April 2009 Archives

For the first couple of years I lived in Los Angeles, I really enjoyed the L.A. Times Festival Of Books. I got free parking, a decent meal and unlimited beverages in the green room, and then I appeared on panels in front of anywhere between 20 and 100 people and afterward got to personally meet the two people who'd purchased my work. Then I went home, loosened my belt, and watched the Dodger game while drinking a beer.

That was in my role as semi-well-known midlist author. As a paying customer with a six-year-old, I had a much different experience. Here's a quick summary:

It was hot and overcrowded. After paying for parking, a lemonade, and a soft pretzel, I was out 20 bucks. The "children's area", while certainly expansive, was mostly comprised of payola booths for bad self-published books featuring characters that no one has ever heard of and never will, and even worse corporate-published books by celebrities who can't write. While we were there, the children's entertainment stage, sponsored by Target, featured a despicable bear character called "Hip Hop Harry," who danced in front of his gathered victims to a pre-recorded rap about the importance of staying hydrated. Salman Rushdie in conversation with Nadine Gordimer, this was not.

But whatever. We got there late on Sunday and planned poorly. The LA Times Festival Of Books is the best book festival in the country. This post exists to complain about something else. Thus, the narrative continues:

Elijah spent part of Sunday morning watching a movie called Tom And Jerry: The Fast And The Furry. I just couldn't get out of bed in time to stop him, and it's bad manners to turn off someone's movie midstream, especially when that someone is prone to temper tantrums. Regina put it on for the boy. Quality control isn't her strong suit as a parent. This is someone who'd spent the previous evening unapologetically watching Journey To The Center Of The Earth, starring Brendan Fraser.

Basically, The Fast And The Furry is a straight-to-video (and straight-to-Cartoon Network) crap-fest that's a bad parody of The Amazing Race, a flat-out ripoff of Wacky Racers, and a showcase for some third-rate Tom And Jerry slapstick. Now, I have nothing against Tom And Jerry. The original Tex Avery and Fred Quimby T&J cartoons are some of the greatest animation ever made. And I have nothing against my kid watching animated parodies of reality TV shows. He sometimes enjoys a show called "Total Drama Island" that I think is freaking hilarious. But combining the two, cheaply, just reeks of exploitation. It's like putting high-fructose corn syrup in something that's already sweet. That's what bothers me.

When I started freelancing for Parents.com, more than a year-and-a-half ago, the editors told me I could write whatever I wanted, without restriction, save four exceptions:

1. No drugs.

2. No "pornography."

3. No profanity.

4. No making fun of the parent company.

Well, I can understand number four, particularly when the company in question is the fine Meredith Corporation, which would never do anything like distribute a syndicated "lifestyle" program that includes space for three-to-five minute segments on childcare produced by companies like General Mills and Johnson & Johnson. Why, that would be borderline unethical!

However, the first three restrictions pretty much shut out 80 percent of my life. Now that I've cashed my final check from Parents.com, I can finally tell the world the truth that the Meredith Corporation has tried to suppress for too long now. I'm a dad, and I love cussin', jerkin' off, and gettin' baked!

Friday was "Opening Day" for Elijah's Little League. This occurred at the Glassell Park Recreation Center, and involved every team from every level of Silver Lake and Glassell Youth Baseball running around the bases. Also, a high-school student sang a off-key National Anthem, a group of what my son's teammates called "Army Men" (but were actually Junior ROTCs from Franklin High School) presented the colors, and former Dodger reliever Bobby Castillo delivered some incomprehensible remarks and threw out the first pitch. It was also the first time Elijah had donned the full Yankees uniform.

I've come to accept the fact that Elijah's been assigned to the Yankees, though I hope he doesn't succumb to the intense hype and media pressure. Some players just aren't cut out for the pinstripes. Regardless, we had to get him changed before the "parade." Thus I found myself sitting in the front-seat of my car at Avenue 35 and Eagle Rock Boulevard, tearing at his uniform shirt tag with my teeth. Regina had wisely remembered to cut off the pants tag, but not the shirt. This took me a couple of minutes and will probably cost me 200 bucks in dental bills later on, but finally, Elijah was ready for this year's informal baseball portrait. He posed, as is his wont, like a totally adorable ding-dong:

My baseline yoga practice occurs three times a week in a small Silverlake apartment. There are rarely more than two or three other people present, plus a long-haired orange cat who will occasionally nudge the mat while I'm in headstand. No music or frippery distract me from my yoga. This isn't fashion hour. It's serious yoga business. I'm able to focus on my poses, and my gaze, and my breath, and the higher things.

Today, while in some complicated twist or other, I noticed that the protruding mole on my right shoulder had gotten larger, and that there were many hairs shooting out wildly. It looked like a little troll. Thus recognized, it stayed in my thoughts throughout practice. When I reached savasana, my mind drifted to the office of an imaginary dermatologist. I envisioned him cutting off my mole with a blade, and wondered if he'd use anesthetic first.

Wait, I thought. This isn't good yoga practice. You're supposed to notice something, acknowledge the noticing, and continue your business. If you notice something and then imagine a surgeon removing it by knife point, your practice is off. So I let my mind wander. The first thing it latched onto was the permanently ingrown wart on my left heel. No one's ever been able to take it out, but the imaginary podiatrist that I was thinking of just then might! Would he cut it off, or freeze it, or give me a prescription for those little strips that do the job themselves? Oh, damn! Why was I so Jewish?

Then teacher was chanting, vande gudanam...and it brought me back. Are you allowed to take a Mulligan on corpse pose? Because I'd like one for today.

I had 24 hours in San Francisco last week, and I did many excellent things. First, I gave a reading at Amnesia in the Mission, which was my ostensible reason for visiting town. Second, I went to see DJ Cheb i Sabbah spin. I've been listening to DJ Cheb for more than a decade, since an Indian friend (with a taste for dub mixes done by Algerian Jews) introduced him to me. Now everyone and his cousin Lou throws banhgra nights at their club, but Cheb still does it better than anyone else, and also, it's not like I go out, ever, when I'm at home.

So I went to the Bollyhood Café, by myself, since I no longer have any friends in San Francisco who stay up past 11 on a weeknight. I was, as always, a little stoned, so the music got into my bones a bit and I swayed around the dance floor. The crowd was small, but almost absurdly diverse. Why were there so many Palestinians in the room? My fun lasted for about an hour, until I realized that I was a lonely middle-aged man at a nightclub by himself, so I went back to my hotel room.

The highlight of my visit was, as always, the food. I had an even better run than usual in SF this time. I was staying near Union Square, and arrived at an off-hour. There's no better place to eat at 3 PM on Thursday afternoon than Katana-Ya , which makes the best bowl of rich-broth ramen in the Bay Area.

I could get a bowl equally as good at a dozen places in L.A., but all would require at least 25 minutes in the car. This was a five-minute walk, and I filled my belly with warm soup and slivers of tender roast pork and I was happy.

E: "Daddy?"

N: "Yes, son?"

E: "Do you ever pee in the shower?"

N: "I do."

E: "When?"

N: "When I'm in the shower."

E: "Is that OK?"

N: "It's OK. Totally natural. The water is warm and you just pee. I wouldn't make a habit of it, but it's no tragedy if you do."

E: "Mommy?"

R: "Yes, Elijah?"

E: "Do you pee in the shower?"

R: "I have, sometimes."

E: "Oh. Good. Because I like peeing in the shower just a little bit."

R: "Everyone does."

E: "Do you go poop in the shower?"

R: "No. Never. You go poop in the toilet."

E: "Daddy, do you go poop in the shower?"

Pause.

E: "Daddy?"

R: "Daddy?"

E: "Daddy?"

N: "Can we talk about something else, please?"