Festival de Cannes Poster (2013)

OK, it’s official. I am so busy these days that this year I actually missed all of the coverage of my favorite film festival on earth, Cannes! Urgh, I actually forgot it was May. Crazy, huh? I guess that’s what happens to old SAHD’s who are trying to raise a toddler and freelance a bit on the side…there is just no more time for extracurricular nerdiness. Hell, I didn’t even see this beautiful poster — featuring a gorgeous shot of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward from the little-seen 1963 film, A New Kind of Love — until tonight. Sacrilege!

But any regrets I had at missing the 66th Annual Festival de Cannes in its entirety this year are more than up for by the sheer raditude of this poster. I mean, wow, if you ask me, love never looked cooler or newer. A more than worthy addition to the library of groovy Cannes posters! Que viva la Cannes!

The last day of school…

Thursday is Greta’s last official day of Parks & Rec. pre-school and I gotta admit, I’m kind of dreading it. And not just because we have to cook a lasagne for the last day potluck, which means Mrs. Yeti and I will be popping a homemade (or more likely frozen) lasagne in the over at like, 8:00AM, so it’s ready in time. The real reason I’m dreading it is because, well, I’ve grown kinda used to the routine of it all over the past eight weeks.

Honestly, it’s been kinda nice having Greta go to “school” (call it anything other than that at your own peril, she is obsessed with the idea of going to school because that’s “what big kids do”) twice a week. I know three hours of truly alone, alone time every week doesn’t sound like much, but, trust me, it’s been amazing. I made a deal with myself early on that I wouldn’t do anything to do with cleaning or cooking during my sacred hour and a half every Tuesday and Thursday. It was my time to work on whatever I wanted (or needed!) to work on or even just sip my coffee and catch up on “my stories” on Tivo. And, man alive, who knew you could get so much shit done in an hour and a half without a toddler tugging at you the whole time. Wow, if this is a sample of what her being in real school is like, sign my ass up! Just kidding. Kind of.

Anyway, speaking of school, another cool thing about Greta’s preschool is that she’s met loads of new friends, several of whom will be going to the same school as she does when she starts Kindergarten next year. And the best thing about that is that aside from liking all of her new friends (except for that one creepy, greasy-haired boy, he knows who he is) I genuinely enjoy the company of their moms as well.

And though I’ll miss my free time, the thing I’ll probably miss even more are the good times I had hanging with the other moms. And, just so you know, I’m using the term “moms” here like hipster thespians use the word “actor” to describe both male and female actors. As in: “Yeti9000’s well stocked snack bag was the envy of the other moms at the park.” Which it often is, by the way. Anyway, immediately following “school”, myself and the other moms would hang out for an hour or so and chat while the kids wore themselves out on the playground. We didn’t always agree on everything and as a rule they tended much more towards the “helicopter parent” school of thought than I do. Except for the “stripper mom” who arrived late every morning in her vintage muscle car with her blonde hair tousled just so. She was always very chill, but, that’s probably because she was tired from working all night. I’m just saying…

And even though there was some spirited parental judgement tossed around initially — some of the moms still comment on some of the stuff we let Greta watch on TV — I can’t say that I didn’t judge back (see above comments re: “stripper mom”), so, it was all good and, overall, this new group of compadres in the parenting wars was a pretty fun bunch.

Several of the Moms were Indian too, so, aside from talking about Indian food all the time, one Mom actually brought some for us all to share one day! Which was awesome! But mostly we just talked about our kids. Because of the age requirement for “school”, all of our kids were pretty much the same age, and almost all of them were girls, so, we had a lot in common.

So, until next fall when the cheapie Parks & Rec. pre-school classes start back up again in earnest…farewell, mis amigas. May the summer be good to you and may you find other bearded fat dudes to chat with in the park while your children play. Oh, and in case you were wondering how Greta’s dealing with the end of “school”, she’s totally cool with it. I asked her today if she was sad that she only had one more day of school and she said: “No, because that mean swimming class is starting!” Ha! I wish I shared her enthusiasm. If you remember, last year’s batch of swim moms sucked ass. Meanest women on the planet.

Luckily we’re at a new pool this year, so, hopefully that means a whole new crop of cool moms (and maybe even dads!) and kids to hang out with. Who knows, maybe stripper mom will be there too!

“A Mother’s Prayer” by Tina Fey

I know this has been all over the internet and Facebook in the past couple of weeks (and even further back than that), but, I just read Tina Fey’s “A Mother’s Prayer” from her book Bossy Pants today. So, it’s new to me. And I gotta tell ya, I laughed out loud more than once at some of the funny-ass shit she says here. Hilarious!

So, if you’re reading this aloud within earshot of your wee ones, makes sure you have some change for your swear jars readily at hand and have at it. Happy Mother’s Day 2013 everyone!

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from acting but not all the way to finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes. And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need not lie with drummers.

Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen.

Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, for childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming magenta for one day – and adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for “Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.”

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. And she will forget.

But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Sleeping Standing Up

Hello again, blog friends. Sorry for being away for so long. This time I have a great excuse, I was working my butt off! So much so that I actually fell asleep standing up one day. Yep, like a horse. Except horses usually stay standing. I, on the other hand fell like a ton o’ bricks and hit the back of my head on a cheapie IKEA desk we have in our hallway. I survived the fall with a trip to the emergency room and a couple of staples to the back of my head…the desk, however, was not so lucky and had to be trashed.

And though I fell in front of Greta the first thing she said when she ran over to check on me was not “Oh, my God, Daddy! You’re head is bleeding!” or “Are you alright?”. Nope, the first thing she said was: “Wow! Look at that desk!” Actually, it was quite a site. Black particle board pieces and books scattered all over the hallway. Me sitting on the ground with blood all over my hand and a dazed look on my face, and Greta just staring at that broken desk.

Anyway, the bleeding stopped almost immediately, but, wow, there’s a lot of blood in the back of your head! Who knew? So, I called a 24-hour nurse hotline that we have on our insurance and talked to a lovely certified nurse named Susan. After asking me a bunch of really gross questions (“Is there a yellowish-red discharge oozing from your ears?”, “Are your pupils the same size?”, etc.) she told me I was probably fine but that I should head to the emergency room just to be sure.

Luckily, Mrs. Yeti was able to ditch out of work and hurry home to drive us (for some reason Susan thought a man who just fell asleep standing up and was bleeding from the head might not be the best driver, crazy, huh?) to the ER. Where we waited and waited and waited until they finally pulled me behind a curtain, stapled up my cut and send me packing. Good times.

Oh, did I mention that having staples put in your head hurts like hell?! Well, it does and let me tell ya, I owed Greta’s bad word jar a hefty chunk of change when we got home. I’m sure the truly sick and injured people in the ER loved hearing me swear up a storm too. Sorry, sickies, but that shit hurt!

The good news is I’ve been trying to get more sleep on a regular basis, and, believe it or not, I do actually feel more rested. Funny how that works, huh? Anyway, this whole getting enough sleep thing is still an ongoing project — changing your up-all-night writerly ways at my age ain’t easy, folks! — but, it has been working out nicely so far. We’ll see how easy it is to stick to when I have a bunch of deadline at the end of the month…

So, that’s what I’ve been up to. I also traveled to Hamburg, Germany for work (which was crazy fun) and churned out a record number of stories for work, I wrote two features for APEX magazine, two mini-features for a new magazine I’m working on, and a handful of stories for the APEX Editor’s Blog. Sadly, that left little time for blogging or, obviously, sleeping. But, it did feel awesome to be writing so much about stuff that I’ve really come to love. So, that more than makes up for it. That said, I do promise to be a better sleeper and blogger going forward, so, stick around.

Oh, and if anyone has an old desk they can spare, we’re on the market for one, so, let me know! 🙂

Virgin Atlantic Mini-Movie: “Born Different”

OK, I know that a shortened version of this ad has been running on TV for months now, but, I just found this extended, mini-movie version of Virgin Atlantic’s “Born Different” ad, and I had to share it. I myself have yet to fly Virgin Airways, but, this super cool commercial puts them on the very top of my “must-fly” list. Enjoy!