One Jay At A Time

What I'm doing, what I'm thinking... and why you should care.

[onejayatatime]

In order to satisfy my desire of pizza and in order to convince my wife to order pizza, last night we ordered a fancy truffle oil and fresh mushroom pizza- despite the fact that I don’t really like mushrooms. Not sure if it shows more my devotion to my wife, or my devotion to pizza.    

[onejayatatime]

Park, the four-letter word

Despite my wife's and my own potty-mouth, we have amazingly made it five years as parents without our daughter learning or repeating any of our favorite words. I think there was one time when she was just beginning to form words, she repeated the sounds that make up the word "crap" - but no harm no foul, it was gone the next moment never to be uttered again.

At an NYC park/playground, there's any number of colorful words being flung about by kids of all ages (up to and including adult-aged adults). Still K's verbiage has remained mostly age appropriate. The other day while filling water balloons at the drinking fountain, a little boy- maybe a year older, if that, than K was asking for help filling his up- which he had picked up off the ground and I could see it was broken. I still tried and told him it was broken- at which point he insisted it work.

He took over, was unsuccessful and sprayed water all over us the were standing by, and came out with, “Oh SHIIIIIT!! Oh shit man, we're all wet.”

Pretending it didn’t happen, I answered with, “Okay, our turn!”

Miss K climbs up and starts filling up her balloon, which of course slip and sprays water, prompting this exchange:

K: Oh Shit!!

Me: I don’t think we should say that, sweetie.

K: Say what??

Me: Nothing.

K: I said SHUT. Ohh shuuut...

Me: Ok.

K: I said... shot?

Me: Ok.

K: Wait, what did I say again... the first time?

Me: I don’t remember.

And she hasn’t said it since, so one win for innocence!! I am more than positive it won’t last for much longer, but I’m not ready to be the swear-word police. Mostly, I’m not ready to hear these kinds of words come out of my little girl’s mouth. So many milestones already come and gone- many of which we couldn’t wait for. This one can wait. I’m not ready for this SHIT.

[onejayatatime]

But not for me...

Scene: Morning, the foyer.

Kallie: (taking out two pieces of art work from her backpack) Here! Look, one for Mommy, and one for... me!

Me: (chuckling) Oh!

Kallie: Don’t laugh, Dad- it’s not funny.

Me: I’m sorry sweetie, I just assumed that when the first picture was for Mommy, that other one would be for me... that’s all.

Kallie: It’s for me, Daddy- it’s not funny. (exits to show Mommy)

[onejayatatime]

Lindsey Graham: 'I am running because the world is falling apart'

While the Republican senator from South Carolina will make his official 2016 announcement June 1, he made his intentions clear during an interview on “CBS This Morning” Monday.

With his entry into the race, the current roster of Republican hopefuls should make for FANTASTIC theatre, or high comedy at the very least- albeit perhaps comedy of the darkest kind. Not for nothing, Marco Rubio’s looking pretty good in this current stable-- and that’s saying A LOT. Or is it not saying much? Alas... your move, James Ellis Bush.

[onejayatatime]

The littlest critic

Miss K has become quite fond of the Original Cast Recording of “What Could Be Better” from the musical Baby. My wife and I are currently working on the song for an upcoming performance, and she wanted to hear the song we are doing.

"Is that you, Mommy?…Daddy is that you singing?" No, we had to explain, those are other people singing the song.

Today it occurred to me that my wife might have a rough cut of the two of us singing the song at our last rehearsal. “You wanna hear Mommy & Daddy, singing the song?” She did.

About three-quarters of the way through it, she asks: “Can we listen to the REAL one now??” It’s a work in progress, kid. Thanks for the encouragement.

[onejayatatime]

Now that it's over, my "2" cents

I've been a baseball fan for as long as I remember. I've seen some great players come go. Guys who I grew up watching, are managers and coaches now- some of them are already in the Hall of Fame. What makes Derek Jeter different, and why is it that his retirement feels like it will leave a hole in the Major League Baseball landscape? What made grown men cheer for this guy like they were little kids? What made me drag my 4 year-old daughter to Yankee Stadium, when she could probably care less, just so she could say one day that she saw the great Derek Jeter play live?

Derek Jeter represented youth, vitality. A guy who was always on the field, avoiding catastrophic injuries for so much of his career. A guy who you were always surprised when it was his 30th- 35th- 40th birthday. So retirement? Come on, man. You can argue where he belongs in the pantheon of baseball or even Yankee greats (I've got him sixth by the way, behind Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle, DiMaggio and Yogi)- but what's most admirable to me is the respect he is regarded with from teammates and opponents alike. It's no wonder that the advertising campaign that dominated down the stretch played of that very word: RE2PECT. He embodied the term on the field.

It's gonna be weird next year. No Yankees Captain. No "Derek Jeter" chant during the roll call. No more Bob Sheppard echoing through the Stadium. Baseball will go on, the Yankees will go on. My brother in law said, quite simply and succinctly: "I'll never see another player like him in my lifetime." None of us will. And maybe that's what makes this one different.

3,465 hits. 2,747 regular season games played. 5 World Series rings. But the number we'll all remember is (take it away, Bob): "number 2, Derek Jeter... number 2." 

[onejayatatime]

Now I've stepped in it

Last night as I left the room that we call Bagoo's room- really the office/playroom- but it's where he spends his nights, and where his designated litter box is. Not that the cats follow the rules as to whose litter is whose... but I digress. On my way out I stepped with my barefoot on something wet, and made an obligatory "Ack" sound. Lifted up my foot, but saw nothing on rug below. Looked on the bottom of my foot, and stuck to it was a nice juicy hairball. I hopped out to the kitchen where my wife lovingly removed the hairball with a paper towel for me, with a reassuring "At least it wasn't poop." Yes, at least it wasn't poop.

Then before bedtime, as I stepped up to use the toilet I felt something wet under my foot. I looked down and it was my daughter's shorts and undies- discarded and left prior to bath time. My hopes that it was just wet from when she got into the bath were dashed this morning when I asked my wife, "Did she wet her pants last night?" The reply was yes. I had stood on her pee pee pants. (And left them there overnight, because just because)

This morning there was a ruckus surrounding the litter box in Bagoo's room, involving Bean - he chasing her out of the box. Normal cat stuff. I went into get something out of there, and upon exiting felt something under-shoe. "Well that's poop," I exclaimed- and went to get a paper towel to retrieve said poop. "At least you were wearing shoes," reassured my wife. Yes, at least I was wearing shoes.

It appeared as though this 12-hour span seemed to trending downwards, as far as stepping in stuff. But I rallied, and seemed to make it through the rest of the morning unscathed. As my daughter and I walked out of our building and into the sunlight, I noticed I had some drops of something on my pant leg and shoe. Water, I supposed, from when I was filling up my water bottle. Forgetting about it completely I rode the train to an appointment. Walking up the stairs, I realized those droplets we not water, but syrup. Maple syrup. That had somehow leaped off my daughter's plate and landed on my pant leg and shoe. And it was starting to crystallize. A little water and scrubbing took care of my shoe- my pants still contained spots here and there, but at least I was trending back upwards!

Here's hoping the trend will continue, and by the end of the day, hopefully I will trip over a paper bag full of $20 bills. Just putting it out there.     

[onejayatatime]

Barefoot in the P̶a̶r̶k̶ Playground

Not sure what the decorum is on this. But I do know about common decency. I also know a little bit about being an adult- even if I don’t always act like one.

You are at the playground with your kid. Summer has arrived. It’s a hot day. I get it, I do. And if you so desire, let your kid run around without their shoes on- I’m not going to tell you how to be a parent to your child; let them run amongst the pigeon poop and god knows whatever else inhabits the playground surface- that's your less than sanitary choice. But I will call foul when I see you walking around without your shoes on. Come on, man. You are a grown-ass adult. Put some shoes on. Sandals, flip flops: the well-ventilated footwear options are plentiful. Would it kill you to don a pair? I don’t need my daughter traumatized by your naked, ugly feet. Actually, even if they are nice looking feet- the nicest looking feet in the neighborhood- I don’t want to see them bare and on the playground.

And no, it's not just jealousy because I am still in my work clothes! Maybe I'm making too big of a deal about this. But then again, maybe you should put on a pair of shoes. It's a slippery slope from no shoes to running around in just your diaper, man-- I see your kid doing it, and if the shoe fits... well, maybe you aren't familiar with that saying.

[onejayatatime]

Mets second baseman ripped by New York radio hosts for taking paternity leave... (click on pic for story)

Coming from ‪Mike Francesa‬, I can understand. He’s already established himself as an unbelievably idiotic ass hat. And ‪Carton‬, he’s pretty much your garden-variety, small-dicked loudmouth sports talk host… but ‪Boomer Esiason‬, whose son battles a life-threatening illness? Who should know how precious every moment with your child is? Shaking my damn head at all of you, fellas.

‪Daniel Murphy‬ is well within his rights, and I applaud him. Family first. Always. It doesn’t matter how much money you make. Murphy has the luxury (and contractual right) of being able to do this- kudos to him for taking advantage of the opportunity. I feel for the spouses and children of these ridiculous douchebags— all well-paid guys who apparently put work above all else. Shaking. My. Damn. Head. ‪#‎SMDH‬

[onejayatatime]

Sound of Silence

Miss K is writing her letters now, and always wants to know how things are spelled. She wanted to know how to spell her friend Kate's name. We sounded it out together, and she got K-A-T... and I gave her the "E"- explaining to her that it was a silent "E" that you don't say.

A few days later we were in the elevator with Kate and her mom, and Miss K clammed up as she usually does when we encounter people. This child who screams bloody murder up until and sometimes throughout bedtime- she puts on the shy act in front of others.

Anyway, when we got off the elevator said goodbye to Kate and her mom, I said to her, "Why do you never talk to Kate when you see her?"

"Because Dad, it's a silent E."

Well, at least she was listening.

[onejayatatime]

Cross-town psychology

Have you ever been on a city bus where everyone around you, including you, had a goofy smile on their faces? I just got off my first.

I got on the 96 bus at Central Park West, my transfer point. As I settled into a seat near the back, the bus driver went into normal bus driver-speak into the microphone, imploring passengers to move all the way to the back- but hen he ended with a dry, “Don’t be afraid, it’s not too scary back there…” which garnered some snickers from some of us. Little did we know the act was just beginning. “Any body wanna drive the bus? Nobody?”

He then launched into finding out if it was anyone’s birthday today- no- anybody just have a birthday?- no. “I think people are a lying,” he said in a sing-songy voice, and followed up with, “Any birthdays in the next five years?” Somebody called out May 9, and the bus driver asked for a name. You know where this is going: Nico got an early performance of Happy Birthday from his fellow passengers, if half-hearted, led by our fearless leader holding the wheel. “Welcome to the party bus!” This is really happening before 9am on an NYC bus.

"Look at the person to right of you, give them a smile. Look to the left, say good morning!" People were really warming up now. Even those on the bus who seemed hardened commuters, couldn’t help that the sides of their lips were curling up. "I got another one for you- what ten parts of the body have only three letters in them?" Let’s see if I can remember all of them, as shouted out by my fellow passengers: arm, leg, rib, ear, toe, gum, eye, jaw… well that’s eight. But there were ten.

As we got to the other side of the park, he was reminding everyone to say to say goodbye to our fellow riders as we got off the bus, and saying the next stop was Miami Beach. Which prompted kids to call out, “Candy land! Ice cream island!” He obliged and said we’d go there too.

"If we could all do more of this, the world would be a better place." he had said, when we were half-way through the park. I think everybody on that bus found it hard to argue that sentiment- and we all got a little pick me up as we wait for Spring. I know my day warmed up a bit earlier than I expected. Now what were those last two body parts...?

[onejayatatime]

Spurred memories, and how I let Abe Lincoln down

The other day, Facebook notified me that it was the birthday of a person I've known for a very long time. And just the simple act of wishing this person happy birthday, quite out of nowhere shot me down memory lane, to a day I hadn't thought of in forever. It was the day in fifth grade I lost the student council presidency to her by three votes.

I remember very clearly, sitting on the lawn out in front of our classroom and Mrs. McConologue was reading out the results- and when she announced who won for president, she followed it up by telling everybody that it was a very close vote- that I had only fallen three votes short. I remember falling back on the grass, in an aw shucks manner- not inconsolable, but a little heartbroken. I don't remember who was sitting next to me, but I do remember some pats on the back, and some supportive "oh man's" and "ahhh too bad."

I don't remember exactly the content, but I know my mom and I made some pretty bad-ass signs. What I do remember very clearly, was the ringing endorsement I received from "Abra-hand Lincoln," who even spoke on my behalf in the middle of my speech. I had drawn a face and beard on my hand, you see, and fashioned it with a little Lincoln-esque top hat perched on my knuckle. Daniel Day-Lewis be damned. Historical comic gold. This election was mine.

Enter John Wilkes Booth... no, not really. But a little dramatic tension and just a touch of gore (the bloody kind, not the Al kind) might have garnered those three votes in my direction instead of my opponent. Alas, youth is wasted on the young. What could have been, that year in the middle-eighties for Silver Spur Elementary- who can say?

I'd like to say my foe went on to achieve great political success, so who was I to block the on-coming train of destiny? And who knows, she might still. But nothing like social media to take you back to what amounts to your earliest remembrance of public let-down and embarrassment. I can't wait for You Tube to play scenes unknowingly recorded of me standing on my dresser singing "Every Time You Go Away" (by Daryl Hall as performed by Paul Young) for my stuffed animals. That never happened, by the way, and if it did- I certainly wouldn't have been pretending to be on Star Search or anything... but I digress. 

Thanks for the memories, Facebook. Next time, may it by the time I caught the winning touchdown in the homecoming game... okay, that one really never happened.

[onejayatatime]

Rezzie Razzies

Last year, I was inspired to make resolutions for the new year which I never do. They were three, easily attainable goals- not ones I couldn't dream of completing thereby setting myself up for failure. Let's see how I did (along with excuses and qualifiers):

1. Play my guitar more. 2. Write something at least three times a week. 3. Volunteer. 3. Let's go backwards. shall we? Did I volunteer my time somewhere? Anywhere? No. No I didn't. I am employed by a charity, though- I work for an organization that does great, important work. That counts for something, right?

VERDICT: Resolution FAIL

2. I was the the author of exactly 13 posts on this blog in 2013. 13 in '13 -- that's clever, right? What'll I think of next? Doing a little simple math here... hmm, it looks, however, I didn't quite reach the three times a week I was shooting for. But it didn't say just blog posts-- it could be writing anything creatively anywhere: music, poetry... although adding up those things I have creatively birthed outside of this blog... let's see.. carry the one... ZERO.

VERDICT: ZERO points earned.

1. I picked the thing up a bit, here and there. What did mean by more? More than what? More than who? I played my guitar more than someone who doesn't play guitar. Well about a month ago, I was tuning her up to play something for Miss K, and a snapped a string. Which entertained K to no end- but set me back in the actually being able to to play it department.

VERDICT: Being that the guitar is in less playable shape than it was in the beginning of the year, this gets a a BIG RED X. And not the kind meaning "completed!" Side note - I did, two days ago buy some strings, and I resolve to restring that guitar... sometime.

So not great on the resolutions as they were laid out. What did I do? I ran my first, and then my second half marathon in 2013- bettering my time each time. Which led me to signing up for my first full marathon this coming Spring. I got promoted at my job. I put my daughter on a school bus for the first time ever and didn't chase the bus down the street.

So 2013 wasn't without it's accomplishments. Just not the simple ones I had set to achieve. So, no "rezzies" this year- yet. But who knows what lies in store?

[onejayatatime]

Ode to the lost, an OJAAT Haiku

Where's third avenue? She said to me, as we were 'Tween Broadway & 8th.

(author's post script: the real kicker was when she told me she got off the train at Lexington.)

[onejayatatime]

This morning the Bubble Guppies did a back-to-school parody of Lady Gaga's "Pokerface" with their very own "Pencil Case." I realize that very little of that last sentence was intelligible English.

It's a poor quality video, but you'll get the geniu--- err, gist...

[onejayatatime]

The power of communication

Two conversations with my 3 year old daughter, within minutes of each other this a.m.

Leaving the building

K: It's cold Daddy.

Me: It'll warm up in a little while.

K: It's not warm now, Dad.

Me: No, but you'll be back inside in a minute - it won't matter.

K: Huh?

Me: I said, you'll be inside- it won't matter.

K: (beat) Huh?

* * * * * * *

In the elevator

K: What happened to the lightbulb?

Me: It must be broken, Lorenzo needs to fix it.

K: Where is it?

Me: It's not there.

K: No where is it?

Me: I don't know- with Lorenzo. He needs to fix it.

K: (beat) Huh?

[onejayatatime]

Curséd crust, and how I blame my wife

When my daughter began eating real people food (i.e. not goopy baby mess), she took a liking to a staple of my morning diet: toast. We'd cut it in fours, and she eat it from the center out- sometimes devouring the whole thing, sometimes leaving the crust. When having a bite of my toast, she'd take the first bite sometimes- and, not having cut my own piece of toast in fours, she'd get a mouthful of crust- and be fine with it.

I like the crust. The end of the loaf of french bread? Yes. A big, chewy and doughy end to my slice of pizza? Sign me up. The heel of a normal, store-bought loaf? Sure, sometimes it's the best piece in the batch. You see, my love affair with bread does not end when the end begins. My wife on the other hand...

At some point, I became aware of the fact that my wife, when making Miss K some toast, would cut all the crusts off- stating that she didn't like the crust. It had never been a problem, I thought, when she didn't want the crust she wouldn't eat it. Then I realized that when I made her toast- she wanted no crust. When asking for demanding a bite of mine, I had to bite around the outside first, so as to remove the crust from her bite.

Pizza crust now had to be removed from the pizza, and often times the plate before eating commenced. Another trait taken from my wife-- no she doesn't remove it prior to eating, but it's no secret she never eats the crust, leaving her plate littered with "pizza bones," as I like to call them.

So it would seem as though my little girl, in the course of about a year, has gone from "crust-eater" to "crust-not-minder" to "completely-crust-adverse." And I am not making any BONES about who's to blame.

It's come to a head recently, when taking a waffle out of the toaster (yes I feed my child frozen waffles, judge me if you must), K asks to me to remove the crust. After trying many times to explain to her that waffles don't have crust- I now peel off any parts of the waffle that may be deemed by her majesty as crust. Not limited to the extreme edges- any overly brown/darker part of the waffle that could be construed as such is subject to removal. 

I don't like to play the blame game, but I am looking squarely at you, wifey. So many things in this life can be blamed on me, but I am throwing my hands up with this one. When it comes to bread products, I'm in it til the ends.