Same As It Ever Was

Considering Nate’s Mommy refuses to sign up for Facebook and Nate’s Daddy does not yet have a “smart” phone, I should probably not link to this Onion article with such unbridled zeal:

Cool Dad Raising Daughter On Media That Will Put Her Entirely Out Of Touch With Her Generation

RENTON, WA—Local man Paul Campbell confirmed Saturday he was raising his daughter Emma on a variety of media carefully selected to help her cultivate an appreciation for artistic quality, a move that will reportedly put the 12-year-old girl hopelessly out of touch with her generation.

Perusing his music and film collections and showing reporters distinctive, well-regarded works that will thoroughly alienate Emma from her sixth-grade classmates, Campbell said he wanted to make sure his daughter enjoyed the benefits of a cultural education he never received at her age.

“Back then, I listened to junk like Journey and watched crappy movies like Iron Eagle,” the 41-year-old said in reference to popular music and films of the 1980s that allowed him to have something to talk about with friends. “I wish my own dad had turned me on to the good stuff, so I wouldn’t have had to wait until I was in my 20s before I started digging anything halfway decent.”

“Well, I’m not making the same mistake he did,” Campbell continued as he pulled out vinyl copies of Television’s Marquee Moon, Miles Davis’ Sketches Of Spain, and Big Star’s #1 Record, highly influential albums that will in no way help his daughter interact with her peers at a particularly delicate time in her social development. “There’s a lot of cool stuff out there, and it’s never too early to start learning what’s worth your time. I’m just glad I have the know-how to guide her.”

So what are they saying? That me putting the Pixies 1991 Brixton Academy performance on repeat isn’t going to make Nate a high school chick magnet? Maybe. Maybe not. But that one emo girl in his art class is going to freakin’ love him.

Snip Snip: Redux (cont’d)

To date none of Nathan’s grandparents have asked about his uncircumcised penis. As in, no one has said, “Hey, what’s up with your kid’s weiner?” Or, “Hey, when did you guys become dirty hippies?” Or, “Hey, aren’t you worried that the only role models he’ll have growing up are European porn stars?”

All (in)valid concerns. But it’s worth pointing out that unsnipped American boys are becoming the norm:

Steep Drop Seen in Circumcisions in U.S.

Hospital circumcision rates are down, according to a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report — and there doesn’t seem to be any clear reason.

The report from the center’s weekly report on morbidity and mortality showed that, depending on what numbers you used, hospital circumcision rates from 1999 to 2008 dropped from 62.5% to 56.9% (National Hospital Discharge Survey) or from 63.5% to 56.3% (Nationwide Inpatient Sample). And according to SDIHealth, from 2001 to 2010 the rates dropped from 58.4% to 54.7%.

You can read more here, here, and here.

Finally, because our previous conversations about circumcision got a wee bit contentious, I’ll leave you with a joke:

MG: Hey, did you know they use foreskins for replacing eyelids?

JG: No they don’t.

MG: Yeah, they do.

JG: Come on, really?

MG: Yeah, but afterward you tend to look a bit cock-eyed.

Internet high five for the first person who guesses who “MG” is.

Peak Cuteness

If you’ve already reached your recommended daily cuteness intake, do *not* play this video. Because you will explode.

Gone Fishing

We’ll start with the apology. I disappeared on you. Like that guy you were seeing who laughed at all your jokes and kissed you just the right way then never called you back. What the hell, right?

What happened was I ran out of time. I’ve said very little about on this blog about what I do professionally and I will say very little more except this: it’s one of those jobs where you sit around unemployed for a year and then suddenly, completely at random it seems, someone taps you on the shoulder and offers to pay you a handsome amount of money to work your ass off for a few weeks.

So that’s the good news, that I got me a job. The bad is that quickly thereafter my routine became this: get up at 6 AM, take care of Nate until 4 PM, pass him off to Leigh Ann, eat dinner, start my “real” job, then work until midnight. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

As it were, over the last few months this blog has missed a number of Nate’s firsts. Like Nate pulling himself up to standing. And Nate getting his first tooth. And Nate saying his first syllables (“dadadadada”). Rest assured, I have not forgotten these events and will write about them in due time. That could be a couple more weeks. Maybe even longer. But look at the bright side. Every time you check this site and see that this is the most recent post, it means that Nate’s college fund has grown $1 larger.

(The rest I’m spending on heroin.)

See You Monday?

I haven’t posted much lately because I’m pretty sure the world is ending tomorrow. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? It makes perfect sense. And if the world is ending tomorrow then why bother updating this blog? You’ve seen Annie Hall, right?

But I’ll tell you what. If I wake up Sunday morning and a series of cataclysmic events have not ravaged the planet, and if I am I not deafened by the sound of people wailing from the depths of their agony, and if I have not myself been teleported into a fiery pit of non-believers, then I’ll start doing my homework again. Promise.

The Powers That Be (cont’d)

Search YouTube for “Tuscaloosa Tornado” and you’ll find dozens of videos. But this is one of the more harrowing. This dude is filming from the corner of McFarland and 15th street. In other words, he’s about 100 yards from being dead.

It’s an 8 minute clip and it’s worth watching in its entirety, but if you just want to see how big this tornado was, jump to the 3:35 mark.

The Powers That Be

As many of you know, Leigh Ann and I met in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, ground zero for the recent tornado outbreak. So far, everyone I’ve talked to is okay. But here’s a photo of Charlestown Square, my old apartment complex:

I lived in a second floor apartment on the far side, in one of the units that no longer appears to exist. Sadly, the unit to the right of mine, where those idiots gave Maxine acid, appears to have survived.

Truth be told, the news coverage is starting to bother me. I keep seeing the same story over and over again. It goes like this: the reporter finds some survivor and asks them how they made it, and that person invariably says they sat in their basement and prayed for Jesus to save them. And then the blowhard reporter (I’m looking at you, Brian Williams) says something like, “I guess he heard you” or “It looks like it worked” or something equally as ridiculous. Look, I understand why this meme exists. People like to think that God is on their side and that they’re a part of the “chosen people” (hell, entire religions are based on this). But no one ever stops to consider what this myth does to the young woman, also in her basement, also praying to Jesus, who had her baby ripped out of her arms and then had to watch helplessly as debris traveling at 200 mph shredded her infant alive. God chose to save you but mutilate that infant? Bullshit, my friend. You lived for the same reason that baby died: random f%&#ing chance.

If you think that sounds a little harsh, consider this: half of these kooks think that baby is going to hell if it wasn’t baptized.

Yes, We Did

:(

I haven’t posted much this week and there’s a reason. Something very sad happened to one of our kitties yesterday. In a way, I’m glad Nate wasn’t here to see it. I mean, how do you explain death to a six month old? I’m 30-something and it’s confusing enough for me.

More next week.

Dad Break

For one week I am a childless bachelor. Leigh Ann took Nathan to Alabama to meet his relatives (no, really, click that link) while I stayed home to get some work done.

Now, I realize that in this situation you expect sordid tales of Charlie Sheen-esque debauchery. Dads Gone Wild! Tiger Blood! Winning! But the truth is I was never really a hookers and blow kind of guy. The proof of that is probably that I’m sitting here, freshly showered, perky from 8 hours of sleep, having just watched 15 consecutive minutes of television, and the one thing I’m thinking is: “Man, I miss being bossed around by that little tyrant.”

Come on back, little man. Daddy’s ready to take orders