The Pedophile And The Axe Murderer

One day each week, Zoey and I have a Mindless Entertainment Day while her brother attends summer camp. We usually see one of the cheap summer movies, hit the mall or Target, ride bikes in the park, and hit a fast food restaurant that has an indoor play place.

Cheap and unhealthy summer fun.

The best kind.

Last week, we went to Burger King (the same one where I ran into the aliens). While Zoey was playing on the playground, I was reading. Despite the fact that I was deeply engrossed in my book, I could feel his presence.

I looked up and noticed that a childless man had sat down at one of the tables in the playground area.

I could tell you that I'm not one to judge, but when people start telling you crap like that, it means they're getting ready to judge, so let's not play games here. I do judge, especially when it comes to people my children come into contact with. It is my job to keep them out of harm's way.

So I watched this man for a few minutes. He was watching the kids play while eating his lunch. I started getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. But then I started rationalizing why he might be in the children's area.

Maybe there was nowhere to sit in the dining area? No, there were plenty of booths and tables open.

Maybe he was meeting his family there? I nixed this possibility because if he was meeting his family, he would have waited to order his food. Plus, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

So I watched him watch the children for about thirty more seconds before I rose from my seat, my uneasiness replaced with a mixture of anger and fear. I wanted to go up to the guy and ask him what the hell he was doing in there. Instead, I just yelled up the slide, "Zoey, it's time to leave."

When she wasn't down in 2.3 seconds, I screamed, "ZOEY! IT'S TIME TO LEAVE!"

She flew down the slide, gave me a what the hell? look, and put her shoes on. I glared at the guy as we left the playground.

Maybe I misjudged this guy. But when I see someone without kids in an area designed for kids, my Creep Alarm goes off.

But before we left the restaurant, Zoey said she had to go to the restroom. Even though I wanted to get as far away from that guy as I could, we went into the men's restroom.

And that's where I met The Axe Murderer.

Sorry, but if you want the second part of the story, you need to click over to read my latest column at The Imperfect Parent.

Why It No Longer Pays To Be A Stay-At-Home Parent

Uncle Sam has spoken!

Actually, this may only apply to people living in my neck of the woods, so maybe "Uncle Sam has spoken!" is a little strong. Let's go with "Cousin Bubba has mumbled" instead.

The sole reason many of us became stay-at-home parents has been taken away from us: being a stay-at-home parent will no longer get you out of jury duty!

The horror!

Three or four years ago, I received a summons for jury duty. I mailed in a response stating that as a stay-at-home father, I would have to pay someone to babysit my kids in order to sit on a jury. I was excused.

A few weeks ago, I received another summons. Since I jerked around and missed the deadline to mail my response, I had to go down to the courthouse and plead my case in person. They didn't excuse me! It didn't seem to matter that I had to pay for a babysitter (after all, I would be receiving my $12 a day or whatever it is they pay).

But they were nice enough to allow me to reschedule. I picked a day in late September.

Wonder how long I can keep postponing this until they finally make me show up?

1990

On Tuesday night, I did another one of my Nameless Twitter Radio Shows. This week's theme was songs from albums that debuted in 1990. Here's the playlist:

1. Classic Girl by Jane's Addiction (me)
2. Step On by Happy Mondays (me)
3. The Ghetto by Too $hort (Mr. Big Dubya)
4. I'm Free by The Soup Dragons (My A-Cup Runneth Over)
5. Man In The Box by Alice In Chains (Luke, I Am Your Father)
6. Book Of Dreams by Suzanne Vega (Notes From The Bunker)
7. Waiting For The Night by Depeche Mode (Sashalyn)
8. Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice (Cats... Books... Life Is Good)
9. 21st Century (Digital Boy) by Bad Religion (The Weirdgirl)
10. She Talks To Angels by The Black Crowes (Kimblahg)
11. U Can't Touch This by MC Hammer (Mommy Confessions)
12. Blue Sky Mine by Midnight Oil (Coffeequeen)
13. Keep On Loving Me Baby by Colin James (Smart Ass Newfie)
14. Freedom '90 by George Michael (me)
15. Stardog Champion by Mother Love Bone (me)
16. Particle Man by They Might Be Giants (BaltimoreGal)
17. You Couldn't Have Come Along At A Better Time by Luka Bloom (ClumberKim)
18. Mama Said Knock You Out by LL Cool J (Rohde Family SF)
19. (Can't Live Without Your) Love And Affection by Nelson (Notes From The Bunker)
20. You Keep It All In by The Beautiful South (Because I'm Your Father)
21. The King Is Half-Undressed by Jellyfish (me)
22. Disappear by INXS (For A Different Kind Of Girl)
23. Story Of My Life by Social Distortion (me)
24. Getting Closer by Nitzer Ebb (Coffeequeen)
25. High Enough by Damn Yankees (For A Different Kind Of Girl)
26. Sadeness by Enigma (Mr. Big Dubya)
27. Repeater by Fugazi (Down With Pants!)
28. Down With The Ship by Scatterbrain (me)
    

I'd like to thank everyone who came out for the show. I'd also like to thank BaltimorGal who was the first person to pick an album and ask me to play my favorite track off the album. Thanks!

This week, we'll be playing songs from albums released in 1991. Hope to see you there!

Four

Four years ago today, I started this site (I still refuse to refer to it as a blog (most of the time, at least)). It started off as a site about life with the kids and being a stay-at-home dad. Some 830+ posts later, it's morphed into something else. I write about music (a lot). I started my Nameless Twitter Radio Show. I started posting pictures of weird things. Every once in a while, I write something funny (but you'll have to look hard and dig deep to find an example) or interesting (even harder to find).

The funny thing is my site was offline for about twenty-six hours before this. I think the Internet Gods were trying to tell me to hang it up.

But screw them! They'll have to wait until February, when I turn 40.

Anyway, I'd like to thank anyone who has ever taken the time to come here and read even a word of my ramblings (except for the pedophiles using Google to feed their habits). I truly appreciate it.

Thanks so much for coming along for the ride!

But before I go and raise a Yuengling, I thought I'd share the two most common misconceptions about me/Cynical Dad:

1. I live in New York City.
2. I am Asian.
   

My Evening With David Sedaris

Alternate Title: I, Cockmaster

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend a David Sedaris book signing.

For those of you who have never attended one of his signings, here's how it works: for the first hour, he does a reading (which, after hearing him read his material, I'm going to have to listen to a few of his books on CD) and then answers a few questions from the audience. After that, he signs books and talks to his fans until he meets the very last person in line. From what I heard, he stayed at the bookstore until 3:00 AM that morning. The man is a rock star!

And it's free! Well, it wasn't actually free for me. Since I had read all his books from the library, I ponied up the $14.99 for the Me Talk Pretty One Day paperback so I could have something signed.

I had a great time that evening. And I learned a lot:

It is good to be in the know.

I went to the bookstore a few days early to see if I could get some details for the show. After flirting with talking with the cute girl behind the counter for a few minutes, she let me know they were giving out wristbands when they opened on the day of the show. She told me the number on your wristband corresponded to your place in the signing line and the first fifty people in line would be given a seat during the show (everyone else had to stand, most behind bookshelves so they were unable to see David Sedaris as he spoke). I was #32, so not only was I out of there by 10:30 PM, I also got to sit on my lazy ass all night long. Score!

David Sedaris is hysterical.

But you knew that already.

I am a cockmaster.

Or at least according to Mr. Sedaris, because that is what he called me in his inscription in my copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day. I really don't know the correct definition of this term, but I would assume it could only mean one of two things: either I am the master of my own cock or I am the master of others' cocks. And if it's the latter, I picked the wrong career path.

I cannot speak to people, even those I admire.

As I was standing in line to have him sign my book, I started thinking about what I wanted to say to him. I couldn't think of a damn thing. I know most people had witty anecdotes planned but since I didn't have any breastfeeding stories to share, I was speechless (or mindless, at that point). So when I finally got up there, I mumbled something about being a big fan and thanking him for taking the time to give back to his fans. I'm so lame.

David Sedaris likes my daughter's name.

When I tell people my daughter's real name, half will look at me funny like they didn't hear me correctly (or were hoping they didn't hear me correctly) and the other half will say something like, "Wow! That's a cool name! Where did you come up with that?" When I told David Sedaris my children's names (he asked; I'm not that socially inept that I start rattling off my children's names and Social Security numbers when I meet celebrities), he said, "[Zoey]. I like that. Most parents today give their kids stupid fucking names, but I like [Zoey]."

I am becoming what I hate.

As I walked around the bookstore waiting for the show to begin, I took notice of the crowd. There seemed to be a large number of older, pretentious assholes milling about the place, saying things like, "I remember the first time I heard David Sedaris. It was during a long, snowy drive through Connecticut to my daughter's wedding. It was a harrowing ride, but Sedaris was good for many guffaws." First of all, who the hell says guffaw? Go ahead, say it. It's an ugly word, hard to pronounce, and it always sounds like you're making some sort of bird call or something. But then I realized something: those people were there for the same reason I was. And since we shared at least one common characteristic, did that mean I was a pretentious asshole, too? I've been doing a lot of soul searching since his performance. So if I run up to you on the street tomorrow and ask you if you think I'm a pretentious asshole, don't spare my feelings. I need the truth.