March 2007 Archives

We received the following letter last week in response to the excerpt in "The Week" of the infamous Chapter Seven, the one about Elijah's circumcision. This is an actual letter. I swear. Read it after the bump.

On Saturday night, my son's preschool held its annual silent auction. This year's theme was to be a recreation of Truman Capote's "Black And White Ball," except in a tent. In a parking lot. In Silver Lake. With parents.

The event went off quite well. The DJ stuck to the theme with lots of Cole Porter-ish music. A black-and-white Tony Curtis movie played on the roof of the tent. The moms all looked good and the dads looked good enough. And silent auctions are always fun in L.A. because the quality of items tends to be very high.

I was at the center of the action on Saturday, because I'd volunteered to be a "table host." This means I carried a clipboard. I also wore a tuxedo jacket with a fake-velvet collar, which was my choice. My job was then to sell drink tickets, parking validations, and tickets for the annual raffle for the most treasured possession of all--a reserved parking space in the school lot. This job suited me nicely, because I could do it stoned and also because I got to stand watch on various purses that Regina wanted to buy.

For the auction, Regina donated a stool painted with a cartoon tiger and a lovely jungle pattern. This ended up getting bid on multiple times, finally selling for $105.

The decorative hatbox she donated ended up coming home with us, even though she attempted to push it late by lowering the price and writing the word BONDAGE!!! on the bid form. She blamed it on miscategorization. My contribution to the cause, autographed books by John Hodgman, Sarah Vowell and Dan Savage (plus a bonus copy of Alternadad), went for a not-shameful $50.

As for what we took home, Regina secured a couple of purses and made an overly sentimental bid on a piece of artwork featuring pictures of all the members of Elijah's class. I got an appointment with a lady chiropractor.

But nothing could top the skateboard.

Tonight at dinner, we were all quietly eating our bowtie pasta with Bolognese sauce. Elijah had been stewing something in the brain for a while. He threw down his fork and said:

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT, DADDY?"

"Inside voice," Regina said.

"Do you know what, Daddy?

"You don't have to whisper."

"OK."

His voice then got squakwy-sounding.

"Do you know..."

"Elijah," I said. "You know I think your Squidward voice is funny. But could you please talk normally right now? I have a headache."

"OK, Daddy," he said. "Lizard Woman has a bunch of villains, you know?"

"Is that right?"

"Uh-huh. There's The Evil Toad."

"OK."

"And The Fantastic Spider!"

"That's a good one," said Regina.

"And The Salamander That Runs Around And Around."

"OK."

"Also, The Crawling Fly. And The Benus Butter."

"The what?"

Regina said, "Elijah, did you just say The Bee That Nests In Butter?"

"I did! She fights The Bee That Nests In Butter all the time!"

"I bet she does."

"Also, there is the Dog-Cat Fly."

"I'm sure there is," I said.

When I was in Austin recently, I went to a Friday-night party thrown at one of those Texas bars with an outdoors space the size of a city block. Nearly the entire SXSW Interactive convention attended, and since a large percentage of those attendees were the types of dot-com people who go to Burning Man each year, the booze flowed voluminously and there was much getting down to the dance hits of the 1980s.

That decade of our halcyon cheese-drenched youth also manifested itself in a video-game corner, including original Galaga and Frogger stand-up models. The geeks lined up three deep for their turns. I briefly considered it, because, after all, I wasn't drinking and wasn't going to get laid, but then I thought: Fuck it. I am not waiting in line to play Asteroids Deluxe.

Two nights later, however, I found myself at Room 710 with a crowd of mostly Gibby Haynes lookalikes while a truly apocalyptic Hill Country thunderstorm turned the streets of Austin's party district into a temporary Schlitterbahn. My choices were two: Watch a band that sounded like Iron Maiden but was fronted by a female bassist in a Minnie Mouse dress, or play Centipede. I opted for the latter.

In the years before my pubes sprouted hair, I spent many brain-poisoning hours playing Centipede, particularly at Superfun, an arcade in the Paradise Valley Mall that was, at the time, state-of-the-art. It was the only game I ever mastered. Even now, desparately out of practice, I can usually make the leaderboard. But the bar is a lot lower now. Apparently, Centipede skills are in decline the world over. Whereas it was once hard to crack the Top 10 with a score of 40,000, now entry can be bought at a measly 17 grand. I'll still be scoring that on my deathbed.

A few weeks ago, when I took Elijah to get his hair cut, I made my first attempt to pass down my skill.

A few months ago, Regina's 15-year-old male tabby, Teacake, was diagnosed as being in the early stages of kidney failure. He wasn't eating much, and he was thirsty all the time. So the vet gave us some special wet food for him to eat. The cat got better for a while, then he decided he didn't like the wet food. So Regina started buying different brands to find something that Teacake would eat. Anyone who's been following the news this week knows what's coming next.

About two weeks ago, over the course of approximately three days, Teacake wasted away before our eyes. His skin hung tight over his bones. His eyes turned glassy and leaked viscous fluid. He wandered the house, moaning and desperate. Then we took him to the vet, and an hour later, he lay down for the needle, grateful to be put out of his misery.

Now we learn of the great pet-food recall of 2007, and I'm hearing of many other stories like ours. Cats are dying by the hundreds. This analysis by a Pennsylvania pet-store owner explains things rationally. The grammatically suspect money quotes:

"On the whole there doesn't appear to any more problems now than in earlier years. The problems, however, may be bigger because of the advent of large processing plants that produce larger quantities of food that when tainted makes a much bigger problem...This is the tangled web we weave in this consumer-driven society that demands high quality with a cheap price tag. Sounds good but as in this case it can backfire. We can demand all we want, but the cheaper we demand the price the more mistakes will be made. A fact of life is if you always pay too little most of the time you will get too little in return."

I would also add the fact that food inspections, for humans and pets alike, have declined under the current administration. Apparently, tainted food is good business, and my wife's cat is more than likely a victim of government negligence and corporate greed in the age of globalization.

Farewell, Teacake. I'm not sorry to not have to clean up your disgusting litter box and voluminous barf anymore. But I am sorry you had to go this way.

Has anyone else been affected by the recent pet-food recall? Please use this space to share stories.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, son?"

"Mommy told me that I needed to make up more woman superheros."

"She's right. You do. Not every strong person is a man."

"Well, I made them up."

"You did?"

"Yes. One of them is Lizard Woman. She has swords and light savers and stuff and she fights the bad guys."

"Why is she called Lizard Woman?"

"Because she's made out of lizards!"

"Of course she is. Well, she sounds cool."

"She's pretty cool. But she's not the coolest."

"Oh."

"Do you want to know who the coolest is?"

"Sure."

"Scorpion Woman!"

"OK. Tell me about Scorpion Woman."

"She's a bad guy. She's from Jupiter. She can shoot light out of her hands so it's hard for good guys to see. She has electricity power, which makes her very dangerous. Also, she's super-strong, super-fast, and she can fly. And she can walk through walls, and she has the power of camouflage."

"It sounds like Scorpion Woman is very hard to defeat."

"Oh, she is. Sometimes Bhotman can defeat her."

"Of course."

"Scorpion Woman was once married to Dr. Boney."

"Really? That's juicy."

"But her left her because she got too powerful."

"Some men have trouble dealing with powerful women."

"Do you have trouble, daddy?"

"No, son. I just let them boss me around. Because I think it's hot."

"Like Bhotman!"

"Yes. Just like Bhotman."

This seems like the kind of thing Michael Moore would pompously trumpet--look, someone went into labor at one of my speeches! Isn't that wonderful!--but I do love the story, so I'll reprint it here.

A reader writes:

"I finished Alternadad a couple of weeks ago. I saw the excerpt in Salon when my wife and I were trying to decide circumcision versus not. We both really enjoyed the chapter. I got the book the next time I was in BookPeople and kept waking her up to read sections that I enjoyed.

My wife was the very pregnant woman in the back on your left side of the audience. Her contractions started during the reading. Being the trooper that she is, she made it through the reading and we were at the hospital within an hour and a half after it ended. (Probably about the time you were getting high with the BookPeople staff or checking out music downtown.) Anyway, our son was born the next morning, penis fully intact."

One correction: I did not get high with BookPeople staff. I got high with friends. Anyway, congratulations!

When Steve Nash hit that shot last night to send last night's instant classic (tm) game into overtime, I responded in my usual subtle manner of clawing at my shirt and eyes while jumping around and screaming very loudly. Elijah, who was in the kitchen helping Regina make cookies for our school's bake sale, responded in kind. He, too, began running around the house, jumping around, screaming very loudly.

It's hard to enjoy the moment when your wife is saying:

"Neal! You are making our son hysterical! And you scared him!"

"You scared me, daddy!" Elijah said. "You scared me!"

"Elijah," I said. "I was just rooting for the Suns. Are you really scared?"

"No," he said. "I'm just hyper."

"Do you want to watch the game with me?"

"Uh-huh."

He sat down.

"This is a good game, daddy," he said.

"This is a sneaker commercial," I said.

"But they're playing basketball on it."

I sighed.

"Just don't root for the guys in the green," I said.

Later, when the Suns did something archetypally spectacular, Elijah jumped up and down and said.

"Hooray for chocolate! Ah! Ah! Ah! Hooray for animals!"

When the Suns won, I dropped to my knees to thank the great spirit of Cotton Fitzsimmons for his guidance. Elijah jumped all over me, a total spaz. I'm sure Regina can't wait for the playoffs.

Regina and I pulled The Empire Strikes Back off HBO a couple of weeks ago. We decided that it was time for Elijah to learn the terrible secret that frames the Star Wars universe, you know, the one that Darth Vader reveals at the end of the movie. Actuallly, it had been time for Elijah to learn back in December during Christmas at his Nana's, but he was sick at the time and fell asleep about halfway through.

This time, however, Elijah boasted hale health and three additional months of intellectual maturity. It took us a while to get to the relevant part of the movie, because the boy wanted to watch, several times, the scene where the Milennium Falcon escapes from the giant space worm. Also, he liked the bit where the swamp monster spat out R2 on Dagobah.

Finally, though, the moment arrived.

We paused the movie.

"Elijah," I said. "Darth Vader is about to tell a terrible secret."

"What is it?" Elijah asked.

"You'll have to see," said Regina.

"Are there stormtroopers?" he said.

"No stormtroopers," I replied.

"I like stormtroopers."

"I know."

We watched the scene.

"Are they having a light saver fight?" Elijah asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Why are they having a light saver fight?"

"Because they're fighting each other. I don't know. Watch the movie."

Then Darth Vader said, "Luke, I am your father."

We paused the movie.

"Well Elijah," I said. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"About the secret."

"What secret?"

Regina sighed.

"Pay attention," she said.

She rewound and picked the scene up 30 seconds earlier.

Darth Vader repeated the news.

"So what's the secret?" I said.

"Um."

"Oh, come on."

"That Dark Vader is one of the superhero's fathers?"

"Good enough," I said.

The fabulous Paige Maguire delivers a nearly comprehensive recap of this weekend's super-enjoyable Rock-n-Romp party in Austin. I say "nearly comprehensive" because she cuts the funniest narrative short. It's true that, when asked what bands his dad plays for him, an eight-year-old boy shouted "Mastadon!" But I then asked a followup question: "What other bands does your dad play?"

And the boy answered "Audioslave!"

I could see his dad cringe. I could almost hear his dad cringe. As it turned out, I ended up having a beer with his dad later that night at Room 710. His dad apologized. He only played Audioslave once for his kid, and then only by accident. He was hoping that his boy would have said "Tom Waits," since they'd spend a good part of the weekend listening to the song "Army Ants" off the new Orphans CD set. Other than that, he had nothing but good stuff to say about the boy; but a child's memory can be a tricky thing. I think we all learned that lesson today.

Meanwhile, for those of you in Portland who feel like getting down with your kids this weekend, look no further than this Sunday's Grease Ball, thrown by Belinda and Hova and DJ Waah-waah from Greasy Kid Stuff. Bands include The Jellydots and Captain Bogg and Salty. It's another great milestone in the kindie rock explosion, and there will be nary an Audioslave in sight.

This morning, Regina sent me a link to this CNN story about desperate Brooklyn parents camping out all night to have a shot at getting their children into a high-end public kindergarten. This kind of story is common fodder for TV news. Witness this piece, essentially the same as the above, from 2002.

Pieces like this are usually cast two ways. The more common one celebrates the entrepreneurial spirit of the parents involved. We all should care this much about our children's educations, the line goes. The other strain makes fun of Type-A parents for whom the neighborhood school just isn't good enough. But they generally skirt the real point, or miss it entirely.

A good public education in this country used to be a guarantee, or at least reasonably possible, for middle- and working-class families. Today, a good public education is still available. But to get one, your family has to win the lottery.

The fact that my family won the lottery last week doesn't make the situation any fairer.

Heyo. I'm still in Austin, but I have many fun entries in the queue. All-new material starts again tomorrow. Thanks for your patience, your understanding, and your excessive kindness.

NP

On Saturday I took Elijah to Amoeba Records in Hollywood, to see a live performance by Spongebob and the Hi-Seas, who were promoting their album, "Best Day Ever." You know the rock-n-roll trend for kids has gone too far when America's most popular cartoon character can boast his own band, particularly when it's a really good band that's put out a record with Brian Wilson as a featured performer.

This came over the news wire last week:

Los Angeles' 300-member Highland Park gang, reputed dealers of methamphetamine, has become the 50th L.A. street gang to face a permanent injunction from the courts intended to limit their operations, the Los Angeles Times reported Feb. 28.

"Highland Park is considered one of the most organized, most profitable and most dangerous gangs in Los Angeles," said Bruce Riordan, head of the gang prosecution program at the Los Angeles city attorney's office.

I'm skeptical that such an injuction can work. And it also doesn't seem very constitutional to me. That stuff aside, this is still the neighborhood in which I rent.

Hmm. Methampetamine gangs. That explains the increased helicopter presence. And the squealing tires of the unmarked white vans that speed around our corner several times a day. Well, we rented where could afford at the time. It's time to figure out how to afford something else.

On Friday afternoon, Regina and I were discussing when to begin the process of breaking our lease. The choices were: Now, and Soon.

"This neighborhood has gotten a lot more dangerous," I said.

"Something is definitely wrong," she said.

"There could be coyotes here," Elijah said.

"Probably somewhere," I said.

"This neighborhood could be a wittle dangerous for us. "

I said, "it could," while thinking, oh, my sweet boy. I wish that coyotes were our biggest problem here. I felt my heart crack in the same way it does when Elijah asks, "Daddy, are we going to live in a peaceful neighborhood someday?" Or when he says, after a playdate at a friend's house with an actual backyard and room to run around, "I wish we lived here."

I wish we lived there, too, little man.

"And Shaq could catch foxes," Elijah said. "Then we'd really be safe."

The other day, Elijah sang on the couch.

"Herky met the government," the song went. "Herc Herc Herc ba-aw!"

"What is that?" Regina said.

"Let's ask him," I said.

So I did.

"Elijah," I said. "What inspired those lyrics?"

"Daddy!" he said. "You're silly! It was a song that you sang for me yesterday in the car!"

"What?" Regina said.

But I knew.

"Elijah," I said. "Do you mean the song that goes Johnny's in the basement mixin' up the medicine/I'm on the pavement, thinkin' 'bout the government? "

"Uh-huh," he said.

"Looks like somebody's ready for some Dylan," said Regina.

So the next day when Elijah came home from school, I had Subterranean Homesick Blues downloaded and on the IPod. We danced around the living room; the song is short enough so Elijah didn't get bored. Sadly, I was reminded of a Family Ties episode where the ex-hippie NPR parents play a Dylan record for their straightlaced kids. This was somewhat similar. But, as opposed to little Jennifer Keaton as played by the incomporable Tina Yothers, Elijah actually liked the Dylan. He found the lyrics interesting.

"Daddy," he asked me. "What's the government?"

"It's who runs the country," I said.

"The Bush Man runs the country, and he's evil," said Elijah.

"True," I said. "And he's made the government evil."

"Neal," said Regina. "We can't teach Elijah to be scared of the government."

"Oh, no," I said. "That would be totally unreasonable."

Elijah hasn't asked for the song again, but I do catch him singing his own lyrics several times a day. He's on the sofa singin' 'bout the government. I'm in my office mixin' up the medicine...

Note to readers: If any of you have TV tie-in books that you want to rant about, please fill up the comments section with your bile...

Some Scholastic Book Club fliers appeared in Elijah's box at school the other day, and they brought back memories of childhood afternoons lolling by the pool, flipping through Choose Your Own Adventure books. Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels Scholastic nostalgia.

Forwarding to the present, there are two separate leaflets, one for the "See Saw" Book Club and the other for the "Firefly" book club, though I can't really tell the difference between the two. Both of them contain some reasonably cool science stuff, like a build-your-own-skeleton kit and various literary interpretations of shark taxonomy. And there are a few cute-looking books, like All Aboard the Dinotrain! and Dooby Dooby Moo.

But for the most part, Scholastic appears to be teaching kids to read these days through product tie-ins.

As today is my 37th birthday, in addition to wearing the bottoms of my trousers rolled, I will also self-aggrandize. I've updated the bio section of this site, including links to my gone and nearly forgotten audio recordings. For those of you who care, the information is now available. Also, an author photo.