icky icky icky icky icky

icky thump!

what happens in my liver stays in my liver

so this weekend is my brother's bachelor party. it will be in las vegas. because he is my brother and you only get married two or three times in life, i am honored to be an attendee (i am not the best man, so i didn't have to organize it -- i will be the officiant, though, meaning i am not allowed to die until june 9, otherwise he can't get married). however, i am not really a bachelor party guy. nor am i really a vegas guy. nor am i really a dude guy. my brother (and i love him like a brother) has opted to do the las vegas bachelor party over memorial day weekend with ten of his closest fraternity brothers. i am, suffice it to say, looking forward to it like a blue ribbon butterball looks forward to thanksgiving. (if you're reading this, brotown, i promise to embrace it my fullest ability. i will make you proud.)

anyway, here's an e-mail the best man sent me yesterday. i can't tell how firmly his tongue is planted in his cheek here--and i'm not sure i want to know:

I have been alerted of your extracurricular activities that include, among other things, reporting your life events on a certain blog site. Given the potential sensitivities that may develop as a result of this weekend's festivities, I, as a representative of all attendants, hereby ask that you enter into the following confidentiality agreement, which may be published on said blog site in place of your traditional weekend reporting...

Confidentiality Agreement:
This email correspondence, submitted by the undersigned, a prospective participant (the "Partier") of a certain bachelor party to be held Memorial Weekend 2007 (the "Event"), outlines the terms under which the Partier agrees to keep and hold any Information (as defined herein) about the Event in strictest confidence. For purposes of this agreement, "Information" shall mean any information, whether it be witnessed first hand or shared in story format by a third party also attending the Event pertaining to any specific details of the Event, including, but not limited to, amount of alcoholic consumption, discussions of the opposite sex, amount of alcoholic consumption,viewing of the opposite sex, amount of alcoholic consumption (the triple mention is a legal term of art), and gambling. Partier hereby acknowledges that release of any Information is potentially disastrous and possibly life threatening for other attendees of the Event and he will never be forgiven. Partier further agrees that should he fail to comply with this Agreement, no amount of cash compensation can properly satisfy the ramifications of such breach and that the penalty, at a minimum, will be immediate repossession of Partier's "Man Card". This Agreement shall remain in full effect FOREVER. By the signature below, Partier hereby acknowledges that the terms of the Agreement are acceptable.

________________
Partier

pray for me, readers.

woo.

the "tang" is implied. or not. just watch. so much awesome.

an anti-semite grows in brooklyn

well what do you know? park slope--my park slope!--has its very own nazi. i guess if you're going to hate on the jews, you have plenty more fodder in brooklyn than you would in, say, wisconsin.

still. how odd.

this is my brain on sleep deprivation and daughter disses

after rereading that last post i have decided that if i ever become an honorary member of some native american tribe, the best possible name for me would be Fishes for Compliments. thank all y'all for the lovely comments, although i suspect you guys are just trying to get more than your fair share of the hookers and the blow.

anyway, here's another question i should have added to my list of questions i routinely ask my child but don't actually want the honest answer to:

• GODDAMN IT ARE YOU EVER GOING TO FUCKING SLEEP THROUGH THE FUCKING NIGHT EVER THE FUCK AGAIN?

as i mentioned the other day, the kid turned two. she has always been a fairly good sleeper, if not the strongest of nappers. but right around the time i got my knee surgery, she started waking up again at 4. in the morning. because she hates us. lucky for me, i couldn't really walk. and even if i could she would completely flip out if i ever tried to pick her up, which leads me to another question i left off the list.

• WHY THE HELL DO YOU MELT DOWN LIKE THREE MILE ISLAND EVERY TIME I LOOK AT YOU THESE DAYS? (or, alternatively, "what's so great about mommy anyway?")

she is going through a rabid no-sleeping, no-daddy phase, which sucks. mrs nice guy and i, in return, haven't gotten a full-night's sleep in months either. we're all as tired as we were when we had an eight week old infant that hadn't yet worn out her welcome. the other night, 3:30 am, the wife and i woke up to the sound of this: "MAC AND CHEESE! MAC AND CHEEEEEEEEEESE!" did i mention this was at 3:30? normally, when i crave mac 'n' cheese at 3:30 in the morning it is because the preceding 12 hours had been spent consuming alcohol. and i certainly don't scream MAC AND CHEESE loud enough to startle my parents awake an entire continent away. i don't know what my kid's excuse is.

anyway, i took the rare initiative to gimp into the room to see if i could calm her down. what started as MAC AND CHEEEEESE quickly morphed into NO DADDY! NO DADDY! which was accompanied by a spectacular breakdancing move to dodge my grasping hands. so you see the logical conclusion here: she greatly prefers the company of a carb-heavy starchy dairy dish to me, her own father. the next time she wants me to play with her i'm going to tell her "sorry sweetie, i prefer spending time with johnny walker. maybe the mac and cheese will pick you up." because two can play at being childish.

the new awesome development is that my wife, who can speak dutch, has this neat trick of singing a dutch lullaby that usually knocks the kid out. it's a magical little dutch lullaby. so magical that when i am alone with the kid now, like at nap time, the daughter specifically requests the song, "Slaap, Kindje, Slaap." the problem: i do not speak dutch. nor can i sing. so when she lies in the crib she looks at me with her ginormous eyes and asks, hopefully, "Slaap Kindje? Slaap Kindje?," i must regretfully tell her that i still haven't learned dutch and don't know the words. she goes ballistic again. "SLAAP KINDJE!," she spits venomously at her less-popular-than-mac-n-cheese-father and it's all i can do to not yell back at her "I'm gonna Slaap you, Kindje, if you don't zip it!" this obviously is not an option, so i figured it's time to teach myself a phonetic translation of the song so that i too can sing her to sleep. with a little google magic, i have looked up the lyrics to the OG dutch ditty:

Slaap kindje slaap
daar buiten loopt een schaap
een schaap met witte voetjes,
dat drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes
slaap kindje slaap
slaap kindje slaap

here's the official mr nice guy phonetic english rendering, which i call SLAP, NINJA! i think there is some eternal truth to be decoded within these lines. a prize goes to the person who figures it out:

slap, ninja! slap
dark boots are lubed in shop!
in shop, meat with veggies
that drink gin and milk so edgy!
slap, ninja! slap!

i bet she has the sweetest of dreams after i sing her to sleep.

questions i ask my toddler even though i don't actually want the answer to them

ok we got a doozy of a weekend on our hands here. the in-laws have returned. the mr nice mom--mater nice guy herself-- cometh this evening. tomorrow we host our pagan ritual heralding the dawning of the third year. that's right, the spawn turns two tomorrow. two years of parenthood. if this were a sitcom, i'd play a daughter highlight reel set to billy joel's "my life."

the party is on tomorrow, though. hoods will be donned, goats slaughtered, goblets filled, the BBQ all queued up. the toddlers will toddle en mass. they will swarm into our living room, squabble over toys, use my LPs as frisbees, shout "mine!" and "no!" barely loud enough to penetrate the fog of alcohol that has engulfed the brains of Team Parents. it will be terrifying and awesome. why, you ask, are we doing this in our new home, with its newly renovated kitchen and general undestroyed newness? this is a question i do not have, nor do i probably want, the answer to.

speaking of which, in honor of my child's turning two (TWO? who can believe it?), i have compiled a list of questions that i regularly ask her even though i don't actually want the honest answer. here they are:

• are you ready to take your nap?
• haven't you had enough mac and cheese?
• how many times in a row can you watch "elmo's potty time?"
• can you say "i love you, daddy?"
• what, you think i'm scared of you?
• haven't we heard enough raffi for one day?
• do you think you can take your hand out of your diaper?
• are you happy now that you spilled daddy's coffee all over his keyboard?
• will you give me a hug?
• are you the cutest baby on earth?
• you don't really want a bottle now, do you?
• well, was that very smart?
• we don't have any pear yogurt. isn't peach yogurt good enough?
• where did you put mommy's panties?
• don't you want to live here with us forever and never grow up?
• did you just speed-dial my boss from my cell phone at 5:30 am?
• are you done crying?
• satisfied?
• how badly can you hurt yourself doing that?

anyway, happy birthday darling daughter dear. i can't believe it's only (and already) been two years. what did we do before you got here? what purpose did our lives serve? what's it like to read the entire sunday paper? ah, more questions i do not have answers for.

let me also take this occasion (this is an update to the post, three hours later, but seeing as how my mom is still on a plane and the rest of my readership has inexplicably *COUGH COUGH* plummeted *COUGH* as of late, i don't think too many people will have missed this addendum) to thank you, readers, for mysteriously continuing to read. this is a strange hobby, blogging, and i still don't think i have the total awesome hang of it. but it's something i started because of my daughter, who, did i mention?, is turning two tomorrow.

my take on this blog: basically if, just once a week, i make someone somewhere in the world either laugh or curse my pseudonym while shaking his fist in the air, it's a worthwhile endeavor. i don't really have the time for this, but it is fun and it has resulted in a few interesting moments in my life (ie, amy sohn was invited to a party i went to last weekend but i learned later that she decided not to go at the last minute. i have since spent many hours ecstatically imagining the blogger fisticuffs; the cyber-casted cage match at a youtube near you). anyway, gentle lambs, there will probably be a surprise or two here in the next couple months, so please keep reading. and tell a friend -- I MEAN, WOULD IT FUCKING KILL YOU TO TELL A FRIEND? (sorry, whiskey and desperation, i find, mix a little too well.) anyway, i hope reading hasn't been a total waste of your time--but then if you're as much of a loser as i am, i'm probably doing you a favor.

also, if you stick around, just for you, let me promise one more thing: hookers and blow. i'm just sayin'. mr nice guy will treat you right. silicone and silly 'caine. mmmmmmmmmm.

trapped in the drive thru

damn it. the dude's still got the chops! who else is currently recording his best material 20-plus years after he first made it big? weird al's never been funnier. this is easily as riotous as the original r.kelly unintentionally hilarious bonkers-masterpiece. i am so not ashamed to admit that i'm a fan, damn it.

why i spend most of my time inside and alone

i am still on crutches. the doctor seemed to think i'd be walking about two weeks ago. but the swelling in my knee hasn't gone down really and at last measure the furthest i could bend my knee was 87 degrees. now, stop right this second and look at your legs. i'd be willing to wager that both of your knees are bent at an angle greater than 90 degrees. further than a right angle. i am no euclidian geometry wiz, but i believe the correct term for this type of angle is an acutely obfuscated angle. look it up.

anyway. you try going a day without bending your knee more than 90 degrees. it sucks. it makes a body grumpy. and you know what else makes a body grumpy? when total strangers walk up to a body and ask that body "HEY WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"

i cannot begin to explain to you how i have grown to hate this question. of course i understand why people ask it -- i am a dashingly handsome, vibrantly healthy young man. what could possibly have put such a godly specimen on crutches? why has caused his knee to balloon freakishly to three times it's normal size? it's a natural curiosity. i do not begrudge the question itself.

i begrudge the answer. most people just want a quick easy reply--usually they just assume i tore my ACL or overdid it with my morning squat thrusts at the Y. most of the time, folks are just being nice--they don't actually want or even care about the truth.

i figure, though, that whether or not a stranger really cares about why i am on crutches, i owe him or her an answer. and depending on how cute he or she is, i figure these answers are the options i have open to me:

• "oh, there was no actual precipitating injury, per se. due to compartmental deterioration stemming from a meniscectomy i had a decade ago, i was advised to undergo a medial meniscal allograft by my exceedingly handsome orthopaedist." this answer, while true, makes me sound like an asshole. also it only complicates the situation for both of us because then i have to spend the next 380 minutes explaining what i just said.
• "i had some dead guy's knee junk stuck into my leg." also technically true but a little offputting. also requires the next 380 minutes to explain.
• "i am dying of a chronic leg disease and the only thing keeping me alive is whiskey. please help me." this is not as effective as it reads on paper. or blog. whatever. not a single dram has been proffered.
• "my wife told me to go fuck myself and i didn't realize she was being rhetorical. nearly snapped my leg off trying." man, this cracks me up! why aren't you laughing?
• "what happened to my knee? more like WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?" in the comedy trade, this putdown is usually puncuated by a silent (or incredibly vocal) BOOYA! it's a matter of personal taste.
• "eh? no speakie nosey douchebag." oh yes i did!
• "i had this hot drunken one night stand. when i woke up i was in the motel bathtub, which was filled with ice. scrawled on the mirror, in lipstick, were the words CALL 911 - I TOOK YOUR MENISCUS." i couldn't believe this was happening to me, so i checked on snopes and it turned out that it was!
• "oh you mean the crutches? it's part of a new exercise fad: the south brooklyn diet. i lost 90 pounds in two weeks walking like this and i get to eat whatever i want!" i totally would have had a multi-million dollar book deal years ago if i had only thought of this sooner.
• "is that you mummy? i can't see so well any more ... god bless us, every one." this tiny tim routine actually scares people away with a quickness. very handy.
• "i was rescuing a family of orphans and puppies from a burning warehouse when a crossbeam fell on my leg. and now i need regular hugs of awkwardly long duration." a very popular answer with the ladies.
• "you don't have to yell -- i'm on crutches, not deaf." you'd be surprised how useful this is.
• "artificial knee insemination. i'm due in july. i'm naming her after you." this is creepy and i probably wouldn't have thought of it if i didn't have a chronic leg disease that required massive consumption of whiskey.

and so on. when my neighbor saw me over the weekend he did a double take and said "you must be accident prone! what happened to you, accident prone dude?" i figured he needed an answer tailor-made just for him. i looked him in the eye and said: "i blew out my knee while i was beating my wife during one of my 72-hour drug-huffing and child-bellowing binges. i know you know what that's like!"

disco dizzy muppet

i can't tell if this is mindblowingly awesome or just a little too depressing. i'll let you be the judges