Dad's on the Couch Archive

7/14/04

Southward Ha!

Imagine, if you will, taking a little spin back in time. Back in time to, say, 1975. Polyester pants were still groovy, stereos only came from Crazy Eddie’s, and the President of the United States fell down a lot.

It was during that very same 1975 that a tousled-haired youth, remarkable only for his Zen-like patience and a striking resemblance to me, stared vacantly from the rear seat of a Dodge Aspen station wagon as it sped along the Eastern seaboard. Before long the car slowed to a halt in front of the Franklin Institute Science Museum and disgorged it’s passengers, each of whom was already enjoying that most quintessentially American of summer vacations: the family road trip.

As I recall, my folks and I had a pretty good time on that trip to the City of Brotherly Love; we poked and prodded things in the science museum, we got to eat food in restaurants that mother would never imagine serving us at home, and, it being Philadelphia, there was no shortage of old buildings in which to knock about.


So, today it’s a mere twenty nine summers later, and our humble manse is a beehive of travel related activity as we prepare to retrace my youthful steps to the torrid climes of Pennsylvania. Steamer trunks are being packed with the necessities of voyage, drapes are being pulled, sheets are being thrown over the furniture and the downstairs staff is being summarily dismissed for the duration of our journey. The lads are exited as schoolboys, which is just as well as they are indeed schoolboys, and my Lovely Bride is all a twitter with the notion of browsing the exotic bazaars of downtown Philadelphia.

Well, I suppose that might be more accurately phrased in the vernacular as: we’re going to throw our crap in the back of the mini-van and go stay at a Marriott in Philadelphia and see some old stuff… but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, now does it?

Anyway, my still unrequited and rather distracting love for the prose of S.J. Perelman notwithstanding, truly one of the greatest pleasures of fatherhood is doing the same fun stuff with the boys that I got to do as a kid. When on vacation there is, after all, mandatory jumping on the hotel beds, we get to eat out all the time guilt free, and there really isn’t anything cooler than a good science museum. All things considered, I’m going to have a better time now with the boys than I did when I was the kid.

Later, gator!

07/12/04

I Fascists Stanno Venendo!


More often than not, I pride myself on the dizzying heights of sophistication and subtle irony reached by my posts. And yet, after glancing at the BBC news this morning, I find that I’m barely able to manage a rather unsubtle "Holy Crap!" Truly, there’s no other way to approach this morning’s news than to dive right in and go straight at it.

So, just in case you happen to live in a refrigerator box under the 59th street bridge, let me be the first to inform you that the Beeb reported this morning that the Bush administration is examining "what legal steps would be needed to permit the postponement of the 2 November election." WTF?



Ok, you other fifty percent of America, it’s really time to wake up now. Get a damn clue. All right, let’s start with Point One and before you know it we’ll bring this baby full circle: Bush and his handlers are neo-conservatives, not Republicans. Republicans believe in fiscal conservatism, not huge tax cuts during wartime that are pushing us into record-breaking deficits. Republicans believe in individual freedom and protection from regulation and scrutiny, not the creation of an office of Total Information Awareness. Likewise, Republicans believe in States Rights, not constitutional amendments that would supercede those rights as well as abridging the rights of individuals in the process. And for Heaven’s sake, only neo-consevatives could possibly invoke the term "support our troops" daily, all the while consistently and quietly gutting veterans services. These are not the actions of real Republicans.



Point Two: Each and every living person in this nation with a pulse no longer has any excuse to imagine that our war in Iraq has anything to do with terrorism or Al Qaeda. The 9/11 investigative panel chairman, Republican Tom Kean, stated once and for all that no one has any evidence of a collaboration between Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein. Period. Just because Bush is shameless enough to then face the cameras and say that he still knows that there was a connection, doesn’t make it so.



Point Three: (And this is where we bring it all full circle)… we’ve seen in Point Two how desperate this neo-conservative administration is to create an atmosphere in which a constant state of war seems acceptable, and what is even more troubling is that the goal of a perpetual state of war is actually attainable. And such a circumstance is attainable precisely because the neo-conservatives have declared a much broader war not on a nation or a people, but a tactic called terrorism. A war that, just by chance, only benefits the heavy industry and services companies that are so inextricably linked to every senior member of this administration.

In the big picture, of course, to declare a war on a social and military strategy is as illogical as it is foolhardy. A "war on terrorism" is no more winnable than the so-called "war on drugs." The "war" on drugs is merely a euphemism for containment; and it was, for instance, just such a policy of containment that won the cold war for us. And yet, as part of the clarion call to war against Iraq, this administration was inexplicably successful in convincing fully half of this nation that containment is somehow equivalent appeasement. It isn’t.



So then, where does all this leave us? It’s clear that we have a corporate elite of neo-conservatives who have successfully hijacked the name of the Republican Party… and, as of this morning, are openly planning for the postponement of the presidential election in November. Hello? Any real, old fashioned, Republicans out there still thinking? Go on, connect the damned dots and tell me it isn’t time to put an end to all this before it’s too late.

Really, when any government starts planning to disrupt it’s own elections, it’s time to be very afraid indeed.




P.S.- Oh, yeah, and one last thing, don’t even start simpering about any of this having to do with the so-called "liberal mainstream media," because there isn’t any such thing. Again, just because Hannity and Limbaugh and their ilk bray incessantly that the public is being mislead by a mainstream liberal media, it doesn’t make it so.

In fact, here’s a challenge for anyone who believes in that myth: Just take two weeks and start each day by reading the Agonist online for all the world news that gets buried by the major outlets. Then, spend part of your day listening to Air America, and then finish your day by watching a couple of hours of Freespeech TV. Now that’s what liberal media are. Trust me, you’ll never again imagine that CNN, ABC, or your local Gannett rag is pushing some sort of "Liberal Agenda".

7/03/04
 
July Fourth Weekend. 
 
Hey you! Yeah, You. Whatcha doing inside on a beautiful holiday weekend like this?  You big doughy geek. Go shut off your computer and take your kids out to play under the big bright yellow thing in the sky. It’s July fourth weekend for heavens sake.
          Find a pool to flop around in.  Go grill some beef and drink some beer.  Beef and beer are, after all, an outstanding combination and are but two of the many reasons to celebrate our fine nation this weekend.
          And, might I suggest topping it all off with some fireworks?  Go on now, shoo!

7/01/04
 
A Carefully Crafted Message
 

I find that one of the greatest pleasures of blogging is being able to engage in snarky irony that’s completely unproductive. Moreover, words themselves make great playthings, and, put in just the right order, they bring me a certain pleasure that probably borders on the indecent.
          That said, I’m really not quite sure what to do with yesterday’s release of Joel Steinberg. Yeah, that Joel Steinberg.  My first reaction was to simply write a surprisingly long and creative collection of expletives, but that seemed to lack a certain dignity. My next thought was to PhotoShop rude things on his forehead, but then I realized that to properly express myself, his head would have to be so large it would probably become unwieldy.  Probably make it hard for him to find a hat too.
          In any case, I guess I’ll just leave it that even as a young guy seventeen years ago, I was struck by what an appalling and heartbreaking case it was;   but now as a parent the whole thing has taken on a different sort of significance for me.  Well, ‘nuff said.  You dads know what I mean.
 
          Ahh, but then again, (the sweet muse of inspiration rarely fails me for long)  now I do know what I’d really like, and it’s this:   Although I’ve never before advocated poor behavior,  I’d appreciate it if anybody happens across Mr. Steinberg on the upper West Side, please feel free to let him know that Evan Selinske says he can go fuck himself.
          There now. I feel better already!

6/28/04

A Call To Arms

Being the sort of guy that doesn’t catch on too quick, I’ll occasionally wander into the bathroom in the morning with the intention of gazing upon my beatific countenance in the mirror, only to be horrified when I find a bleary-eyed primate staring back at me. As is always the case however, once my pulse returns to normal it dawns on me that rather than being stalked by Mr. Jiggs, it’s much more likely that I’ve simply forgotten to shave for a day or two. Or four. Or maybe a week. Should probably cut my toenails while I’m at it.

Anyway, I just chalk it up to the time of year. The boys are out of school, the weather’s beautiful... and as such there are balls to be tossed, hoops to be shot, steaks to be grilled and hammocks to be stretched. Basically, the little chores in life like shaving often fall by the wayside faster than a celebrity Vegas nuptual.

The upshot of all this? I realized this morning that not only has the frequency of my blogging suffered, thus denying the world the benevolent magnificence of my staggeringly entertaining posts, but a lot of you other blogging dads out there have been slacking off as well. So hey, you know who you are… buck up and get back to work.

And for God’s sake get a shave.

6/22/04

The Movie Curmudgeon Returns.

As far as rules go, I have very few. Mostly I just do things the way I think they ought to be done, and that seems to work just fine with the rest of the household. There is of course the occasional boy rebellion when something terrible has happened, like the arrival of bedtime, but, as an act of fealty to my European heritage, such native uprisings are put down swiftly and without remorse.

I am, however, doing my best to impart the significance of one particular rule to the lads: Never, ever, feel that you have to like something just because people say you should. In short, if the emperor has no clothes, say so. And so, in just that spirit of honesty, I’m going to shout this little observation from the rooftops: NORTH BY NORTHWEST IS A TERRIBLE MOVIE! That’s right, Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, Eva Marie Saint and one very lost looking James Mason. That North by Northwest.

It’s one of those "classics" I had never gotten around to seeing, so you can imagine my excitement when it arrived at my door the other day, all wrapped up in its bright red Netflix envelope, coy as a new bride. Shortly thereafter my lovely wife and I popped some corn, dimmed the lights, and settled in for a spine-tingling evening with the master of suspense. (Well, we didn’t really make popcorn, but it sure sounds like it would have improved the Rockwell-like domesticity of the scene.)

Anyway, a mere 136 minutes later, although it seemed like many more, the lights came up and the credits began to roll… just as my eyes had been doing throughout the entire showing. Now I’m as skilled at suspension of belief as the next media consumer, but I have old baby blankets that hang together better than this plot. Nothing, and I mean nothing makes any sort of sense. We learn, for instance, that Kaplan, the man for whom Cary Grant is mistaken in the beginning of the film, is a fictional creation of the FBI. So since Kaplan never existed, how could James Mason’s henchmen possibly have mistaken Grant for him in the first place? For Heaven’s sake.

And yes, the well-worn ‘crop duster chasing Cary Grant scene’ starts out just fine, but by the end the pilot turns himself and his plane into a fireball when he inexplicably flies straight into a waiting gas truck. Why? Maybe the pilot just suddenly lost his will to live. Or, maybe James Mason had just hired the most incompetent pilot/assassin in the world. Either way, we’ll never know for sure because that bad old Mr. Hitchcock sure isn’t going to give up any of his secrets.

Anyway, even though I could blather on about the movie’s countless other surreal plot elements, I think I’ll just leave well enough alone. Suffice to say that my position as reigning Movie Curmudgeon stands unchallenged. All hail Movie Curmudgeon! Huzzah!

6/21/04

Nostalgia, Boys and Blogging. Or, a Brief Exercise in Narcissism.

As I’ve noted before, I’m not really a big fan of nostalgia. On the other hand I’m not a great fan of sweets, and yet time and time again I find myself standing in the kitchen at two a.m. wallowing up to my nostrils in a box of Mallomars… so there you go. A model of self-restraint I’m not.

And, rather like a box of Mallomars, this morning I found myself wading around in a bit of nostalgia when I realized that I’ve been blogging just over a year now. I hadn’t looked at any of the old stuff before, and when I did it was really rather a surprise to see what I was doing and thinking. Goddamn, I'm fascinating!
In any case, as the lads are now down to the last few schooldays before the Rapture that is Summer Vacation arrives, I thought I might throw myself a little birthday party of monumental vanity and re-post this early entry about my boys and their impending liberation:

June 21, 2003:

Sunday already… and we’re looking at the last two half days of school before (breathe slowly) summer vacation. Before I know it, my two boys, six and seven years old respectively, will be freed from the yoke of oppression known as routine. No more seven o’clock breakfast, seven twenty dressing, seven forty socks and shoes, seven fifty bus, etc. etc. etc.
I remember the sensation of the beginning of summer vacation as a nearly intoxicating sense of freedom. Endless mornings spent lying in bed imagining the possibilities. Hang out with friends in the stream that runs through the back yard? Wander over to the park to see who’s playing baseball? Maybe just hang out in the cool darkness of my parent’s bedroom and watch TV until I feel nauseous?
All good plans, but of course these days we’ll have none of that. Nope, in the twenty-first century (not to mention the last couple decades) we’ve decided that empty time is wasted time. Activities and routine reign supreme… Well, yes, much has been made of the fact that we commonly push our children too hard with too many activities and overloaded schedules, all leading to stressed out kids and harried carpooling parents. All true, we’ve all seen it.
I’ve found though, that as with everything in life, there has to be a middle ground. My experience tells me that my younger son does fine without any structure. He wanders from activity to activity spending the day in a sort of a pleasant state of mind. My experience also teaches me that my older son needs routine and activities. Left to his own devices, he will zone out in front of the TV or Game Boy for hours at a time, only to end up a wangy, over-tired, bored mess. Middle ground. Just the right mix of activities on a reasonably flexible schedule.
But, more on that later… The sun is actually peeking out and I’m off to a high school graduation.

(Again, damn, I’m interesting!)

6/19/04

Yet Another Holiday. Sort Of.

As a younger guy, I never had any interest in going out on New Year’s Eve. I did, after all, manage to have a pretty good time the rest of the holiday season, so by the time New Year’s rolled around I simply wasn’t interest in going out yet again, only to be surrounded by amateurs. (Ooops. Did I say that out loud?)

Likewise, I really had no intention of posting anything for father’s day. Been there and done that the other fifty one weeks… and all that. But, just as with so many other well-laid plans, things change and here I am to consolidate a little bit of mainstream media goodness that befell some of the dads this week: On Friday NPR gave a shout out to Rebel Dad in this piece… Russ at Daily Yak has a local CBS affiliate that did this number on his weekly playgroup (Didn’t even realize he did one; looks like fun)… and Daddy Types got some fine attention here for his efforts.

Strong work, guys, congrats and a great Dad’s Day to all.

*** Of course now that I’ve gone and posted this I realize that Rebel Dad has already done a better, and as always, more thorough job of pulling all these goodies together. Oh well :-)

6/17/04

Cautionary Tales.

Always a fan of cinematic kitsch, I ran across a specimen a few years ago that is, in my humble opinion, one of the finest examples of the genre: "I Accuse My Parents". First brought to my attention by Joel and the Bots in the Satellite of Love, "I Accuse My Parents" is a cautionary tale of neglectful parents, organized crime, and the redemptive love that a chubby, middle aged fry cook has for our protagonist, Jimmy.

Jimmy is, in short, a spectacularly stupid teenager who gets himself involved in myriad shenanigans until the climactic courtroom scene in which he lets loose the titular phrase and waves an accusatory finger at his neglectful, card playing folks. Jimmy’s parents are properly mortified and remorseful… as were, I would imagine, the overseas GIs to whom this film was sent and dedicated in 1943. I’ll bet my C-Rations that Maudlin’s Willie and Joe would really have preferred a few dames instead of this cinematic potboiler, thank you very much.


In any case, on the off-chance that anyone actually reads any of these entries, they’d know that I have a habit of quietly sneaking up on my point from behind before beating it senseless with a healthy dose of hyperbole.

But, as is the case yet again today, I occasionally lose my bearings and aimlessly wander the literary landscape as I blather on about old movies or laundry or the kids or whatever. What I’m trying to get at is that today, although you would never guess it, I have a cautionary tale of my own. There, that was simple enough.

So, my cautionary tale is this: Hey! You younger at-home-dads out there! Stay in shape. Seriously, no kidding. It can be all too easy spend a few years on the floor with your kids when they’re little and then on the couch with them when they’re bigger. Then one day when the weather turns nice you’ll find yourself chasing a Frisbee around the back yard between rounds of basketball in the driveway… and then you’ll learn the meaning of Achilles Tendinitis. Ouch. I won’t even go on about the other sore muscles or the suspicious thumping noises coming from my chest.

So, having recently fallen victim to a little of this and that, medically speaking, along with the approach of a certain birthday, I’ve come to the realization that for me the health boat is getting ready to sail, and I had better be on board. After all, it would be pretty lame if something bad happened and all I could come up with is "I accuse my parents."

6/10/04

Thinking About The Gipper.
I find that as I get older it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the mounting evidence that I am doing just that; getting older. Despite the obvious sort of evidence of aging, like the gray in my beard that seems to sprout faster than subpoenas at a congressional hearing, I also seem to be looking at the past with a more measured eye.

In practical terms this means that I’m having a hard time pinning down just how I feel about Reagan’s death and his legacy. No doubt his record in office will be subject to plenty of whitewashing and historical revisionism at the hands of republicans in the next few weeks… yet it’s hard to dismiss his vision of a greater America that was so transparently sincere.

For a little perspective, perhaps it would be helpful to consider an earlier president widely thought to be one of our finest: Teddy Roosevelt. History reflects well on T.R.; born wealthy, he was an unpretentious adventurer who championed the ideals of the new Progressive Era. Social justice was a priority for him before anyone even thought up the term "social justice," and his exploits in Cuba were, all hyperbole aside, truly heroic. There was no hiding in the National Guard for T.R.

That said, he is also guilty of appallingly flagrant crimes on the international stage, most notably involving Panama. I could blather on about the details of how he grabbed a bunch of land that didn’t belong to us and made it into a country simply because it suited him… but I’ll just leave that chore to this link for those of you who have never heard the whole story.

In any case, my point: T.R. was a larger than life mixed bag of really big Rights and equally large Wrongs. Likewise, despite Reagan’s terrible record on domestic social issues, he had a clear vision of America as a strong leader and partner in world affairs, and worked tirelessly to make sure the world saw us as the optimistic America we could be. And, moreover, it was clear that even if you disagreed with him he was the sort of guy who, at the end of the day, would sit down with you and talk it over like a gentleman.


Of course it’s a very sad thing indeed that we have no choice but to frame our discussion of Reagan’s legacy against the backdrop of what passes for the Presidency today. Clearly, just about anyone would compare favorably with the cravenly insincere warmonger that currently occupies the White House. Yes, it’s sad that today we believe that someone was a decent man and strong leader simply because he wasn’t a sycophant incapable of putting two thoughts together in a coherent sentence; and yet that’s the world in which Bush has stranded us.

So here we stand, at the beginning of the twenty first century, again longing for a leader who believes not in what America can be, but what it should be. A leader who is self confident rather than pathologically incapable of admitting a mistake. A leader who is intellectually curious, rather than one who exhibits an oddly perverse pride in never reading newspapers.

Yes, it’s a sad day on many levels when we mourn the loss of the Gipper.