closure is good

hey, remember me? let's wrap this up, shall we? i'm obviously not doing this any more, so why pretend?

if you need me, i'll be at this (extremely rudimentary and very unfunny) wordpress site. drop me a line and i'll tell you a story about poop or something. 

thanks for reading. be kind. be strong. go forth. prosper. life is amazing. are you going to eat that?

like the white dwarf, i am composed of degenerate matter

this post is being posted because tonight i am going out for drinks with LOD, metrodad, mom101, croutonboy, mommypoppins, daddytypes, liz of coolmompicks and alphamom. therefore i need to at least halfway pretend that i am still a blogger. i need to justify my attendance. i need to man up. 

therefore, here is a post:

yesterday, at naptime, my three year old called me into her room. she said "daddy! my hands smell funny when i do this." and then she stuck both fists into her undies and begins vigorously masturbating. then she stuck them under the nose and inhaled deeply. "see?!"

i didn't quite know what to say. i want her to maintain a positive body-image and a develop a healthy relationship with sex. but, "i love the way your vagina smells" would have sounded, well, creepy. and i can't afford any more therapy than she'll already need. so i shrugged and said "uh, do you want to wash your hands?" she said yes. and then she did. and then she napped. the end. 

so then. i am, for now, officially still qualified to drink with these superstars. look for me at the bar: i'll be the shriveled white dwarf in a constellation of hypergiants. even better: drunk hypergiants. 

 

regarding child health care in america

this deep, penetrating news report (oof, that makes it sound like porn) on the precarious state of child healthcare in this country solidly reconfirms my own private stance on the matter. also, lollipops.

because i have nothing else to say right now

you know that "25 random things about me" meme has been working it's way through the facebooks? i finally caved after being tagged about 12,000 times. here. now leave me alone:

1. i was a chubby child/teen. i still hate taking my shirt off in public. now my pants on the other hand ...

2. i have never owned a bicycle and consequently cannot really ride one without posing grave danger to myself and everyone within a 50 yard radius. 

3. i think i have had 8 knee surgeries. i've literally lost count. most recently, about 2 years ago, i had a dead guy's medial meniscus transplanted into my left knee. i was hoping i'd finally be able to dunk. no such luck. mysteriously, i now speak perfect mandarin.

4. fuck! the baby just woke up from her nap. she wasn't asleep nearly long enough. 

5. i studied in grenoble, france, for a year, where i met my first love. she was a french girl from the countryside. i was completely fluent by the end of the year. i have since lost about 85 percent of my french. fortunately, i am still fluent in the language of love. 

6. i had a pierced ear for one day when i was 13. when my mom saw my retarded little skull-shaped stud she said "your dad's going to fucking kill you." i took it out that instant. i suspect he knows anyway.

7. i didn't go to prom. i ate a bag of shrooms at the afterparty instead and thought i could read ally sheedy's mind. then i jumped in the pool and almost drowned. when i woke up the next morning i had total amnesia -- couldn't remember who i was. that took a couple of terrifying hours to wear off. just say no, kids.

8. i am totally secure in the fact that i am not the primary breadwinner. i highly recommend everyone get a sugarmama. 

9. i was in the thespian club in high school. 

10. i was on the fencing team in high school.

11. miraculously, no one has ever beaten me up. 

12. not that they haven't wanted to. 

13. was once told by an intern that i had been voted the "second-blackest white guy in the office." i have no idea what that means. but i take comfort in it.

14. i make really good mixtapes. 

15. not once did a mixtape ever get me laid.

16. i've been swimming in the playboy mansion grotto. twice!

17. i took a poppin' and lockin' class when i was 11. 

18. i used to ball boy for the occasional tennis tournament. andre agassi once yelled at me in front of a packed center court when i didn't hand him a fresh ball soon enough. man, i hate andre agassi.

19. i wrote a screenplay with a friend when i was on extended paternity leave -- a comedy about ball boys. i thought it was really funny. nobody else did. 

20. the first time i heard the music of the beatles was in the movie Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band starring the BeeGees and Peter Frampton, which i had on Betamax and watched incessantly. when i finally heard the Beatles' real Sgt. Pepper, i was galled that the songs were in the wrong order and didn't sound as good.

21. the first porno flick i ever saw was also on Betamax. it was called Broadcast Barbara. 

22. the last porn i ever saw was on the internet, five minutes ago, between writing items 16 and 17 on this list. 

23. actually, now the last porn i ever saw was after writing item 22.

24. i got caught shoplifting on a school field trip to six flags in seventh grade. that sucked.

25. i am a little concerned that the only job i am halfway qualified to do is rapidly disappearing from existence. 

in loving memory

ok so it's been a few days now, but i'd like to better illustrate for you the painful day that was friday. first of all, check out this motherfucking bush:

look at those thorns! check out those gnarled, dried-out jagged stems of death! now imagine one of those thorny, twisted sharp bastards sliding right into your eye as you're walking along at a steady homeward-bound clip! imagine it! do it! pain, i tell you. agony. searing hot fire-ouch.

it's had some time to heal, but check out my poor eye: see that speck to the right of my gorgeous hazel iris? that's the Wound. a millimeter to the left and i'd be typing this post on a braille keyboard!

i know what you're thinking: mr nice guy is a big pussy. just say it already! 

here's my toe. not broken, as it turns out, but still purple:

damn, i need to hit a pedicurist. 

so, there you have it. oh, and my other news? remember how the doctor said eat a low fat diet throughout the duration of my possible gallstone attack? "no more bratwurst" or whatever. yeah, well screw that. i went to a new wine bar in my neighborhood called Brookvin on saturday. i happen to know the head chef (he used to be the cook at Newsweek -- that's right, Newsweek has a cook.) more importantly, he's worked at Savoy and for some reason he likes me. on the day after my doctor's visit the wife and i decide to check out the new establishment. i almost decide not to go because my side aches and i feel a little woozy and walking there in the cold puts me in a real bitchy mood. but the second we sit down, my friend hooks us the fuck up with chicken liver, lardo, pancetta, homemade head cheese (!) ... and bratwurst! i ate every last fucking bite! and the wine flowed and the lord saw that it was good. 

the next day, saturday, wouldn't you know it: no more pain in my side. little Charles de Gall had gone silent. i felt 100 percent better. maybe all the fat greased his journey right through my colon. who knows.

it pains me to say it, but i believe i lost Charles this weekend. we hardly knew him. 

Charles de Gall 

Jan. 13 2009 - Jan. 18 2009

Go in peace.

time lapse cuteness

i wish my 7 month old would play this well for this long. 

rabbit run

critical beatdown

the doctor tells me to take my shirt off and leaves the room for 15 minutes. there's no way to look cool sitting in a doctor's office with no shirt on for 15 minutes. i study the norman rockwell paintings of country doctors and their adorably cheeky young patients with an attention to detail i don't believe they've ever been subjected to by a shirtless man. i will tell you this: that norman sure did rock well. 

doctor returns, takes my blood pressure. pokes my back.

"this hurt?"

"nope."
"this?"
"uh uh."
"how about this?"
"sorry to disappoint." 

he tells me to lie down and begins jabbing at my abdomen.

"this hurt?"

"no."
"this?"
"nyet."  

"thi -- ... uh. please come down off the ceiling."

"mommy."

he draws some blood, i pee in a cup and he tells me: "you don't fit the profile in the slightest, but all your symptoms suggest that you may have a gallstone." the typical gallstone sufferer profile, of course, is an overweight female in her 40s. (later, when i tell my brother this, he says "dude, i always knew you were a fat old woman.")

so the doc is going to run some tests and let me know what comes next (ultrasound? laproscopic surgery?) he did seem to think the stone was probably small and, given the location of the pain, in the process of passing all by itself. (this is where we pause and all praise jesus, allah, buddah and satan that i don't have a kidney stone.) he tells me to stick to a low fat diet. i tell him i had bratwurst for dinner the night before. he says "don't do that again." i'm like "ever?"

on my way home i am stewing and brewing. feeling sorry for myself. i am walking down my block and i begin to picture my little gallstone, floating along the bile duct. i well with pride a little bit. this is my special little guy -- i made him! behold the miracle of life! i decide to name him Charles. he is the son my wife never bore me. my own little Charles de Gall. i love him. 

and then ZING! a branch from a giant rosebush reaches over a fence as i walk by and it jabs me square in the fucking eye! the whole world flashes red and then goes black. i almost fall down from the surprise and the pain -- my eye feels like it's the size of a baseball and it's streaming tears. FUCK! my right eye! i am five blocks from my house, stomping along in the early evening rush hour, one hand over my eye and cursing up a blue streak. "fucking goddamn fucking cocksucking bush! fuck! ow! fuck! my fucking eye! first fucking gallstones and now i'm going to lose a fucking eye. FUCK!" i turn around and shout at the front yard with the bush in it: "I'M GOING TO BURN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE DOWN!" i run up to the bush and start snapping off branches and stomping on them. people are crossing the street in order to avoid me. 

my eye really hurts. 

i get home, one hand over my eye and the other on my side. my rage has apparently ratcheted up the bile production. little Charles is kicking. it takes me a minute to get the key into the door because i have no depth perception. i scratch the paint around the lock with my key and spit profanities at the world. when i get in, i am relieved that the kids are out with the sitter and the house is empty. this allows me to throw things and drop atomic f-bombs throughout the living room and kitchen. 

it takes a full hour, but eventually i am able to open my eye for more than 30 seconds at a time. gradually i realize that i am probably not going to have to walk around with an eyepatch and gallstones next week. this is a relief. that would have been too much to take. the kids come home ("daddy, why are you holding your eye?") and the bile in my system generally subsides. i realize that, erm, this too shall pass.

mrs nice guy gets home and puts the kids to bed while i drink a tall glass of doctor-discouraged beer. i start to feel better.

a little later, i'm walking to my room, glad the day is done and eager to crawl into bed. as i amble down the hall, i stub my toe so hard that i feel it in my groin. my testicles crawl up inside my body and, i guess, introduce themselves to Charles. my gallbladder tells them that there's no more room at the inn. my side aches. my eye begins tearing up again and i cover it with my hand as i hop towards my bed. the toe is throbbing and it feels like someone has jabbed a pen-knife into my gut. i'm doubled over and hobbling blindly. i have no depth perception and i almost miss the bed. the toe -- the second on my my left foot -- i notice has instantly turned an ungodly shade of purple. 

i am pretty sure it's broken. 

i collapse on the bed and i wait for 2009 to be over. 

mrs nice guy looks up from her laptop and asks: "are you done yet?"

Take Time To Talk To Your Child About Whatever Crap They Like

surprisingly solid parenting advice from the Onion!

Maybe you have a daughter who likes to draw unicorns or elves or some shit like that. Doesn't matter what it is. When she approaches you with her latest picture of a dolphin jumping over a rainbow or whatever, don't just slap that son of a bitch on the refrigerator with a magnet and pat her on the head. Actively tell your little girl you appreciate her unique talents as a developing young lady and, for good measure, tack on some bullshit about how much her little crayon chicken-scratches mean to you.

the baton has been passed

heh. so not to be outdone by the man who has replaced/promised to undo everything done by their daddy, Jenna and Barbara Bush have written their own letter to Sasha and Malia:

As older girls, we were constantly inspired by the amazing people we met, politicians and great philosophers like Vaclav Havel. We dined with royalty, heads of states, authors, and activists. We even met the Queen of England and managed to see the Texas Longhorns after they won the National Championship. We traveled with our parents to foreign lands and were deeply moved by what we saw. Trips to Africa inspired and motivated us to begin working with HIV/AIDS and the rights of women and children all over the world ...

Oh yeah. And also? We got to party our fuckin' tits off!!! 

Anyway, if y'all ever need any advice, like bodyshot recipes or presidential HPV remedies, you know who to call!