you. About the fact that you bump into chairs and you can sing entire songs without getting a single word right and you talk in your sleep, but when you tell me what you do at work I'm completely in awe of you. And proud of myself for being with you. You do know that, right?

But I will not even mention that, because we're not foolish teenagers, are we? We're adults, which means you don't need me to tell you I love you. Which is why I've decided to ignore Valentine's Day and not write a corny post about love.

Latika!

2009-02-08T18:27:00.007-05:00

A few weeks ago I saw this interview thingy on SJ's blog, so of course I asked for an interview. Here are the cut and pasted rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So, let me know if you want me to ask you questions. I don't know if I'll do a good job, but it could be fun anyway.

If you become the president of the USA what would your first action be?

See, already I'm stumped. I should probably give a nice speech and thank some people, like my wife and child. It'll have some jokes, too, because the people love jokes. But nothing racist or making fun of Chinese people. People don't like that. Not anymore. It'll be inspiring, with some memorable moments. I will talk about mountains and rainbows, but not in a gentle way, if you know what I mean. Maybe I shouldn't talk about rainbows. Mountains are okay, though. I should talk about the troubles ahead, with no sugarcoating. People don't like sugarcoating. At least that's what my TV tells me. I guess I need one of them flag pins. I should get a few, in case I lose one.

Would you kill someone to get hair back on your head?

I don't think I would kill anyone for hair. If I were really desperate, I would have just transferred some hair from my ears.

I don't have ear hair. That was a joke.

But I will do what it takes to save my Honey and my baby and my doggies. I might even shoot a monkey and wear its skin to fool another monkey into handing me my doggie in exchange for a hat. Like Tintin did.

Pitbulls or people?

You mean, as food?

Do you see a solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict within the next 10 years?

Dude, where's my car?

Ah, I see you truly read my blog! (Man, who are all these people commenting there? How come they left me? Ricardo and Tom are still around, but the rest of them didn't make it. Did I write too much about politics? Too many baby photos? Too many doggie photos? Not enough? Offensive language? Fragmented sentences? Where did I go wrong? I could have had it all!!!)

Two stories (with punchlines)

2009-02-03T22:07:00.009-05:00

On Sunday, we went to Babies 'R' Us. We went through all the aisles, pretty much. We got diapers, and wipes, and some new bottles, with straws, and we looked at some strollers. I said to the little guy, "Ching Chang Ching," to make him laugh, but then Honey said, "Honey," and I remembered I was in public. We separated for a while, then met again near the toys. Then we went to the register and I talked to the lady about us not receiving our coupons in the mail, and What's up with that?

From there, we went to Trader Joe's, where we met a friend and bought organic milk and yogurt. It was very crowded. We also bought cookies. Again, we separated for a while. I wondered around the fruits and vegetables and stared at clementines. Then, just before we left, I ran back to the dairy section to replace the milk with one that expired a week later.

And then we got home and I realized my fly was open the whole day.

The next day I went with the little guy to drop off some dry cleaning, but it was actually a beautiful day, so I thought I should take him to the park, because if I miss the only nice day this winter, then I'm out of the competition for Father of the Year, and it's only February.

So we went to the park, and I put him on a swing, and he was having fun, I guess. He wasn't complaining.

Another father was pushing his baby next to us.

And I started fooling around with the swing--pushing it really high and letting it fall, and then pretending that the baby was kicking me while he was swinging, because why just swing when you can swing and laugh at the same time?

But then I thought, "This father is going to write about me on his stupid blog. He's going to write about the guy who lifted his baby too high, and then taught his baby that it was okay to kick people. And nowadays you can't do anything without some asshole writing about it on his stupid blog!"

And then I got it: I am that asshole!

My Borders Story

2009-01-28T00:44:00.006-05:00

As soon as I got my work permit eight years ago, I went to Borders and asked for a job, because I thought it would be cool, and I thought I was cool, which made it a good fit.

So I came in with a friend, and a dude gave me an application, and I filled it up on the spot, still standing, because I was so excited, and I handed him the application, and that was it. I was very pleased with myself.

So pleased and so certain I got the job, that I wanted to celebrate in the Borders Cafe.

My friend was first. She ordered a latte.

The cafe girl put some coffee, added hot milk, put some puffy shit on top, and gave my friend her latte.

I was next. I ordered a cappuccino.

The cafe girl put some coffee, added a tiny bit of hot milk, and filled the rest of the cup with the puffy shit.

Now I was grabbing the cup and realizing I had a tiny little teaspoon of cappuccino in a large cup, so I said, "Hmm..."

And she said, "That's the way you make cappuccino."

And I said, "But there's nothing there."

And she said, "That's real cappuccino."

And the fucker behind me in line said to the cafe girl, "People don't know what real cappuccino looks like anymore."

And I didn't want to create a scene because I just applied to work there, but I also didn't want to spend $4 on a teaspoon of coffee and a bunch of fluff on top, even if it was sprinkled with chocolate powder. So my friend made a suggestion: Just get Cafe Girl to add some hot milk.

But Cafe Girl said, "Then that won't be a cappuccino--it will be latte."

So I said, "Okay, so I want a latte. It's the same price. Can't you just add some hot milk to my cup and call it a latte?"

And she said, "It doesn't work like that."

So she gave me a Borders Return Slip, where I had to put my name, address, and phone number. She then started looking through the trash because she threw away my credit card receipt, and she couldn't give me the refund without the receipt. And she couldn't find it just by sifting through the trash, so she emptied the trash can on the counter behind her and started looking through that mess until she found my receipt. So I signed the Return Slip, and I signed the Credit Card Refund Slip, and I bought a latte.

So now she took my cappuccino, and she opened the top, and she put the cup against the machine, and she pressed a button, and hot milk came out and filled my cup. Remember how Moses hit the rock with his magic stick to get the water out in the desert? Something like that.

And that's my Borders story.

Wait, there's a punchline.

I got a phone call later that day, telling me they read my application, and the only open position they had was in the cafe. I said I'd call them back.

---------------------

But just in case this story was a bit disappointing and you feel you've invested too much time for a story that ends with a cafe girl pushing a button, here's a book-related issue:

I read a review on Harper's about a book by Clare Pettitt, and all I could think was, "Really? Think she's compensating for something? Clare, no matter how many T's you've got in your name, you'll never have a penis."

Sometimes I wonder how normal people look at things.

Wait! You're telling me his middle name is Hussein? What Have We Done? (and other inauguration thougts)

2009-01-21T01:09:00.016-05:00

Here I was, thinking I could make it through the whole thing without crying like a little girl lost in the forest, and suddenly Aretha Franklin comes on...

To everyone on TV who thought it was unseemly to boo Former President George W. Bush, let me just say, first of all, there's nothing in the world that could give me more pleasure than to write the words "Former President George W. Bush." Maybe writing these words while eating a Neapolitan Blue Bunny ice cream sandwich could be better. And secondly, Former President Bush, goodbye. And don't let the shoes hit you on your way out.

If I hear one more version of "At Last"...

I made quiche today for the first time. It is a new day.

And as it is a new day, I'm ditching my Michelle Kosinski fetish in favor of Ana Marie Cox. It's not you, Michelle, it's America.

Chris Matthews is insane. You heard it here first.

Yo Yo Ma in Hebrew means A Hooker's Infected Piercing. Fact.

Skip the poetry next time, people.

I lied about Yo Yo Ma.

Really? Eagle Nose Eric Cantor had to ruin everything? What a douchebag.

If I wanted to, I could have made a lot of jokes about Inaugural Balls. Like how David Gregory said the balls were beautiful. But I'm not going to, because we're in a recession.

Are we still in a recession, though? We are? Obama sucks! He's probably going to blame it on the other guy, Former President George W. Bush. I'm going downstairs to get an ice cream sandwich. And here we are, in heaven.

Okay. You want the truth? I still can't believe it. I still can't believe he's gone. Can't believe things are about to change. It's overwhelming, you know? I don't know what else to say. Obama is telling me to hope, so I hope.

Oh, and Congratulations, Everyone.

More Adventures in Toddlerhood

2009-01-13T00:51:00.000-05:00

Thirteen months.

He's got a few teeth coming, and he makes a few steps when he feels like it, and he's really good looking, which brings honor to his family, and earlier today he was taking a nap next to me and all of a sudden, in his sleep, he said, "Baba," which made me cry a little.

The other day we watched Sesame Street. I realized who the big yellow bird looked like: Mrs. Madrigal from Tales of the City! Come on, don't tell me you don't see that!

We also watched Bob the Builder. Okay, I watched that one by myself. If you don't know anything about it, it's a show about a construction worker who talks to his tractor. There's a guy with a pumpkin stuck on his head, who talks with a Cockney accent. And there's a lesbian who lives in a tent. I think. And when they build stuff they shout, "Yes, We Can," because did you really expect a domestic terrorist pal around-er to come up with an original slogan?

We went to a public library in Baltimore County (I know... the sacrifices I make...), where they have this place you can run around

and go on a boat ride

and listen to stories

and press buttons
and pick bananas

and hug other babies.
You see this cute little number below? His mother used his name in every sentence. Is that what normal parents do?

What? You really want to experience a part of my day? Imagine yourself sitting in a kitchen. Behind you is the dryer. Second load. MSNBC is in the living room, because what if there's breaking news? And between you and the TV is a little baby that talks a lot. Make yourselves comfortable.

Context

2009-01-09T01:41:00.007-05:00

Just to stay on the subject because the war/operation continues and because I have things on my mind. I'll get back to posting ~~baby~~ toddler videos soon, I promise.

I found the picture below and I just saw two dead men, probably about my age. And because I was born with a functioning heart, I felt bad. Then I read the caption, and I took another look at the picture, and automatically I thought, "They got what they deserved."

How quickly we turn from empathy to apathy. Even glee.

And I'm sorry for putting up this horrible picture. But after you look or turn away from this image, realize that when we talk about war or operations or whatever they decide to call this thing, we're talking about people with dislocated limbs and burned faces. We're talking about the horror we ignore when instead we deal with who's right and who's wrong.

Our stupid opinions.

And we can see dead bodies and say, "They had it coming," but that's just our all too human brain shielding our souls from the horror of this picture, stopping us from seeing the horrors of our own inaction. How easy it is, when given a comfortable context, to know horror exists and simply not care.

I'm just dealing with my own demons here. Don't worry about it. And as promised...

Next time on this corner of the internet, a video of a cute and innocent baby who really tries to talk and understand the world. A baby who will one day see this picture and ask me to explain.

Confused and All

2009-01-02T19:42:00.005-05:00

I wouldn't have used the word Confused in the title of this blog if I were certain about things. This whole situation is confusing. I can ignore it to a point, take the easy way out and express limited outrage, then go about my day. But that wouldn't be fair. Now, I'm not under any illusion that what I say matters to anyone but myself, but for the sake of my own soul, my own cherished principals and moral world view, isn't it time I wrote about the war in Israel and in Gaza?

But it's complicated. Even using the term War means I'm taking a side. Because how can it be called a war when one side loses hundreds of people and the other loses four? How can it be called a war when one side has incredible missiles shooting off fighter jets while the other side shoots primitive rockets?

And ignoring terminology, how do I feel about it? Truth is I hear about the Hamas leader killed by Israeli missiles, and I can't feel sorry for him, because he called for suicide attacks on Israelis.

But what does that mean?

I pride myself on being a pacifist, and not just a pacifist, but an informed one, because I was in the Israeli military for three years and have earned the right to lose faith in the military and in the Israeli government. I saw death and destruction and people losing the best years of their lives for goals that could have been achieved with diplomacy years earlier. Israeli soldiers died in Lebanon for no reason. Israeli soldiers died in the West Bank and in Gaza to stop Hamas, only to watch it from a distance gain even more power when American citizens elected an idiot who insisted on Palestinian elections when conditions on the ground favored a hard-line, anti-Israeli government. And I watched strike and retaliatory strike, where civilians on both sides died in the streets and in their homes for no reason.

But I hear about the Hamas leader, and I hope he rots in hell, because my cherished pacifism can take a break for a while. And I hear about this guy's wives who died with him in the attack, and I think, Well, they knew what they were getting into. And I hear about his dead children, and I think, Isn't that a shame... Isn't war a horrible thing...

And I realize--I'm not really a pacifist. Just another fraud who had been led to believe that some people need to die, and some people don't, but die anyway, because that's the way the world is.

More to the point, because I might as well get there. I don't believe the Israeli government cares about its soldiers. I don't believe the Israeli government cares that my 7-year-old niece's school bus takes an alternative route to avoid Hamas rockets. I don't believe the Israeli government cares that the traumas of Israeli children mean another generation of hopeless dreams of peace.

Because we do this shit in Israel when we're in kindergarten. We sing songs of peace and wave the flags of all nations, and smile because we believe in our tiny selves. But we grow up to a situation that makes us think the outcome is out of our hands.

And don't get me wrong. I put more emphasis on criticizing Israel but--and I'll avoid the who's more wrong here--the world will be a better place when Hamas dismantles and its leaders descend into the hell kept for those who sacrifice the lives of the helpless among them.

And I wanted to get to the point, but now it seems like I'll just continue going in circles.

Because there's so much there.

Sure, it's tragic to see Gaza destroyed and people lying in pools of blood. But it's tragic to see Israelis die, and the difference shouldn't be about the numbers of casualties.

It's tragic to imagine my niece even thinking about the possibility of a fucking rockets hitting her school bus, but it's also tragic to imagine a generation after generation of Palestinian kids who are born to little hope and grow up to none.

And the most fucked up thing about it is that even if I manage the impossible task of being objective about it all, if on the one hand I see the that pain of four Israeli families is just as horrible as that of four hundred Palestinian families, because numbers are meaningless when you mourn a loved one; and if I see on the other hand that my niece's trauma is just as tragic as that of a Palestinian girl born into an endless war, and if I see all of these children, Israeli and Palestinian children who think their generations will fix it all, only to grow up realizing they're all just meaningless pawns in God's joke... Well, even if I see all that I still know nothing.

There's a war going on. Or maybe there isn't.

People die. Some of them deserve it. Or maybe they don't.

There will be peace in our lifetime. Or maybe there won't.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

2008-12-28T14:41:00.009-05:00

Well, maybe once more. When I dedicated a post to SJ, he sent all his people here to say hello, so maybe this being nice thing isn't that bad.

Preston from Me and the Blue Skies tagged me with a book meme.

So go visit Preston and say hello from me. He's an honest man who smiles all the time. And if he's not happy all the time, at least he spends the rest of the time being optimistic. So visit him at your own risk--you might end up happy for a moment.

But there's something else I have to warn you about. As of now, there's a lot of Christmas stuff there. Personally, I never got that whole obsession with the birth of Rabbi Yeshua. It's true that he had led an exemplary life (that we know of. We don't really know what crazy stuff he did in his travels in India), and it's true that he's the son of God and all, but--

Well, I guess that's a pretty big thing.

I don't know. Maybe I just have an aversion to the combination of red and green.

Here's the cut-and-pasted book meme thingy:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 56.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next two to five sentences.
5. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book or the intellectual one. Pick the Closest.
6. Tag five people to do the same.

Now, I understand the point of choosing a random book, but it's just not working for me. The nearest book is Thoreau's Walden, and I feel sleepy just thinking about this book.

Oh, here's a book with some good quotes:

P. 18

To me if you are a young girl and you find a boy "groovy" and you go off and move into his "pad" with him, you are definitely making a bad mistake. . . . If I had been living in sin instead of being married I would never have met my next wonderful husband!!!

P. 50

The best way to attract a man immediately is to have a magnificent bosom and a half-size brain and let both of them show.

P. 78

Recently I was in Denver for the opening of my cosmetic line and they had a big fashion show where Oleg Cassini and Pierre Cardin had their showings. Oleg, whom I adore, brought out a male and a female model identically dressed in green velvet tuxedos. It was darling.

P. 102

Never pick up something that is vulgar and buying it will do your husband more harm than good. . . . For example, don't ever buy a conspicuous colored Rolls Royce. A friend of mine bought a pink Rolls Royce and her husband could never use it going to the office. . . . It would have been better if she had bought a black one.

Happy New Year!

The Meaning of Life

2008-12-21T11:46:00.007-05:00

Back when I was working in the bookstore, people would come up to the register and ask about jobs. We gave them applications, and then, after they filled them out, someone had to go upstairs to HR. I always volunteered to do that because I got to read the applications on the way up.

So I'm looking at this guy's application, and he's a young guy, and the only other job he's ever had was pushing shopping carts in a supermarket parking lot.

And his answer to "What did you dislike most about your previous job?" was, "Pushing carts when it was raining." And I thought it was funny.

But the best part was his answer to "What did you like most about your previous job?"

Because it's easy to make fun of this guy, and to think that if your previous job was pushing shopping carts, you're probably better off skipping that one in your application, but his answer to that question, as simple as it was, held some deeper meaning of what it meant to be human and what it meant to be alive, and the meaning of life and work and everything, like he had it all figured out, like this book I just finished reading, that asked the question, What if Sisyphus liked nothing better than to roll rocks uphill?

His answer was, "Pushing carts on a beautiful day."

Best Blogging Friend Award

2008-12-14T02:07:00.009-05:00

I told SJ I'd dedicate a post to him. Well, here it is.

Really, he's the nicest guy in the world. And often, when I feel I can never write anything better than a previous post, knowing SJ is around to read and comment takes that load off my back, which in turn helps me experiment a little. Maybe not experiment, but at least realize I should just write what I want and not what I should write. Because he's easy and always encouraging. And he deserves my first ever award.

So visit him here and here, and see why his presence is appreciated on the internet as a blogger, as a commenter (is that the right word?), and in general, as a member of this blogging thing, whatever this experiment in social interaction turns out to be.

And look, SJ, I even made this award thingy you can pass on to as many people as you want.

Oh, I should make a button...

BBFA Button

The Birthday Parade

2008-12-08T00:12:00.014-05:00

Usually, when someone from my family celebrates a birthday, the neighborhood has a parade. This year was no different, despite the ungodly weather.

It started with the ~~kaleidoscope~~ ~~kalashnikov~~ car that has some creepy music thing inside.

Oh, I see. It's called a Calliope.

So we quickly got the ~~baby~~ toddler out but he gave me the same look he gave me when he was a week old, when I brought him to the doctor to cut him up for hygienic reasons (but not really). The look that said, "I trusted you..."

So with all due respect to the good people of Baltimore, and of course I was grateful for the parade, but the baby and I were going back inside. Count to ten, and he was asleep.

Now we were alone in my friends' house, and I had a sleeping baby and a remote, which meant no more football.

First, I landed on the Golf Channel, where these three Boomers were talking about golf exercises. Pretty surreal, not sure why.

But even when the guy in yellow started stretching on the floor, the novelty wore off quickly, because I'm in my late-mid-thirties, not in my early twenties. When I were twenty-something in England, I used to watch Man and His Dog, a weekly sheep-herding competition. Things change.

So I kept on surfing, and found this golf-related movie.

Here's another clue. A post-modern one.

Luckily, before I got sucked into the movie, Honey came in and took over, which meant I got to go outside and see the Birthday Parade. But it was still Hellishly cold, even when God sent his messengers out, complete with angels sitting on a cross.

And that's pretty much it for the parade and the party. Now that it's over, here's something I'm not that comfortable talking about, but might as well:

A year ago we were in a hospital room with this stranger we were supposed to love. It wasn't instant, at least for me. How can it be instant? He was just this creature that lived inside my wife's body and now lived outside. And I was scared and I was sad because I thought it was the most horrible thing in the world that I didn't love my son.

But then I thought that maybe it was normal. Maybe everyone--at least men, because they're not the pregnant ones--goes through those same unspeakable fears. Maybe I just needed some time.

And of course I was scared and sad. Because I didn't know what my reaction would be when one day, out of nowhere, he'd open his big blue eyes and smile. And then I saw him laugh. I didn't know he would fall off his crib on his head, leaving me shaking as I waited for the ambulance. And I didn't know that one day I'd be so thrilled to see this stranger clap his hands, and sit up, and crawl, and stand, and sing, and dance, and talk in a language only he understood.

Because if anyone had told me any of these things a year ago, I would have had a good night sleep.

But no one was there to tell me about the future. No one was there to calm me down, maybe because I didn't tell anyone and didn't admit it to myself. And no one was there to tell me that even though I didn't know it yet, I was about to experience the most incredible year of my life. And even though on that first night I looked at my son and saw a stranger, at the end of our first year together, I look at him and see the most beautiful creature in the world, and I love him so much, it hurts like Hell to hear him cry, and it makes me the happiest man in the world to see him happy.

Happy birthday, Liam, my love.

A post before my baby's birthday post

2008-12-02T23:45:00.011-05:00

I don't have anything planned as a birthday post, which makes me panic. Maybe I can just put that video of him dancing to Otis Redding? Oh, might as well put it here:

So now I don't have anything for the birthday post.

I can be all emotional about it and talk about seeing him for the first time, and how the nurse told me it was okay to touch him, but I'd never touched a baby before, so I took it literally and just gently touched him with my finger while taking this photo with the other hand.

And I can talk about how horrible I felt when the nurse took him to get washed, and for a while I just stood there, watching the wrong baby, even though I can see in that two-minutes-old picture the same features I see in the one-year-old. He's less blue now.

I can talk about that whole obsession with milestones we all experience. Praise Allah, he finally has some teeth coming, and he drinks from the cup, and he says some words we pretend to understand. He has less than a week to learn to walk, though. He can't be so far behind Baby Z!

Or I could just put a little picture of the both of us, like this one:

I don't know. I have a few days to come up with something.

And meanwhile, here's a cute little thing I got from Bluestreak.

Now, I know everyone will end up with one of these one day, but it still feels good to get it, especially from this talented writer. And then I pass it over to other bloggers and it gets a little scary. So, if I put your name below, just know that I love your blog. It doesn't mean I want you to write a post about it, it doesn't mean I want you to pass it to someone else, and it doesn't mean you need to acknowledge it in any way. It just means I love your blog. And another thing. If you feel uncomfortable with this pink heart and smiley faces, feel free to use this more masculine version:

So without further, here are some blogs I love (although I love all blogs on the sidebar, really):

Aimeepalooza. Her writing makes me feel, you know?
Woozie. He takes youthful confusion to new levels, and he had provided me with a safe place to use bad words before I felt I could do it here, for which I'll be eternally grateful (but not grateful enough to meet him in the bus station in the middle of the night).
Craig. Let that be a lesson to us all. If you write regularly, and if you put creative effort into every post, people will come.

Oh man, there are so many!

A Free Man writes from the heart! He's the real thing! And Miss Britt is an incredible writer. And Xbox's posts make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. And Wishful is so nice and funny and talented. And Jill has been through so much lately but she still stays happy and full of life, and she makes sure it comes out in every sentence because why shouldn't we be happy, too?

Fuck it. You all get the award! Congratulations!

A Short Post About My Mom

2008-11-21T00:18:00.004-05:00

It took my parents a few months to tell me they discovered my blog. There was no deep discussion about it, mainly because the only time we really talk is when we Skype, and then most of the time is spent trying to make Liam laugh.

But my mom did say, "You know I saw the blog."

By this point, my sister has already told me they knew, so I said, "Yes, I heard."

And my mom said, "People must feel sorry for you if they read it and see you don't have a mother. It's sad that you don't have a mother."

"Why? I only wrote about Dad? I didn't write anything about you?"

"No."

So here is a short post about my mother:

She was born in Paris. She found out she was Jewish in her early teens, when the kids in her class started calling her a Dirty Jew. She had to ask her parents what they meant. The family moved to Israel, where the kids now called her a French Whore.

In her early twenties, living in Tel-Aviv in the crazy '70s, she got to know all the Bohemians. The famous journalists and writers. They tried to get her high and they dedicated poetry books to her. I saw one of these books. She still keeps it.

She hitchhiked with her sister one day. My dad and his friend pulled over with their scooters.

They got married and had a girl. Then they got together again and made a boy.

That boy, a cute little thing, seemed promising at first, but he was also a bit weird, reading the phone book all day. Doctors told my mom her son was borderline autistic, so she bought me a soccer ball and taught me to kick it. All of my childhood friendships revolved around soccer. She still reminds me, "Who taught you to play soccer?"

My mom, my sister and I, used to have dance parties. It was the late '70s. We danced to some Disco. "You're okay. You're smart. You're in." And of course, "Funky Town." She only had one disco tape, but we didn't need any more. We also listened to a lot of French music. Charles Aznavour, Sylvie Vartan, and of course, Jacques Brel.

One day, I think I was about eight, we were walking from our house to the bus stop, and she held my hand and asked me, "Do you know what's the most beautiful thing in the world?" And I said, "What?" because I wanted to know. And she said,"It's A little hand inside a big hand."

And it's crazy that it stuck with me for nearly thirty years now. And every time I hold my baby's hand I think about that and know that, as usual, and as if there was any doubt, my mom was right again.

I'm looking for a book

2008-11-14T13:33:00.001-05:00

Back in England, when I worked in this warehouse filled with books, I used to take breaks and read first pages. Sometimes the first pages became the first chapters, and then I knew I just had to take the books home with me.

But one book got away. I read the first chapter and thought it was really funny, and then I put it down and continued working, and then I just forgot about it. But I've been thinking about it a lot since then. About ten years now. I've tried every possible Google search, but nothing.

So, sounds familiar? (and forgive me--it's a ten-year-old memory)

This guy is in a party. I think it's on a boat. He tells a story about a friend of his who runs into David Bowie on the street. He's a big fan, so he stops Bowie and tells him how great he thinks he is. Bowie is actually surprisingly happy to talk to the fan. But he also looks depressed. Anyway, the guy runs into David Bowie the next day, and this time Bowie comes up to him and starts talking. He's wearing this baseball cap because he doesn't want people to recognize him. And they chat for a while, and it's great that a fan can just talk like that to the great David Bowie.

Anyway, the next day David Bowie calls him and tries to meet up. And it's not a sexual thing. No. David Bowie is just interested in this guy's company. But then he starts harassing him all day and all night, to the point where the guy doesn't sleep. He doesn't answer his calls. He feels he's going insane trying to avoid David Bowie.

Then one morning an electrician comes over. He's wearing a baseball cap. This guy's roommate lets him in. The electrician opens the small door under the staircase, bends over, and starts reading the meter. Now, this guy is about to walk downstairs and he sees a guy with a baseball cap who seems to be hiding under his staircase. So he runs down and starts beating up the electrician.

So he beats him up for a few minutes before he suddenly realizes it's just an electrician. And he says to the electrician who's lying there on the floor (and this punchline has been haunting me for ten years), "Sorry, I thought you were David Bowie."

---------------

Oh, and in other news,

Dear fire-alarm battery,

Really?

3am?

You couldn't wait a few hours to make your point?

You passive-aggressive piece of shit.

Yes, They Could

2008-11-08T01:48:00.006-05:00

I was watching The Daily Show when Jon Stewart said Obama was elected the next President. I was left speechless when the good guys won. When a man who got into politics to make the world a better place actually became the President. Pretty surreal after these last eight years.

And I even cried a little when he said

And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

Because, you know, it was a moment without cynicism, and we got that moment of truth again not after our cities were attacked, but because we have overcome our fears. Because we have managed to finally tell ourselves and the rest of the world that we were one.

But we're not.

What did we prove on Tuesday?

That America can't take a giant step forward without taking one backward? That in order to elevate ourselves we need a minority to step on?

I'm out of ideas. The people who voted to ban gay marriage will be judged by future generations. When they talk about those who voted to ban gay marriage, they will sigh and give the usual excuse, "He was a good man, but you know... He was a man of his time."

Joe Solmonese of Human Rights Campaign wrote an Op-Ed yesterday:

You can’t take this away from me: Proposition 8 broke our hearts, but it did not end our fight.
Like many in our movement, I found myself in Southern California last weekend. There, I had the opportunity to speak with a man who said that Proposition 8 completely changed the way he saw his own neighborhood. Every “Yes on 8” sign was a slap. For this man, for me, for the 18,000 couples who married in California, to LGBT people and the people who love us, its passage was worse than a slap in the face. It was nothing short of heartbreaking.

But it is not the end. Fifty-two percent of the voters of California voted to deny us our equality on Tuesday, but they did not vote our families or the power of our love out of existence; they did not vote us away.

I am proud to live in this country. I am proud of the people who voted for intellect, leadership, and progress rather than fear-mongering and intolerance.

But these base emotions people rose up and ignored while voting for President were the ones that guided those who voted to take away basic human rights from others. Because they could. Yes, they could.

Our house is united

2008-11-03T13:46:00.001-05:00

Sufjan!

2008-10-28T00:46:00.010-04:00

Apparently Michigan is a real place. Here's what's going on there.

We landed near Detroit. Big airport. Got a tram. Going up and down elevators. I already hate Michigan.

Oh, and the airport has signs in English and in an Asian language. Random shit or global conspiracy?

Michigan to me: "Is Pepsi okay?" -- No, it's not! And don't call it "pop," either. It's not 1950.

The drive from Detroit to Grand Rapids (or as all the signs in Michigan say: "Gd Rapids." Someone got promoted for that genius idea. And it came to a meeting. And maybe it was unanimous, and everyone said it was great to save three letters per sign).

Anyway, that drive is the most boring, soul crushing experience of your life. Absolutely nothing. Absolutely no hint of the theory that beauty exists elsewhere in the world.

The main street in Grand Rapids is sad. Name a chain restaurant, it's there. And chain store. God, it was awful.

Went to a wedding around there.

At first, everything was cool.

But then, someone got cranky and started hitting me.

So I went outside.

And I looked around, and had to admit it was pretty nice.

In summary: After I don't write for a while, I have the feeling my next post should be amazing, so people would think I've been writing for a week. I'm overwhelmed because I can be judgmental about my blog, and I can't let it become a blog where I'm off for a week and then come back with nothing! And I'm making myself fail, because nothing I write could be at the level of the thoughts in my head (not that there's that much complexity over there).

And you know what's more? A good writer could have taken a long weekend in Hell Hole, Michigan, and make something meaningful come out.

After a week away I can't just write about a book I liked or about my new cellphone, even though I've been thinking about this book for years and even though I want to tell people about the cellphone because I'm so happy to leave Verizon, and if I can't express this happiness in my blog, then the terrorists have already won (actually, they will win on November 4th).

Look at the cute baby!

Purple Hair and I Didn't Care

2008-10-17T01:08:00.004-04:00

Before I moved to London, I had lived my life the only way I knew how, by following the usual route. And although every once in a while a situation confronted me and shouted there was another life out there, I worked hard to ignore it.

Like watching Full Metal Jacket in high school. And watching people going crazy and killing other people and themselves, and yet, I still wanted to join the military and be a fighter in the army. And even as I saw a guy going crazy in the first few months there, exactly like the guy in the movie, only he was let go before he shot himself, I didn't think going crazy was the only sane thing you can do when confronted by insane situations. Instead, I thought the guy cheated us by leaving us behind, and cheated himself for not allowing himself to be a fighter. A great warrior and all that good stuff.

And then I went to England, and everything changed. No one knew me. I was twenty-two-years-old and free for the first time.

But that freedom to push myself and find my individual boundaries came with a price. With no guidance other than watching the mistakes of others, I made some mistakes of my own.

I was so invested in my reinvention, that I decided to let go of my past, as if anyone can.

I didn't return my parents' phone calls. I lost touch with my high school friends. I walked across the street if I heard someone speaking Hebrew. Damn tourists. And here I was, sitting alone with my cappuccino in Old Compton Cafe, watching the people in Soho, but really admiring my own faint reflection, admiring the person I'd become. Everything I thought I knew was a lie. My previous life was a lie. Yes, I'll take another £5 coffee, cheers.

This is just a simple introduction to excuse myself for lack of promised purple hair photos. With no guidance and no ancient set of values, a young man must invent his own philosophy. For example, I thought carrying a camera around would stop me from experiencing life. I don't know where that came from. But five years in London, I didn't take one picture. I have some pictures I took from other people's spare copies, but no... I don't know... no artistic expression of my own experience, if you will. And no picture of me with purple hair. The picture above is probably the closest one I have.

And the picture below is from around that same period, but still, no purple hair. And that's as long as my hair gets in photos, at least the ones I have. It got much longer later. Almost reached my hips before I thought it was getting silly. Then I saw Trainspotting on opening day, and when I left the theater I shaved it all. What's the worst that can happen, I thought? It'll grow again.

Funny thing about hair, it doesn't necessarily do that.

And that's about it. Just a word of caution before you wet your panties over my picture: That's 13 years ago. The hair that did grow back has since fallen, and is now spread on pillows and shower floors all the way from London to Baltimore. I don't wear necklaces anymore. No more earrings. I think my lips are thinner.

About Me

2008-10-09T00:15:00.010-04:00

A while ago, over at this website, they told me I needed an About Me page. And I guess it's fair enough. Someone getting here by accident needs some context. For example, Google "Eric Cantor douche." (You will currently find me at number 5, just before Wonkette's "Eric Cantor smells of cow dung." Really, for a long time I was number one for that search. For a long time I was also number one for "Glenn Beck naked." I know, pretty cool).

Anyway, I was born in Israel thirty-almost-six years ago.

There was a big war when I was nine months old. A lot of people died protecting the honor of nation who would not negotiate with its Egyptian enemy. Five years later the Egyptian enemy's President, Sadat, stood with the Israeli Prime Minister, Begin, to shake hands and later, to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. Three years after that peace treaty, in a parade celebrating the war I witnessed as a nine-month-old, Sadat was shot dead. I was eight and I remember being sad as if a family member died.

So I'm now eight years old.

But it's getting a bit too long already. Let's cut some corners.

I went to school for many years. Nothing much happened there. I did my homework and shit.

Then I finished high school and had two weeks before I was supposed to join the military. So I read the Lord of the Rings books and then I joined the military.

That military thing was bullshit. I was in Golani. I met the biggest dicks in the world and I met selfless people I will live the rest of my life looking up to. But most of the time I carried heavy shit in the service of a false ideology. Hooray!

Three years later, a few months after I left the military, I moved to London. It was just a vacation, but I ended up staying. And I painted my hair purple.

I was there for five years. Working odd jobs, playing bass in a band, drinking. In late August in 1997, I went to Camden Town with the singer to give out some demo tapes. It was gray and nasty and it was the end of summer, and I told the singer that a day that started like that would surely end up bad.

So I met my American Girl that night, and two years later I moved with her to Brooklyn.

This crazy guy found two Pit Bulls tied to trees in Prospect Park, and gave them to our roommate. For some fucked up reason, he couldn't take care of them anymore, so we took over.

Then we got married. Then we moved to Silver Spring. Then to Baltimore.

I'm not a scientist, so I can't say exactly how this works, but one day Honey peed on a stick, and now we have a baby.

That's the short version. But there's so much more. Like introspective stuff about searching for my role and the meaning of it all. And I hate the fucking mall.

It's getting late.

(Oh, and my email is peopleinthesun@gmail.com)

"That One"

2008-10-07T23:47:00.005-04:00

But who cares what I have to say? Here's what they say about "That one" on Free Republic:

It was an appropriate assertion. I liked it.

Yes! Obama has a name it's HUSSEIN! But we have been told to not use that name!

I would have called him something else. I guess “that one” works.

We just refer to him as “it”.

I think until he furnishes his legitimate birth certificate, “That one” is quite appropriate.

He should have said shithead.

And that's about it. Here's a quote from a reader at the National Review Online blog, The Corner:

Well I have gone outside and pulled up my Mcain/Palin sign. This election is over. I will vote for Mcain but I know that come Nov. 5 Obama will be our president-elect.

I feel sorry for Sarah Palin. A once promising career will be permanently connected to the landside loss of John McCain.

I weep for my children and their families.

Have a good night, y'all.

Calling Henry Kissinger

2008-09-27T18:04:00.009-04:00

Dear Mr. Kissinger,

I know you take an hourly dose of the life-enhancing potion you were given by your friends in the Illuminati. That's cool.

However, just in case you get sick of it all and decide you've had enough of the burden of living inside your God-forsaken vessel, built out of spare parts of organ donors and hobos, I have an idea for a swan song. You're going to like it.

You know how Sarah Palin has been studying about the world from you in the last few weeks? You know how you teach her about borders and different ways of governments and about the Queen of England? You know how she's preparing for her Thursday debate by memorizing anything you tell her? Like the words proliferation and sovereignty? Remember her shock when she discovered Native Americans were real but unicorns were not?

Now tell me, is all this worthy of the great Henry Kissinger? The man who determines the fate of nations by the angle of his thumb? Washington's own Übermensch?

Didn't think so.

Now, what if-- What if you fucked with her?

What if you told her the Prime Minister of Britain was Gordon Shumway? What if you told her the Iranians were on the brink of being able to teleport their entire military? That Jews in Israel celebrate Napkin Day?

I mean, these are just examples coming from a mere mortal, but go crazy. This could be a final farewell worthy of a great man like you. You'll show them. You'll show them all.

I know you like it because I know you have an ironic, post-modern sense of humor. After all, you've accepted the Nobel Peace Prize.

See you Thursday.