I call Sprout the human garbage disposal because she will pretty much eat anything. The problem is, she does not limit herself only to her plate. No matter how much she may be enjoying her meal, if she thinks that somebody has something different on their plate she’ll point and ask...no she will demand a bite. If her food is cut up while mine is whole she will want some of mine, even though we’re eating the same thing. She's not only curious, but she's relentless too. Like the Terminator, she will not stop until she gets what she wants.
The other day WonderWife™ and I dragged the kids out on another food seeking excursion, which we're prone to do if a friend turns us on to a place or something catches our eye on the Food Network. My meal came with a mildly spicy tomato relish. Sure enough, Sprout pointed to my plate and says, “This!”
“It’s spicy,” I told her. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I want it,” she said matter of factly.
"You really don't."
Sprout didn't take no for an answer and in between bites of her food, she kept gesturing to my plate.
“Okay, fine,” I said placing a small piece on my fork and feeding it to her.
A few seconds later, Sprout has a look I’ve never seen before on her face—confusion with a sprinkle of discomfort. It's the same look I got that one time I was told the Buffalo wings were mild when they really were hot. The spice had kicked in and Sprout was not happy. Knowing water makes the heat from spicy foods worse but not having any milk available, I did the only thing I could do and gave her some potato to try to cool her mouth down. This Sprout promptly rejected, having learned her lesson not to accept any more food from Daddy.
All the while, WonderWife™ is staring daggers in my direction in utter disbelief that I actually fed my child something we both knew was going to illicit this reaction.
I gave her a sheepish grin and said, "Well, at least now she knows what 'spicy' means."
Monday, June 28, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Perfect Shave
Ever since my mom started called me “Prince” when I was 13 and sprouted some dark fuzz on my upper lip, I’ve been obsessed with shaving. My stubble has always been a prevalent facial feature, which is why people have always thought I looked older than I was. This made me very popular as a college freshman because I was able to buy beer without an ID. It feels like shaving has always been something I’ve just had to do, like showering and wearing clothes.
There was one summer when I actually got paid to shave. I was a test subject for Gillette. Two or three times a week, I would make a 10 minute drive to a testing facility—a plain, white science lab looking room filled with individual sink basins. Me and about a dozen other guys would shave half our faces with one product, the other half with another and take a quick survey afterward where we would have to count any nicks and cuts. They paid 15 bucks a shave. A great deal for something I was doing for free every day. Suckers.
About six years ago, I grew a beard as a way to save my face from the torture I must inflict courtesy of micro thin steel blades scraping its surface. For I have the unlucky combination of a thick beard and super sensitive skin that bleeds every time I shave. No matter what product I use or how I wield my razor. Thankfully I like the look of my facial fuzz and based on the compliments I often receive, others do too. My beard now feels as much a part of my identity as my hair color or my name.
A few years ago, my curiosity with shaving led me to stumble into an upscale barbershop in Beverly Hills. I mention that it was in Beverly Hills only in order to conjure up the very image you have in your head right now. The place was new and immaculate, with a row of shiny old-fashioned barber chairs the back, a crew of sharply dressed barbers and a waiting room with fancy leather couches and a big flat screen TV. It was like a day spa for men. I couldn't resist it for long and soon went in for a trim and a shave.
You know the opening shot of The Untouchables, where Robert DeNiro as Capone is leaning back in a barber chair with a hot towel on his face while people scurry around pampering him? That’s exactly what it’s like getting a professional shave. It’s taking something that I do nearly every day and making it luxurious, like getting a massage while you shower.
The barber is a pro with a straight blade, and is able to get a much closer shave than I’ve ever been able to while making sure that both sides of my beard are straight and level. (You'd be surprised how difficult this can be.) During the shave you’re treated to hot towels, hot lather, oils, cold towels, talc and a head and scalp massage at the end. It’s bliss.
Paying for a shave is an indulgence that I don’t treat myself too very often but every once in a while I will take some time to relax and get a professional shave. Guys, as a general rule, don't tend to pamper ourselves very much. It's usually women who get the manicures or get hot rock treatments at the spa. But this is something that's just for us. And if you ever have the opportunity to get a professional shave, I say take it. You won't be disappointed.
There was one summer when I actually got paid to shave. I was a test subject for Gillette. Two or three times a week, I would make a 10 minute drive to a testing facility—a plain, white science lab looking room filled with individual sink basins. Me and about a dozen other guys would shave half our faces with one product, the other half with another and take a quick survey afterward where we would have to count any nicks and cuts. They paid 15 bucks a shave. A great deal for something I was doing for free every day. Suckers.
About six years ago, I grew a beard as a way to save my face from the torture I must inflict courtesy of micro thin steel blades scraping its surface. For I have the unlucky combination of a thick beard and super sensitive skin that bleeds every time I shave. No matter what product I use or how I wield my razor. Thankfully I like the look of my facial fuzz and based on the compliments I often receive, others do too. My beard now feels as much a part of my identity as my hair color or my name.
A few years ago, my curiosity with shaving led me to stumble into an upscale barbershop in Beverly Hills. I mention that it was in Beverly Hills only in order to conjure up the very image you have in your head right now. The place was new and immaculate, with a row of shiny old-fashioned barber chairs the back, a crew of sharply dressed barbers and a waiting room with fancy leather couches and a big flat screen TV. It was like a day spa for men. I couldn't resist it for long and soon went in for a trim and a shave.
You know the opening shot of The Untouchables, where Robert DeNiro as Capone is leaning back in a barber chair with a hot towel on his face while people scurry around pampering him? That’s exactly what it’s like getting a professional shave. It’s taking something that I do nearly every day and making it luxurious, like getting a massage while you shower.
The barber is a pro with a straight blade, and is able to get a much closer shave than I’ve ever been able to while making sure that both sides of my beard are straight and level. (You'd be surprised how difficult this can be.) During the shave you’re treated to hot towels, hot lather, oils, cold towels, talc and a head and scalp massage at the end. It’s bliss.
Paying for a shave is an indulgence that I don’t treat myself too very often but every once in a while I will take some time to relax and get a professional shave. Guys, as a general rule, don't tend to pamper ourselves very much. It's usually women who get the manicures or get hot rock treatments at the spa. But this is something that's just for us. And if you ever have the opportunity to get a professional shave, I say take it. You won't be disappointed.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Alone on Father's Day
The house will be empty for father’s day. I will be alone.
WonderWife™ and the kids will be on the other coast, visiting their grandparents. I will be enjoying the benefits of their absence. I will sleep in (maybe until 8am!). I will be able to enjoy my coffee leisurely. I will watch a Blu-Ray that isn’t Cars.
I will have the greatest gift a father can have--a day to spend exactly as I see fit. No rules. No obligations. Just me, being coerced by my id to have another beer or watch cartoons with the volume turned way up. Perhaps I’ll grill a steak. (and wrap it in bacon!). It’s been almost a year and a half since I was last left to my own devices. Last time, I watched six movies in one day (a double feature in the theater and four DVDs, and no my eyes didn’t start bleeding). Should I try to break my record? Maybe I should take a nap. Or both!
There are lots of things that I can do. But some things that I can’t. This father’s day I will be alone. WonderWife™ and the kids will have been gone for six days and won’t be back for another four. While I will be enjoying my freedom, I will be missing them. For what is father’s day if the reasons why I’m a father aren’t there to share it with me?
WonderWife™ and the kids will be on the other coast, visiting their grandparents. I will be enjoying the benefits of their absence. I will sleep in (maybe until 8am!). I will be able to enjoy my coffee leisurely. I will watch a Blu-Ray that isn’t Cars.
I will have the greatest gift a father can have--a day to spend exactly as I see fit. No rules. No obligations. Just me, being coerced by my id to have another beer or watch cartoons with the volume turned way up. Perhaps I’ll grill a steak. (and wrap it in bacon!). It’s been almost a year and a half since I was last left to my own devices. Last time, I watched six movies in one day (a double feature in the theater and four DVDs, and no my eyes didn’t start bleeding). Should I try to break my record? Maybe I should take a nap. Or both!
There are lots of things that I can do. But some things that I can’t. This father’s day I will be alone. WonderWife™ and the kids will have been gone for six days and won’t be back for another four. While I will be enjoying my freedom, I will be missing them. For what is father’s day if the reasons why I’m a father aren’t there to share it with me?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The Wit and Wisdom of the Bean: Volume 4
The Bean: "Daddy, are you going to teach Sprout to push down her penis when she sits on the potty too?"
Me: "Sprout doesn’t have a penis, she’s a girl. She has a vagina."
The Bean: "Well, are you going to teach her to push down her fragina?”
“Sneezing before bed is fun!”
The Bean: “Who is that?”
Me: “That’s Iron Man.”
The Bean: “Does he like to iron?”
“I never want to sit on top of a cactus.”
"Dr. Seuss is the cat in the hat and he has three points on his ribbon so that's how we know."
The Bean: "Mom, can people eat when they have a baby in their tummy?"
WonderWife™: "Yup. They have to so that they can give their body and the baby's body energy. Why?"
The Bean: "Well the food will go in their mouth and go down, down, down, plop [plops hand on head] and land on the baby's keppie."
“Mom bought me a dirty book.” (The book was called I’m Dirty)
Me: “What rhymes with orange?”
The Bean: “Borange.”
Me: “Don’t eat too much. You have to listen to your tummy.”
The Bean: “But I don’t speak tummy.”
Me: "You're getting to be such a big boy."
The Bean: "Yeah, my penis is growing!"
"We’re not going to the Zoo, we’re going to the Natural History Museum. It’s like the zoo, except there’s more dinosaurs."
Past Wit:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Me: "Sprout doesn’t have a penis, she’s a girl. She has a vagina."
The Bean: "Well, are you going to teach her to push down her fragina?”
“Sneezing before bed is fun!”
The Bean: “Who is that?”
Me: “That’s Iron Man.”
The Bean: “Does he like to iron?”
“I never want to sit on top of a cactus.”
"Dr. Seuss is the cat in the hat and he has three points on his ribbon so that's how we know."
The Bean: "Mom, can people eat when they have a baby in their tummy?"
WonderWife™: "Yup. They have to so that they can give their body and the baby's body energy. Why?"
The Bean: "Well the food will go in their mouth and go down, down, down, plop [plops hand on head] and land on the baby's keppie."
“Mom bought me a dirty book.” (The book was called I’m Dirty)
Me: “What rhymes with orange?”
The Bean: “Borange.”
Me: “Don’t eat too much. You have to listen to your tummy.”
The Bean: “But I don’t speak tummy.”
Me: "You're getting to be such a big boy."
The Bean: "Yeah, my penis is growing!"
"We’re not going to the Zoo, we’re going to the Natural History Museum. It’s like the zoo, except there’s more dinosaurs."
Past Wit:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Reeling Q&A Part 2: Remakes
Hey gang...I'm playing with my friends over at Offsprung today, where as you probably know I'm their resident movie guy. Today I answer one of the questions I'm most asked about Hollywood, What's up with all of the remakes?
You just may be surprised at who is to blame.
You just may be surprised at who is to blame.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Flashback Friday: Baby Steps
Earlier this spring:
I sat with Sprout while she ate breakfast.
“Wah-fah?” she said holding out an offering to me from her plate.
“No thank you, sweetheart,” I said to her. “I have a breakfast meeting. What do you think I should order for breakfast?”
She thought for a moment and said, “wah-fah.” A moment later she said, “pan-cak.”
Thinking that a waffle or a short stack would make for a sluggish morning, despite the coffee intake, I promised Sprout that I would tell her what I ended up eating that morning.
A few hours later, I texted the contents of my breakfast to WonderWife™ with instructions to tell Sprout. Around lunchtime I got a call from WW™.
“I told Sprout what you ate for breakfast and all she wants to eat now is eggs and sausage.”
I sat with Sprout while she ate breakfast.
“Wah-fah?” she said holding out an offering to me from her plate.
“No thank you, sweetheart,” I said to her. “I have a breakfast meeting. What do you think I should order for breakfast?”
She thought for a moment and said, “wah-fah.” A moment later she said, “pan-cak.”
Thinking that a waffle or a short stack would make for a sluggish morning, despite the coffee intake, I promised Sprout that I would tell her what I ended up eating that morning.
A few hours later, I texted the contents of my breakfast to WonderWife™ with instructions to tell Sprout. Around lunchtime I got a call from WW™.
“I told Sprout what you ate for breakfast and all she wants to eat now is eggs and sausage.”
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