everything is wrong with me
American men’s obsession with little hats NEEDS TO STOP RIGHT NOW.

American men’s obsession with little hats NEEDS TO STOP RIGHT NOW.

As many of you know, I spend an inordinate amount of time reading and writing in the shower. Late afternoon on Saturday, I headed out to New Jersey to hang out with two buddies, one in from London, and to go to the NY Red Bulls game. My wife sent me the attached photo, saying that about an hour after I left for NJ, Patrick crawled across the apartment, down the hall, and plopped himself in front of the bathroom door. There, he sat yelling and banging on the bathroom door – because he thought I was in there and he wanted me to come out. Isn’t the song “Cats in the Cradle” about a dad who doesn’t spend enough time with his son because he’s always reading and writing in the shower? I mean, yowzers. Looks like I might have to start reading and writing in, say, the living room, like all you normals.

As many of you know, I spend an inordinate amount of time reading and writing in the shower. Late afternoon on Saturday, I headed out to New Jersey to hang out with two buddies, one in from London, and to go to the NY Red Bulls game. My wife sent me the attached photo, saying that about an hour after I left for NJ, Patrick crawled across the apartment, down the hall, and plopped himself in front of the bathroom door. There, he sat yelling and banging on the bathroom door – because he thought I was in there and he wanted me to come out. 

Isn’t the song “Cats in the Cradle” about a dad who doesn’t spend enough time with his son because he’s always reading and writing in the shower? I mean, yowzers. Looks like I might have to start reading and writing in, say, the living room, like all you normals.

Very excited that tomorrow evening is the first installment of the Gentlemen’s Listening Series. You see, a buddy who recently got married decided to use some wedding cash not to repay wedding costs but to buy an incredibly expensive and awesome stereo system – never mind the fact that he lives in a 300 sq ft apartment in Manhattan and he has to keep one of the subwoofers on 0.5 (even 1 is too loud). A few weeks ago, I went over his place to listen to the stereo and my god, it was worth every penny. It’s something I hadn’t really considered before, but nowadays 99.9% of the music I listen to is via my headphones, on my laptop or in a public place like a bar or restaurant. Long gone are the days when our parents would sit in the basement, listening to records start to finish on a stereo system, getting high. 

Long gone – UNTIL NOW. In our inaugural Gentlemen’s Listening Series, we’ve picked an album that we’ll listen to start to finish, while we drink beers and talk about what it means to us – sort of like a book club for dudes who like AC/DC and talk about how they used to get laid a lot before they got married or settled down (author’s note: none of the dudes actually got laid a lot). Because this is our debut GLS, we considered primarily debut albums and decided upon Led Zeppelin I. This is for several reasons: 

1) It’s Led Zeppelin. There is no more dude rock band. 

2) Zeppelin’s sound would change over time, but they sound 90% fully formed Led Zeppelin in Led Zeppelin I. Compare this to, say, the Beatles, who went from “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” in four years. 

3) There are not many stronger first songs on debut albums than “Good Times Bad Times.” That doesn’t say “We’ve arrived” – it says, “We’re here, we’re going to rock your balls off, and then we’re going to eff your girlfriend.” 

I will let you know how it goes but I am pretty sure it’s ok for me to start talking applications for Gentlemen’s Listening Series clubs in other cities across the world. Please inquire within (but only if you know how to rock).

Side eye while crushing a bottle at the park. 

PS - We are not bad parents because Patrick is not wearing socks; he pulls off both his socks approximately eight seconds into every walk and besides it’s a lovely morning.

Side eye while crushing a bottle at the park.

PS - We are not bad parents because Patrick is not wearing socks; he pulls off both his socks approximately eight seconds into every walk and besides it’s a lovely morning.

Dad of the Year. 

(This happened while I was making my tea. Not while I was four rooms away playing video games. Swear.)

Dad of the Year.

(This happened while I was making my tea. Not while I was four rooms away playing video games. Swear.)

This is probably my favorite thing Buzzfeed has ever done and I hope it helps to explain to my relatives in South Philly why I’ve been living in NYC for nine years and still rent.

(Seriously: I am probably the world’s best at looking at NYC apartments on Trulia and saying things like “Are you serious?” and “You have GOT to be kidding me.” My favorite was the dilapidated rowhome around the corner from my current apartment in our not-cool-at-all neighborhood in Brooklyn. It was 1500 sq ft, needed to be completely redone, and the second full bath was in the kitchen. All this for the low, low price of $700,000. STEAL, they said.)

I’m a little worried. Tomorrow, my copy of FIFA 14 arrives (I’ve been tracking it all day via Amazon; it left New Castle, DE at 9:45am). This, just as my wife has discovered season two of Scandal on Netflix, reducing her more or less to junkie status, fixed in front of the TV and unable to be distracted. 

So if you’re free during the evenings this week and want to spend time caring for an adorable child, please let me know. Otherwise, I can probably throw some potato chips and bottled water into his playpen while FIFA is loading or saving.

My son has learned how to crawl. Party’s over. 

bitte

Eleven years ago this weekend, my buddies and I flew out of Newark airport en route to Munich, where we spent eleven days and ten nights at Oktoberfest. It was at once the best and the dumbest thing we’d ever done. We made our way through liter after liter and beer tent after beer tent, armed with only two German words: bitte (which fortunately means pretty much everything) and Scheiße Straße (which means “Shit Street”). 

If I’m lucky enough to write a third book, that trip is going to be a very difficult chapter to write. [insert awkward smile/gritted teeth emoji here] Godspeed to everyone at Oktoberfest this year. 

(Speaking of, I’m handing in the proposal for book three soon. If you haven’t bought book two - 236 POUNDS OF CLASS VICE PRESIDENT - yet, please consider doing so before I hand in this proposal. This way, the publisher can say, “Looks like 236 had a big spike in sales recently, all the way up to four copies sold this week, representing a nice leap from the usual -2 per week.” Thank you.)

Had fries with two meals and a breakfast of eggs, sausage and a PB and banana smoothie today (not to mention a few pints of Guinness during the game) and I’m getting three suits fitted tomorrow. They are going to cut a neck hole in a tent, throw it over my head, and kick me out the door.