MetroDad

CHAOS THEORY: April 2011

Wow, it's been more than 3 months since I've posted here. I have to admit that I've thought about just shutting down this site. Like everything else in my life right now, I've had mixed emotions about the whole thing. To be quite honest, does anyone even read blogs anymore?

Or as my boy Kanye said, "Do anybody make real shit anymore?

At the end of the day, I miss writing in this space. After all these years, this is the place that feels like home. I've loved developing real-life relationships that wouldn't have existed had I not started writing here in the first place. It's something I never expected and has definitely added an interesting wrinkle to my life.

But enough with this emo shit. Let's get down to brass tacks, yo.

 

SIX GOING ON STRANGE

The Peanut is 6.5 years old. Sometimes I think that if she makes it to 7, it will be a miracle. Her need to argue and plead every case often makes me wonder whether she's the illegitimate love-child of Atticus Finch and Gloria Allred. Plus, she's at that annoying age where she thinks she's right about absolutely everything. Drives me freaking bonkers. I do have to admit though that the stuff that comes out of her mouth these days is pretty hilarious:

"Wake up, homeboy. It's time to make me some breakfast."

"If I had a million dollars, I'd quit school and just watch TV all day.

"Hey, do me a favor? Make me a BLT but without the lettuce and the tomato?"

"Well, you say that you're going to be married forever but that didn't really happen to you the first time around, did it?"

"Even though you're wearing a hat, I can still tell you have an enormous head."

"The craziest people in the world are 6-year-old boys."

 

ON MALE BLOGGING: WHERE HAVE ALL THE COWBOYS GONE? 

Part of the reason I considered shutting down this site is because I find myself slightly disillusioned about the public over-sharing, diary-like, confessional, first-person blog writing that seems to be becoming more and more prevalent.

Especially among men and fellow dad bloggers.

Don't get me wrong. As long-time readers know, I've painfully bared my soul here plenty of times.

On the one hand, it's enlightening to see more and more men of a certain age with the emotional intelligence to be able to introspectively write about the issues that affect their lives. This has never really happened before. When it first started happening, it was regarded with gravity and respect. It was openly naked first-person essay writing and it was practically a watershed moment.

But it was rarely appreciated under the blogging format. To call it blogging would have cheapened it.

Why? Because let's face it. Blogging is a medium designed for memes, emo tumblr photos, inspirational quotes, and the internal musings of disaffected 23-year-old women and stay-at-home moms. 

Is sharing feelings how men are supposed to act online?

As a recent Village Voice article put it:

"Men shouldn't whine or feel pain and they certainly shouldn't fucking cry, according to left-over cultural expectations lodged in the heads of even social progressives, feminists, children of the liberal arts. And there's a certain self-consciousness that comes with being a male online. Where have all the cowboys gone? What would our grandfathers think of us, pining for a partner or "Why me-ing?" about health concerns to strangers? And who do we look to for proper example? There are only so many words written by Dan Savage, and we've been told to avoid Tucker Max."

I don't have the answers to these questions.

 

A METRODAD QUIZ: REAL OR FAKE SLATE.COM ARTICLES?

1. "Mary Gates & Karen Zuckerberg Weren't Tiger Moms: Is Amy Chua Bad for the U.S. Economy?"

2. "The End of the Mancession: Why Women Are the Economy's Biggest Losers"

3. "The Mecca of the Mouse: Can an Adult Man Have Fun at DisneyWorld Alone?"

4. "Do 3-D Glasses Work on Cats?"

5. "Bite Me: An Evolutionary Case for Cannibalism"

 

THREE IDEAS FOR TELEVISION SHOWS

1. "The Shores of Jersey": A reality show following around a closely-knit group of septuagenarians living in a house together on the Isle of Jersey. When they're not knitting shetland sweaters and peeling potatoes, they're doing body shots of whiskey and fist-pumping dolphins.

2. "Under the Big Top": We have reality shows about every profession. How has nobody ever done one about a circus? There's so much I NEED to know. How often does the bearded lady shave? Exactly how much midget sex is going on? Is it true that when elephants get pissed, they pee on people? C'mon, people. Let's make this happen!

3. "For Womb the Bell Tolls": Medical drama/soap opera about life in a maternity ward. Screaming mothers, freaked-out dads, jaded nurses, weird doctors, and babies born with webbed feet.

 

THREE GENERATIONS & THE DILUTION OF OTHERNESS

As I've written about many times, it was always a little discomfiting to grow up straddled between two cultures. Having been raised by Korean immigrant parents who weren't wholly versed in the ways of modern American life certainly made for an interesting childhood.

Aside from constantly feeling the pressures of being torn by two different cultures, I also had to deal with friends coming over, opening our fridge, smelling kimchi and yelling, "Yo, man. Your house fucking stinks!"

But two of the great benefits of adulthood are perspective and hindsight. Despite all the teenage angst I might have had at the time, I now think it's hilariously funny during those moments when I realize that the apple never really does fall far from the tree.

Even to this day, someone will talk about sleeping with a fan on in the bedroom and I'll yell out, "Sleeping with a fan on? Are you fucking crazy? That's the leading cause of death!"

Or when my daughter is sick, I literally bury her under 20 blankets so she can "sweat it out."

(By the way, unless you have insane Asian parents, you're probably not going to understand why those two things are so funny.)

In a similar fashion, I always laugh because whenever Donald Duck's name comes up, a Finnish buddy of mine will yell out, "Do you know he's banned in Finnland because he doesn't wear pants?"

Raising my third-generation Korean-American daughter, I often wonder to myself, "How much does one's culture get diluted over time?"

I'm starting to realize that even though she's only 6, at some level my daughter is clearly already cognizant of all of this. For the past two years, she's been eating the lunch provided by school. However, lately we've been talking about me making her lunches to take to school. One of the recent times we were having that conversation, she said, "Ok, Daddy, but none of that weird stuff."

"What kind of weird stuff?"

"No eel. No seaweed. No octopus. No pork chops. I just want sandwiches, chips and a juice box."

What?! She LOVES eel, seaweed, octopus, and pork chops.

Having suffered from the wary looks from my fellow elementary school friends when my mom sent me to school with Japanese bento boxes and chopsticks, I wholeheartedly empathize with my daughter's desire to fit in and assimilate among her peers. In one's youth, there is rarely as powerful of an emotional dilemma than the need to be just like everyone else. I get it, kiddo. The nail that sticks out is the one that gets hammered down. 

But never in a million years did I ever think I would feel so sad about it.

I do.

What I've Learned: The Parenting Edition

Put enough ketchup on it and a kid will eat almost anything.

No matter how much you speak to your kids, children learn more from what you are rather than what you tell them.

Baby poop defies all laws of physics and nature.

I've never seen my dad cry. My daughter has seen me cry. My dad never told me he loved me. Consequently I tell the Peanut I love her practically every other minute. The point is that maybe too much emotional display is just as bad as not enough but I've learned that I'll always lean towards the former.

Parent who tell their kids that there is no Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy are pretty much assholes.

My daughter has taught me that I'm not always quite as good a person as I like to think I am but, at the same time, I'm nowhere near as bad a person as I sometimes think I am.  

Also? I'm a million times more patient now than I ever was before I became a father.

You can talk the talk but you better know how to walk the walk.

Parenting tests your ability to be resourceful. In a pinch, I once made a diaper out of some paper towels, a sanitary napkin, and some duct tape.

Lacking a car seat, I also once strapped my daughter into the backseat with a bunch of bungee cords.

There are few things more enjoyable in life than cranking up the stereo and dancing silly with your child.

Poop and fart jokes are always crowd pleasers.

Ever since my daughter was born, I've lectured her about life and have tried to pass on everything I've learned. Of course, she can't understand much of what I'm talking about. But you know what? One day, she will.

Is your kid a picky eater? Don't worry about it too much. As my pediatrician once said, "No kid in Tribeca ever starved to death."

I try not to worry too much about short-term payoffs, results or expectations. I don't expect the true effects of parenting to reveal themselves until well after my time here is gone.

It's both a blessing and a curse to see which traits your child has inherited from you.

Love of reading is cool. Smelly feet, not so much

Never in my life did I ever imagine having so much fun throwing a princess tea party with a bunch of dolls.

There are many things I want my daughter to learn but the two most important lessons I'd like to teach her are manners and empathy.

Hitting a good backhand down the line is a close third.

Your kids will always remember more than you. Always remember that.

My love for my child is the only love I've ever had that keeps getting stronger over time. Maybe that says more about me than it does about my relationship with my daughter. Maybe I can learn how to transfer that into the other relationships in my life. We'll have to wait and see about that one, n'est-ce pas?

Don't force the questions out of your child. They'll ask when they're ready.

 

I've only been a father for 6 years and I expect the things that parenting teaches me about life will continue to change over time. And if I ever have another kid, I expect that the lessons will change in a dramatically different way.

Then again, maybe they won't.

Either way, the cool thing about getting older is readjusting your perspective on life based on your everyday experiences. When I was younger, my philosophy on life was mostly shaped by my relationships. Or my travels. Or my professional life.

Not to say that those things don't continue to shape who I am. However, at the same time, I continue to be surprised about the things that parenthood teaches me. But enough of this sappy shit. What about you?

What have YOU learned?

Holiday Road

 

Happy holidays to all of you and your families.

May 2011 bring you and your loved ones a year filled with love, health, and happiness.  For those of you with loved ones serving in the armed forces overseas, our thoughts and prayers are with you.  For those of you traveling this holiday season, we wish you a safe journey. For those who are less fortunate, we offer our hands and ask how we may be of assistance.

As always, let's take the time to remember how much we have to be truly thankful for.

Happy holidays!

Love,

MetroDad and the Peanut

CHAOS THEORY: November 2010

As most of you have witnessed by now, I'm not the most prolific writer. Being a single dad in the middle of an apartment renovation and a stressful economy aren't necessarily helping things these days. However, I've got some random thoughts to share so I thought I'd spit them out here quickly.

 

THE PEANUT TURNS SIX

Every year when the Peanut's birthday rolls around, I ask her in my saddest and most forlorn voice, "Hey sweetie, do you want to have a party this year?" immediately followed by an exceedingly enthusiastic "or would you rather go to THE ZOO, pet some CUTE BABY SEALS, and eat a MOUNTAIN OF CAKE?"

This year, she didn't fall for it. Instead, she insisted on having a Princess Party with six of her closest girlfriends. This involved multiple outfit changes, macabre make-up sessions, insane amounts of screaming, criminal acts of civil disobedience, mosh pits, pizza gorging, and a chocolate cake orgy.

As far as I know, nobody got hurt or developed an eating disorder. Yay, success!

It's funny thinking about how it wasn't long ago that the Peanut was just a little baby whose sole ability was to be adorably cute on demand.

But strictly speaking, I like these days much better. It's incredible having an inquisitively playful, intellectually curious, and emotionally connected kid who never ceases to amaze you.  So yeah, six pretty much rocks.

Happy birthday, kiddo. I hope you always know how much I love you.

 

DO THE MATH

I, on the other hand, recently turned 42. While I generally feel pretty good about this benchmark, my daughter helped put things in a wholly different perspective.

Every time we're on the subway together, I give her math problems (yes, I'm that Asian dad.) Last week, while quizzing her on the 2 train about our age difference, she did the math in her head and then loudly yelled out for everyone to hear, "HOLY COW, YOU'RE 36 YEARS OLDER THAN ME? THAT'S CRAZY!"

I hope to someday be rich enough where the two of us will never have to take public transportation again.

 

OLDER, WISER

I used to think my dream woman was a mash-up of Zhang Ziyi, Tori Amos and Phoebe Cates but now I think she’s probably more a mash-up of Maggie Cheung, Christine Amanpour and Joan Didion. I could be wrong about this though.

 

SHORT BOOK REVIEWS OF BOOKS I HAVEN'T FINISHED YET

"The Snakehead" by Patrick Radden Keefe

An incredible account of how a middle-aged grandmother, working out of a tiny noodle shop in Chinatown, built a multimillion-dollar global empire smuggling Chinese immigrants into America. Book reads like a thriller as it explores the underbelly of human trafficking around the world.

"Hitch 22: A Memoir" by Christopher Hitchens

Love him or hate him, Hitch could care less. For him, the pen is always mightier than the sword. These memoirs are shockingly candid and brilliantly written. Quite possibly my favorite literary memoir since Martin Amis' "Experience."

"Freedom" by Jonathan Franzen

I know people had mixed reactions to "The Corrections" but I thought it was one of the best books written in the past 10 years. And while I'm only one chapter into Franzen's latest, he remains in my mind as one of the best story tellers in contemporary fiction.

 

CHING CHONG RACISM: YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST TIME

As a young Asian-American kid growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood, I always knew that I was different from all the other kids.

But it wasn't until I was in 5th grade that I experienced racial hatred for the first time.

During a friendly game of tackle football, I got in a scuffle with an Italian kid named Tony. While we were pushing each other around, Tony made the "chinky eyes" and said, "Fuck you, man. You're nothing but a fucking chink gook!"

I was nine years old.

I'd never even heard the words "chink" or "gook" before. And yeah, I knew my eyes were smaller but I didn't know that was something to be teased about. Shit, I never made fun of all the other kids because of their fucked-up noses or their jacked-up teeth.

As I stood there trying to process this new information, I heard my Irish buddy Tom and his older brother get in Tony's face. Even at that life-altering moment, I remember wondering whether the two of them were actually defending my honor or just looking for an excuse for a really good brawl. Heck, the last time Tom had gotten in a fight was when Tony made us sit in his driveway and watch while he drove the motorized go-cart his dad had gotten him for his 8th birthday.

Anyway, a few moments later, Tom and his brother grabbed Tony, pinned him down, and yelled for me to come over and punch him in the face.

Man, I have to admit that hitting him felt good. And yeah, the first time I experienced racism was also the first time I got into a fight. I don't think it's a coincidence that those two facts are related. Nobody likes to be different. Especially when you're nine.

As has been well documented, I love raising my daughter in New York City. Growing up here, she's been exposed to a wide diaspora of race, colors, creeds and sexual orientations that have made her oblivious to the differences that separate and divide so many of us as adults.

Sadly, that bubble has been broken.

Last week, BossLady was picking the Peanut up from school when an elderly Latino gentleman approached her to apologize for his grandson's behavior. Apparently, his grandson and another boy had been mocking and teasing the Peanut by making "chinky eyes" and yelling "ching chong, ching chong."

The kids are in first grade.

As BossLady was listening to the elderly man's apology, she saw two students in 3rd grade run past the Peanut and yell "ching chong, ching chong." Apparently, this has been a trend in the school.

Are you fucking kidding me?

When we discussed this with the Peanut, she said that she thought the boys sounded stupid making those noises and that she was "lucky" that her teacher stepped in to move the boys to a different table. What's the world coming to that my daughter has to feel "lucky" to not be taunted with racial epithets in her first-grade classroom?

The Peanut is in a new school this year. We moved her because we were so impressed with how the school seemed to truly embrace diversity and, to be honest, the school handled the incident wonderfully and appropriately.

However, I find it sadly ironic that the Peanut had no concept of race or color before she even came to this school.  It took less than a week before she learned that she was Asian. One of her little classmates had apparently lectured her on racial stereotypes and distinctions.  The Peanut was so confused that she came home one day and asked whether it was true that we were "Ajin".  

She knew that people looked different but there was never any judgment behind that.  It was beautiful to see and I'm sorry to see that loss of innocence. 

Like I said, you never forget your first time.

 

ON THE FLIP SIDE: USING MY ASIAN POWERS FOR MY OWN ENTERTAINMENT

Despite the fact that all my friends know I was born and raised in NY, some of them still cannot help but think that all Asians are imbued at birth with some sacred and mystical Far East knowledge. It's truly amazing to me.

Last week, I went over to a buddy's apartment and, as a joke, I told him that the Feng Shui in his apartment was completely off and that he needed to immediately move all his furniture around if he wanted to regain spiritual balance in his life.

I had him moving stuff around for about an hour before I couldn't take it anymore and started laughing so hard that tears were coming down my eyes. The dude was lathered in sweat from moving all his couches around the apartment. He even started complaining that my prank had caused him to re-injure his shoulder.

I told him to stay cool and grab some toothpicks so I could perform some ancient Far East acupuncture on him.

Ha!

 

HOUSEKEEPING

(1) Thanks to KoreAm for naming MetroDad as one of the Top 10 Asian-American blogs. I am humbly honored.

(2) Still undecided on whether to maintain my Twitter page. Whom should I be following?

(3) I know times are tough these days but, as the year ends, if you are lucky enough to be able to donate a small amount in order to help those less fortunate, please consider donating to help honor my friend's memory. The Andrew Golkin Fund has provided scholarships to some incredible kids and we'd love to do even more for them.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and all your loved ones!

Birds, Bees & Butts

 

 

The Peanut turned six last week (more on that in another post) and I'm quickly realizing that I can no longer answer her questions solely for the benefit of my own amusement. Her curiosity and intellect have reached a stage where the quest for knowledge must be gently nurtured and delicately handled.

Dealing with kids this age is a bit of a tightrope. You're never sure what they already know about a subject yet, at the same time, you don't want to fill their heads with information that might blow their tiny, little minds.

Nowhere is this more evident than when it comes to conversations about biology. Two recent conversations with my daughter have solidly driven that point home for me.

Witness...

Conversation #1

A week ago, the two of us were in a Chinese food coma and spaced out on the couch watching television. Suddenly, an image of a pregnant woman appears on the screen when the Peanut turns to me and says, “Daddy, how does the baby get out of the belly?”

Slightly panicking for a second, I remain calm enough to nonchalantly reply “When you see your mother tomorrow, ask her.”

“No, Daddy. I want you to tell me. I know how the baby gets in the belly. I just want to know how the baby gets out. Do they cut the belly open?”

Rembering the parenting adage of answering a child's questions as simply as possible, I reply “No, kiddo. The baby comes out of the woman’s vagina.”

Dead silence.

I pause for a moment but she doesn't appear to have any follow-up questions so we go back to watching television together. However, a minute later, I look out the corner of my eye and catch her peeking down her shorts and just staring at her vagina with the biggest look of bewilderment I've ever seen.

I had to keep from laughing my ass off so hard that I almost had an aneurysm!

 

Conversation #2

A few days later, my friend Erica's Jack Russell terrier gave birth to a litter of adorable puppies. The Peanut and I are on the subway and I'm showing her the latest batch of photos.

My daughter, with her fountain of newly-attained knowledge, turns to me and says in a very matter-of-fact voice, "Only female dogs can get pregnant and when they have babies, they come out of her vagina. Just like human women are the only ones who can get pregnant and give birth."

Normally I would have gently praised her for her intelligence. However, in this case, she followed it up by saying, "DID YOU KNOW THAT, DADDY? HUH? DID YOU? DID YOU? C'MON, DADDY. I CAN'T HEAR YOU. DID YOU KNOW THAT?"

So, in order to calm her down, I replied, "Listen, honey. I love you but you're six and you don't have ALL the answers. There's a very special subset of human men that are capable of having babies. Personally, I'm not biologically capable of getting pregnant or having babies. However, your Uncle Nelson is. In fact, he's pregnant right now. He's having a boy and if you want, we can go visit him in the hospital when it's time for the baby to be born."

Now let me just say that the Peanut and I log a lot of time together. She gets my sense of humor. In fact, at the tender age of six, she has already perfected the AER™ (Asian Eye Roll.) And 9 times out of 10, our conversations usually end with her looking at me and saying, "For real? No way!"

In this case, she replied "Oh yeah? Well, how is the baby going to come out of his belly? Uncle Nelson doesn't have a vagina."

"Of course he doesn't have a vagina, kiddo. The baby is going to come out his butt."

Like any little kid, merely hearing the word "butt" is enough to send her into convulsions of laughter. Either way, I assumed the conversation was over and that she knew I was just kidding.

Fast forward an hour later when I'm dropping her off at her mother's house. As the two of them are catching up, I go to use the restroom. When I come out, BossLady looks like she's seen a ghost.

"Your brother and his girlfriend are having a baby? Holy crap. They don't even live together. What are your parents going to say? I'm totally in shock. I think I need to sit down."

Before I can explain, the Peanut blurts out "Hold on a second. That's not even the best part. His girlfriend isn't the one having the baby. Uncle Nelson is the one who is pregnant. And guess what? THE BABY IS GOING TO COME OUT HIS BUTT!"

Needless to say, I had some explaining to do.

 

Being a highly involved father of the new generation (oy vey!) I started researching online about how to explain Sex Ed to a first-grade child. I also began persusing the local bookstore to see if there were any books that the Peanut could read on her own. Turns out there's a bunch of readily available source material available.

I find all of this more than a little amusing, primarily because the only conversation that I ever had with my parents about Sex Ed was when I was 18 years old. I was headed out one night to meet up with my high-school girlfriend. My father was on the couch reading the NY Times. As I had one foot out the door, he briefly looks up from his paper and yells out, "Hey! You know about condoms, right?"

End of conversation.Thank you, Obi Wan Kenobi.

Talk to me, people. Any funny conversations with your kids about the birds and the bees? Or alternatively, any humorous stories about your parents trying to drop knowledge on you? Spill it.

An inquiring mind wants to know.

 

MetroDad Mailbag (The Asian Edition)

When my friend Phil Yu, who runs the illustrious news site Angry Asian Man, asked me to write a guest post on his site while he takes a much-needed vacation to the mother continent, I wasn't sure that I'd have time to write something. But Phil has always been a great supporter of MetroDad and when I heard that my boys Yul Kwon, Parry Shen and Bobby Choy were contributing also, I knew I couldn't say no.

Anyway, despite the fact that this site deals primarily with the subject of being a single 41-year-old Korean-American parent in New York City, I tend to get a ton of e-mails from younger Asian/Asian-American readers from around the world so I thought I'd take the opportunity to answer a few of them all at once.

Here's the first question I received:

Dear MetroDad:

It seems like everywhere I look these days, non-Asian people are sporting Asian-motif tattoos. Usually, they're Chinese characters of some sort. How do I tell people how cliched and absurd these tattoos are?

-Michiko
San Francisco, CA

Dear Michiko,

I feel your pain. There's a great story about a certain unnamed NBA player whom, when asked about his tattoo, replied that it meant "turbulent flow." Unfortunately, it seems the player had simply picked characters from the tattoo parlor's catalog. When the characters were put together, the tattoo was actually translated as "crazy diarrhea."

I suggest that you follow my lead. Whenever you see someone sporting Chinese character tattoos, just tap them on the shoulder and say, "Damn, I like Moo Shu Pork too but I never thought about getting it tattooed on my bicep. Ballsy move, dude!"

Let me know how it works out.

Best,
MetroDad

To read the rest of my inane advice to today's youth, head over Angry Asian Man.

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

This morning, I was walking around downtown with my daughter. As we strolled down the street holding hands, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion and suddenly, tears started streaming down my face.

The Peanut looked up at me with her innocent eyes and said, "What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Daddy's a little sad today."

"Why?"

"Because 9 years ago today, I lost one of my best friends."

"How did you lose him, Daddy?"

"He died, Peanut."

You died, Andy. Even after all these years, I still can't get over saying those words. They sound so final, so cold, so dark.

God knows that you were anything but dark, my friend. You had a laugh that wasn't so much infectious as it was healing. Your smile lit up a room. And your eternal optimism could make even the most depressed person see the brighter side of things.

I still can't believe it's been 9 years since we lost you, Andy. After all these years, I still struggle to make sense out of it. How could life be so cruel to take you away from us at such a young age? You had just turned 30 years old. We were all so young. Our futures were so far ahead of us.

Recently I wrote an article offering advice to younger people around the age of 30. Ironic, eh? Much of my advice centered upon my belief that life is short. I wrote about how it's often said that before you die, your life passes before your eyes. It's called living. Don't let it pass you by.

When you're 30, you can't fully comprehend or appreciate what that means. They're just words on paper. Ramblings from an old man. But for me, it's more than a mere aphorism. It's a philosophy of life that I wholeheartedly embrace. More importantly, it's a philosophy I learned from you. Not only by being your friend but also from losing you.

To this day, I always think of how you treated everyone so kindly and my friendship with you always reminds me that good friends are better than good jobs or good trips or lots of money or any of the other things that are stand-ins for what life really is about. My friendship with you helped strengthen in me the shapeless, nameless muscle one needs to nurture friendships. I’ve become a better friend to others and a more compassionate person than I ever would have had our paths not crossed. It's one of the greatest gifts that you ever gave me.

Speaking of friends, you'd still laugh your ass off if you saw us now. Life may change but somehow it still remains the same. "La famiglia" (as you always liked to call all of us) is still as close as ever. We may be a little older and a little grayer but, at the end of the day, we're still that bunch of silly misfits who love nothing more than being with each other. Russell is still the hilarious lovable misanthrope that he always was. Kyle and I hung out with him last week and we're still nursing a hangover. Roy continues to live in Miami but instead of hitting the hot spots of South Beach, he now spends most of his time hitting golf balls and changing diapers. Shary has finally turned into the endearing old man that we knew he would always become. Most nights, we suspect he falls asleep before his kids do. And since Kyle and I are now both single, we spend a lot of our time acting like we did 9 years ago. Need I say more?

But we miss you, Andy. We miss you so damn much. We think about you all the time and we miss you as much today as we did when we first lost you. Every time we're all together, we still talk about our favorite memories of you. We can be anywhere in the world and one of us will quietly raise a glass and simply say, "To GoGo." Without fail, tears will always come to our eyes as we take a moment to remember how much we miss you.

While memories of our time together may fade, our love for you never does. Truly great friends like you are hard to find and impossible to forget. And quite simply, you were one of the best friends a guy could ever have.

As always on this day, I just want you to know that I'm thinking about you. I always have and I always will.

Rest in peace, Andy.

Love always,

Your friend Pierre

 

Andrew Golkin, 1970-2001

CHAOS THEORY: August 2010

Can it really be August 30? Labor Day weekend is coming up. Football season is right around the corner. The Peanut starts first grade in two weeks. And I've yet to sign up for those surfing lessons in Montauk that I swore I was going to do all summer!

In lieu of any actual real writing, I offer only the following...

THE FOOD NETWORK IN LIVING COLOR

My five-year-old daughter is hooked on the Food Network.

A few months ago, we were walking in Tribeca and she casually said, "Hey look, there's Bobby Flay." The funny thing is that it was Bobby Flay.

Before I continue, let me just say that my daughter and I have never had any conversations about race. She knows she's Korean but, aside from that, I kind of dig the fact that she doesn't think about race, color, or creed.

And because I went to high school with Alex Guaranaschelli and we've hung out with Aarón Sanchez a few times, she automatically thinks we're constantly surrounded by Food Network stars.

Hence, every black couple is the Neelys. Every punk guy with bleached hair is Guy Fieri. And every vaguely ethnic-looking brunette is Giada Di Laurentis.

This wouldn't be so bad if 5 year olds had a sense of discretion and subtlety. Unfortunately, they tend to say whatever is on their mind...THE MOMENT IT ENTERS THEIR BRAINS.

So, to the large white woman on the uptown 6 train today, I sincerely apologize for the fact that my overly-enthusiastic fangirl daughter excitedly pointed at you and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Oh my God, Paula Deen! I LOVE BUTTER TOO!"

"HOW TO COOK A STEAK" BY ALEX BALK

Though I greatly enjoy good food, I'm certainly no snob about it. I find "foodie" to be one of the more obnoxious self-aggrandizing descriptions one could ever apply to one's self. Hence, I get enormous enjoyment out of Alex Balk's description of how to cook a steak.

I hope you will too...

Go to the goddamn grocery and get a steak. Yes, the grocery. A little ammonia is not going to kill you. You want to be all fancy and grass-fed and environmentally conscious, go ahead, I don't give a shit, just get a fucking steak. Ribeye is good. And, yes, bone-in. Schmuck. Take the steak home. Get a big-ass frying pan and put the shit on the stove, cranking the heat up as far as that fucker will go. Take a shitload of salt—rocksalt, none of that fine-grained crap here—and toss it around the bottom of the pan. When the pan is hot as all fuck—it should scorch the shit out of your finger if you're stupid enough to touch it—put the fucking steak on there. You can crack some pepper on the top of the steak as the bottom is searing, but don't even talk to me about garlic or onion powder or COMPOUND FUCKING BUTTER, asshole. This is steak, all you fucking need is salt and pepper. After a bit (3 minutes for pink, 5 for cooked good), flip that shit over and do the same fucking thing you just did with the other side. When you're done, sling that shit on a plate. Beringer's 1996 Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley Private Reserve makes an absolutely delightful accompaniment, particularly if you've taken care to let it breathe a bit before quaffing. Also, make some fucking potatoes, because that's what you eat with a fucking steak. God, sometimes I just want to smack the shit out of you.

TEXT MESSAGING FOR DUMMIES: Vol. 5

Recent text messages from my friends. As always, unfiltered and unedited. For better or worse.

"I want to have just enough money so that I don't have to take my kids to the movies. Is that wrong?"

"Peeing in the shower is my swimming with dolphins."

"I go where the MILFS are at so, yeah, I Twitter."

"We're naked in the pool and eating lobster tails. Come over!" 

"Just kidding about the pool and lobster tails. We're putting the kids down to bed. Come over anyway and pick up some wine and cigarettes on your way over!"

"P.S. I'm totally serious about the wine and the cigarettes."

"Just call me Mama Boom Boom."

"Methinks ye are truly olde schoole."

"Zoe just wet willied a stranger at a party she thought was you. Is that racist?"

"Starting to think that the best thing about make-up sex is the fighting."

"Match is all WASPs and Koreans. You should go on JDate."

"Sure, she seems crazy now but maybe in 100 years, she'll be considered one of the greatest minds of our time."

"Hey, man. You ever use cruise control in a car? This is some serious Star Wars shit!"

"What's scarier to see when you walk into a girl's apartment for the first time? A bunch of cats or a stack of wedding magazines?

THE ANXIETY OF INFLUENCE

It's an indisputable fact of life that we are all influenced by our families.

Especially by our parents.

On the surface, we're lucky if we escape with a few innocently charming personality quirks like subconsciously singing "My Favorite Things" while cleaning the fridge in your underwear or choosing to always eat the food on your plate in alphabetical order.

At the same time, let's not underestimate the fact that few things have a greater emotional influence on us (or cause more psychic damage on us) than our parents. Like it or not, we are generally the sum total of their influences. Their beliefs, strengths, and fears often become our own.

Or do they?

Last week, BossLady took the Peanut to Coney Island for her first roller coaster ride. Naturally, I wasn't with them. However, BossLady was kind enough to send me an entire video of the experience.

For almost four minutes, my daughter can be heard on film gleefully screaming over and over, "Oh my God! This is amazing. Let's do it again!"

I must have watched this video twenty times already and, each time, I'm struck by the same things.

How is it that the same little girl who is terrified of insects, the movie "UP," and oceans show no fear in the face of riding rollercoasters, jumping off the top of jungle gyms, and racing down the streets of NYC on her bicycle?

And how is it that my daughter shows no sign of my own deep-seated phobia of roller coasters? By the same token, is it a coincidence that, as a child, I spent endless nights in the ER because I was constantly jumping off jungle gyms or fearlessly crashing my bike into cars?

In my self-absorbed circuitous way of constantly thinking about parenting, I then started pondering about what personal traits of mine are getting passed on to my daughter...in both good and bad ways.

Parenting sometimes alternates between being an exercise in narcissism and reinvention. If we're truly honest with ourselves, we have to admit that we want our children to inherit those attributes that we find most admirable in ourselves while, at the same time, we dread passing on those less likable character traits that we have failed to internally overcome. 

There is nothing wrong with that. It's wholly natural, isn't it?

And while parenting does add an extra dimension to the "nature vs. nurture" debate, these days, I find myself caring less about the origins of my daughter's traits as I do about seeing how they develop.

My daughter is almost six years old now and while I offer her all the love, advice and guidance of which I am capable, I'm starting to quickly realize how many things will actually be beyond my control. She will, for better or worse, develop into her own person.

Man, that's scary.

Maybe even scarier than rollercoasters.

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro

Two things I've always said I wouldn't do are (1) join Twitter, and (2) sign up for an online dating site.

However, this has been a busy summer for me. I won't go into all the details but I've found myself with very little "me" time. When I'm not working, traveling, renovating my apartment, spending time with friends, or hanging out with the Peanut, I just haven't had much free time to meet new women to date.

Now back in the days when I was single, online dating never really existed.

These days, it's all the rage.

So, in a panic, I called BossLady today to discuss this with her. She not only reminded me that we'd been to several weddings where the couples had met online but she also alerted me to the fact that times had changed and I should embrace technology and the world of online dating. She even gave me a ton of advice about which dating sites to avoid. Awesome!

Here's the problem.

As my buddy James has reminded me, I have a somewhat offbeat sense of humor. If I'm going to date online, I might as well cut to the chase. As James said, "Listen, bro. They're going to find out sooner or later. You might as well float it out there." Good advice.

Of course, James is the same guy who joined Match.com and used Ray Charles' bio as his "About Me."

And no, he wasn't born the black son of a Florida sharecropper. 

Anyway, I took his advice and, as an experiment, signed up for an online dating site for the first time. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing so I could use any advice, assistance, or help that you can offer.

For better or worse, here's my online profile:

I was born on a remote island in the South Pacific and now reside between Manhattan and Paris. Of course, by that, I mean Manhattan, Kansas and Paris, Texas.

At the age of 11, I was visiting relatives in Tijuana and, on a dare, entered a local variety show. To make a long story short, I wound up winning the coveted Chimichanga Award for Best New Asian Actor in a Mexican production of "Oklahoma."

This brought me fame at an early age. When I returned home, I was a huge celebrity and was often featured on local TV. Of course, since I lived on a small island with limited access to technology, there were only 5 families tuning in (7 during the vernal equinox!)

Eventually, I grew weary of an entertainer’s life and all the trappings of fame…the party, the interview, the stalker.

At the tender age of 17, through an administrative error, I received a football scholarship to Smith College. With a heavy heart, I kissed my family goodbye to explore the world beyond.

It was then I realized my dream of becoming a self-taught mathematician. With a little help from the Rand Corporation, I was able to solve Fermat’s Theorem and use that knowledge to help invent Spanx.

The rest is history. I do get lonely sometimes but I simply won’t settle. It seems most American women don’t have a knack for hunting wild boar. Despite my wealth and prosperity, I’m just truly a really nice guy at heart and no matter where life takes me, I will never forget my roots (nor my wonderful memories of foraging for roots.)

All kidding aside, I'm a very open, fun, honest, and down-to-earth guy. I truly believe in enjoying all that life has to offer. I have amazing friends, a beautiful daughter, and a great life that I'm looking to share with someone special.

I'm a born-and-raised New Yorker with an urbane wit and great sense of humor. I'm a hopeless romantic with an optimistic outlook on life. I take great pleasure in life's smaller moments. And as much as I like to have fun, I also have a very serious contemplative side that likes to explore my inner self.

I'm looking for someone who is kind, passionate, loving, honest, independent, funny, loyal and intelligent. My perfect match is someone comfortable in her own skin with a high degree of emotional intelligence.

And who gets my sense of humor.

What do you guys think? I'm going to die alone, aren't I? 

P.S. By the way, I joined Twitter too. If you want, follow me here.

Child Brides and Boyhood Crushes

Despite the fact that more and more marriages seem to be falling apart these days, I still remain an avowed believer in marriage as an institution.

In fact, I'd even go so far as saying that marriage is a truly vital cog in our societal machine. Dating's fine, living together is great, but I like to believe that anyone who is truly in love eventually looks at their partner and thinks, "I want to cut down on having sex with this person and get on their dental plan."

Just kidding. 

Sort of.

Ok, not really.

Recently I had dinner with an old friend of mine. He asked me what it was like to be single at the age of 41. I told him things would be much easier if I were one of those guys who could actually date a 25 year old. Unfortunately, I find myself to be in that seemingly rare minority of men who find maturity in women an attractive feature.

My buddy laughed and then reminded me about how when I was 25, I used to tell women on the first date, "I think I love you. Let's go get married and have lots of children." 

Obviously I wasn't serious. When I was 25, marriage was the furthest possible thing from my mind. What can I say? I was an immature 25 year old.

Apparently, marriage seems to be on my 5-year-old daughter's mind a lot these days.

It all started a few months ago when the Peanut came home and announced that her friend "Dane" had pronounced his love for her and told her that today was their "anniversary." He also told the Peanut that they were going to get married some day.

Naturally, this led to some hilarious conversations with the Peanut about marriage. After much profound deliberation and serious consideration, the Peanut informed us that she thought she was too young to get married right now and wanted to wait until she was older. And in a statement that had BossLady and I both running to our respective shrinks, she also said "Unless I want to have kids, I'm not sure I'll ever get married!"

Fast forward to this past Sunday.

The Peanut had her first ballet recital at a local dance studio. Much to our surprise, her little friend Dane not only came to see the Peanut's performance, he also brought her a bouquet of flowers!

It was only then that BossLady and I truly realized the wonderfully beautiful bond that she and Dane had. After BossLady took the Peanut to school on Monday, she sent me the following e-mail:

Dane is moving and this Friday is his last day.  Peanut started making him a Good Luck Book - with all these drawings.  And we made a friendship key chain for him.  So he came yesterday to her recital. He and his mom brought flowers and Silly Bands as a gift.

So, this morning, I had Peanut make a Thank You card.  "Thank you for the silly bands and the pretty flowers.  I love them.  I love you. From Peanut".  On the front of the card, she drew a picture of her and Dane with hearts everywhere.

We get to school this morning.  As soon as we get there, Dane sees her and goes up to her.  One of her friends is teasing Dane that he loves the Peanut.  Dane doesn't care about the teasing!  Peanut says nothing.  She just opens up her bag and gives the card to Dane. He reads the card out loud and I hear him say, "I'm going to save this card forever."  He seriously loves Peanut. And it is the cutest thing!  All the kids were teasing them that they were going to get married. And Dane didn't care. He was saying which kids could be the flower girl and the flower boy.  He pulls out the card to show more friends.

I wish you could have seen it. I adore this boy! I adore him for adoring our daughter.

Beyond cute!

That night was my turn to have custody of the Peanut. As soon as we got home, I asked her about her relationship with Dane. She started telling me how much she's really going to miss Dane when he moves. Even though she sometimes found the talk about marriage a little annoying, she said that she was truly sad that she wasn't going to see Dane when he moves.

So I asked her (half as a joke,) “So Peanut, have you and Dane ever kissed?”

Peanut: “Only once.”

Me: “Seriously, are you kidding me? You kissed each other? Or he kissed you? And where exactly did he kiss you?”

Peanut: “Don’t worry, daddy. I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me on the cheek.”

Me: “What did you say to him?”

Peanut: “I said, Dane, there’s no kissing allowed in school. You know the rules.”

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I immediately sent an e-mail to BossLady telling her about this conversation. She subsequently forwarded my e-mail to Dane's mom. As if our hearts couldn't melt any further from all the cuteness, Dane's mom thanked us for telling her about our conversation. She then proceeded to tell us that the cuteness was practically driving her to tears. Especially when she walked into Dane's room that day and saw him making "invitations" to the wedding!

I'm always amazed at how kids of each ensuing generation seem to be so much more mature than I was as a child. I remember being in a car with my college girlfriend and her 5-year-old sister back in 1990. At one point in the conversation, we heard this little voice from the backseat proclaim, "Can you guys stop speaking to me for a little while? I need my space."

Granted, the kid was being raised in L.A....but still.

But my own daughter? Talking about marriage? Honestly discussing her true feelings about a boy?

Maybe kids do really mature faster these days but whenever I think about this story, I recall being 5 years old and having a crush on my neighbor Brina. Maybe I was just a socially retarded dork back then because the only way I expressed my feelings for her were by pulling her pigtails and pushing her in the mud!

At the end of the day, I still sometimes see myself as that socially retarded 5-year-old dork.

But maybe Marie Ebner-Eschenbach was right when she said, "In youth we learn; in age we understand."

And while I truly and wholeheartedly agree with that quote, recent experiences of being the father of a 5 year old remind me more of that old adage: "the days are long but the years go by fast."

Now, all I can think about is walking the Peanut down the aisle at her wedding.

Oy vey.

As if I needed more fodder for my age-old insomnia!

Portrait of the artist as a young ballerina...